Minho's body spiralled through the void, the swirling vortex of light and shadow above shrinking into a pinpoint before vanishing altogether. The decent was disorienting - cold wind whipped past his face and a low guttural growl reverberated from all directions. He felt the Tower's malice, its dark intent pressing against him like a physical force.
Just as he thought that fall would never end, the ground rushed up to meet him. Minho landed with a bone-jarring thud, pain shooting through his knees and elbows as he sprawled onto an unyielding black surface.
Groaning, he levered himself upright. He was in another chamber, but this one felt. wrong. The air was heavy with the stench of decay, and the floor beneath him was slick and uneven, as if he stood on flesh rather than stone. Pulsating veins glowed faintly red, spiderwebbing through the ground, carrying what looked disturbingly like blood.
The walls were lined with the jagged, organic formations-twisted columns of bone and sinew glistening with some oily residue. From somewhere, a dim, sickly light shone in, casting grotesque shadows that squirmed unnaturally.
Before Minho could get his bearings, a voice echoed through the chamber.
"You are persistent, aren't you?
Deep and rumbling, unnatural, as if the Tower had elected to speak for itself. Minho's grip tightened on his sword as his body coiled.
"You've come far," it said, "but every step only draws tighter my hold. Do you know what you are?"
"I'm alive," he spat back, the sound of his voice scanning the room for the voice. "That is sufficient.
His voice laughed-a sound more vibration than vocal, clattering in his bones. "Alive? Is that what you call this mockery? You've been dead since you entered my domain."
Before Minho could utter a word in response, the ground beneath him convulsed. The veins shone brighter, and something enormous started to rise from the center of the room.
A hulking figure emerged, its body a grotesque amalgamation of flesh, bone, and shadow. It towered over Minho, easily four times his height, with six elongated arms that ended in jagged claws. Its face-or what passed for one-was a featureless expanse of darkened flesh, save for a vertical slit that opened to reveal a single, blood-red eye.
This was no guardian as he had expected. This was something different altogether.
"I am the Warden of the Abyss," it growled. "You've trespassed too far, mortal. You will serve the Tower, or you will feed it.
Minho didn't wait for it to strike. He lunged forward, slashing at one of the Warden's legs. His blade bit into the flesh, but instead of blood, thick, black ichor oozed out, sizzling where it hit the ground.
The Warden just didn't flinch. One of its huge arms came down, and Minho was forced to dive out of the way. The impact shattered the ground, sending chunks of flesh and bone flying.
"You think your defiance matters?" the Warden growled, his voice low and thick with contempt. "You are nothing here.
Minho rolled to his feet, barely evading another blow. The creature was impossibly fast for its size, unnatural precision blurring in a kaleidoscope of motion. Minho's mind worked feverishly. He couldn't fight this thing head-on; it was too strong, too relentless.
Then he saw it-a faint, rhythmic glow emanating from the Warden's chest. It was subtle, hidden beneath layers of flesh and bone, but it was there: a pulsating core of light, not unlike the Shardborn's eye.
"That's your weakness," Minho muttered to himself.
The Warden lunged again, all six arms swinging in a flurry of brutal attacks. Minho dodged and weaved, every movement bringing him closer to exhaustion. One claw raked across his side, tearing through his armor and drawing blood. He bit back a scream, focusing on the core.
When the next swing came, Minho didn't dodge. He leaped forward, using the creature's arm as a springboard. He ran up its limb, ignoring the sharp pain as the Warden's claws tore into his legs, and drove his sword into its chest.
The blade sank deep, and the Warden let out a deafening roar. The core pulsed violently, its light growing brighter as cracks spread across the creature's body.
For a moment, Minho thought he'd won.
Then the Warden grabbed him.
Its claws closed around his torso, squeezing with bone-crushing force. Minho screamed as he felt ribs snap, his vision blurring from the pain.
You think you can destroy me?" the Warden snarled. "You are part of me now."
The core in its chest started to shift, its light turning a dark, sickly green. Minho felt a pull, as if his very essence were being drained. His mind filled with visions-his past failures, his regrets, the faces of those he had lost.
The Warden was consuming him.
"No," Minho snarled out through gritted teeth. "You don't get to take this from me."
Mustering the last remnants of strength, Minho twisted the blade in the Warden's chest. At its core, it flared brighter, its energy unstable.
The Warden howled in fury, releasing Minho and stumbling backward. Its body began to convulse, the cracks spreading faster now, aglow with an intense, blinding light.
Minho hit the ground hard, coughing up blood. He watched as the Warden's form shattered, pieces of it breaking away and dissolving into ash. The core pulsed one final time before exploding, flooding the chamber with a blinding white light.
When the light faded, Minho found himself lying on the ground, his body broken but alive. The chamber was gone, replaced by a serene, star-filled void.
But something was wrong.
His hands were glowing. No, not glowing-disintegrating.
Minho stared in horror as his fingers began to dissolve into light, the effect spreading up his arms. He tried to scream, but no sound came out.
"You are not free," the Tower's voice whispered. "You are mine."
And then Minho was gone.