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Chapter 109 - Continuing

Chapter 109: Chapter 109 - Continuing

The second Key pulsed faintly in Walter’s hand. The sigil it carried etched itself into Lucius’s soul the moment Walter passed it to him. He felt the weight of it—not in mass, but in memory. Not merely a token of power, but a fragment of responsibility left behind by a dying god.

The Court of the First Pantheon faded as the gate behind them reopened. They stepped into the transition realm, a liminal space between worlds, stitched together from fragments of ancient thrones and forgotten prayers. Here, the Four Pillars hovered closer to Lucius’s back, as if sensing the trial ahead.

Walter was quiet.

Too quiet.

Lucius watched him as they walked the bridge of light between dimensions. The old man’s hands were clenched. His jaw tight. Even his shadow wavered with unease.

"Walter," Lucius finally said. "What’s next?"

Walter didn’t answer right away. He stopped and looked at Lucius.

"You’re about to walk through the memories of the Kings who came before you."

"Memories?"

"Yes. The realm you approach now is not a battlefield or a temple. It’s a sanctuary—one locked deep in the roots of the Multiverse itself. A place only a true claimant to the Throne can access."

"And what do I do there?"

Walter turned, and for the first time in a long while, he looked uncertain.

"You remember them. You feel them. Their regrets. Their victories. Their mistakes. And if you are strong enough to face them... they will let you pass."

Alexia stepped forward. "Will we go with him?"

Walter shook his head. "No. Only Lucius may walk the Memory Spiral. The rest of us must wait. If he fails, the Spiral will collapse, and the Empress will feel it."

Lilith crossed her arms. "Then he won’t fail."

Luna’s voice was soft, yet certain. "We’ll be waiting. Just come back the same man we know."

Lucius gave them a small smile, then turned to the opening gate.

A torrent of light pulled him in.

And the Spiral began.

He awoke in another body.

Not his.

He looked down—golden robes, thick rings, a scepter in his right hand. He stood atop a world bathed in sunlight, a realm that sang his name.

"King Aloren," a voice called. "The rebellion is at your gates."

Lucius felt the man’s pride. His exhaustion. He turned to his council. Watched as they bickered over strategy and loyalty.

The memory shifted.

He stood atop a tower, watching his kingdom burn.

"I only ever wanted peace," Aloren said, collapsing to his knees. "And now they hate me for it."

Lucius reached out—touched the man’s shoulder. And the memory shattered.

Another blink.

He stood in chains.

The King of Ash, betrayed by his lover—his queen.

She had taken the Pillars, sold them to another realm.

Lucius felt his heart break as the executioner’s blade fell.

He bled.

And rose again.

The Spiral would not let him leave until he felt it all.

King after King.

Ruler after ruler.

Some corrupted by power. Others undone by kindness. Some died alone. Some were remembered. Most were forgotten.

And in every memory, Lucius saw echoes of himself.

Of what could be.

In one fragment, he saw a king worshiped as a god. Whole worlds sculpted in his image. But when he died, his people tore his statues down.

In another, he was a ghost—whispers of his policies remained, but no one recalled his face, or name, or sacrifice.

One King sat the Throne without love. Another, without loyalty. One ruled through fear. Another, through excessive mercy.

Each fell.

Each paid a price.

Lucius’s heart strained beneath their pain. Their victories were illusions. Their legacies—temporary.

At last, he came to the final throne.

A woman stood behind it.

Beautiful. Cold. Infinite.

The Empress Eternal.

Only... this was not her now. This was her before.

Walter stood beside her.

And Lucius realized he was watching the moment everything fell apart.

He saw the Empress poison the old King’s wine.

He saw Walter hesitate—just once—before failing to act.

He saw a tear slip down the Empress’s cheek.

And he heard her whisper, "I loved you. But I loved power more."

Lucius trembled.

The Spiral showed him one final truth:

If he sat the Throne, he too would be remembered in memory. A shadow in the Spiral.

Unless he changed everything.

The Spiral faded.

Lucius returned to the transition realm.

He collapsed into Alexia’s arms, heart racing, skin cold.

"I saw them all," he whispered.

Walter knelt beside him. "And did you learn?"

Lucius nodded.

"I’m not here to be remembered. I’m here to rebuild."

Walter handed him the third Key.

Only one remained.

And the Empress... was waiting.

***

The transition realm faded behind them as the final gate pulsed open.

Lucius stood before a chasm of unlight. Not darkness—unlight. A colorless void that devoured thought, memory, even the concept of shape. The bridge before him was a ribbon of bone, suspended across a wound in the Multiverse. Winds howled not with air but with fragmented voices—half-forgotten names, abandoned thrones, and broken oaths.

Walter’s face had gone pale.

"I had hoped this thing was still sealed," he said, his voice barely audible. "But the Empress must have released it... to stop you."

Lilith stared ahead, her arms folded tightly. "What is it?"

Walter looked at Lucius. "The Eater of Thrones. A creature born from the remains of failed kings and forsaken rulers. It feeds on their power... and their legacy."

Luna scoffed. "You’re saying it eats thrones?"

Walter nodded slowly. "Entire realities lost to it. The Empress has unleashed it into the final sanctum. Before you can reach the last Key, Lucius, you’ll have to destroy what exists only to devour gods."

Alexia stepped closer. "Can it be killed?"

"No," Walter said. "But it can be starved."

Lucius stepped onto the bone bridge. "Then I’ll be the first king it can’t consume."

Beyond the bridge lay a wasteland of shattered crowns and crumbling obelisks. Mountains of rusted regalia littered the broken plains—skeletal remains of monarchs long past. Every step Lucius took echoed with lamentations, as though the very ground wept for those who fell before him.

The Eater rose from the dust like a monolith of rotted majesty—a chimera stitched from wings, claws, iron, and echoes. Its face was a mirror, reflecting not the world—but Lucius himself.

Every weakness. Every fear. Every moment of doubt he had ever known.

It lunged.

Lucius fought—not just with blade or magic, but with the very essence of what he had become. The Four Pillars flared, their resonance crashing against the creature’s aura of despair. His body moved on instinct, a blend of grace and power that carved through illusions and counter-assaults. He summoned time loops to slow its strikes, unleashed creation storms to rupture its core, wielded chaos to distort its limbs, and destruction to unmake its shrieking limbs.

But the Eater adapted.

With every move, it grew wiser. When Lucius used Time, it unraveled his loops. When he invoked Chaos, it thrived. Destruction only strengthened its resolve, feeding on the very annihilation it was meant to fear.

Lucius began to falter.

The others tried to intervene—Lilith’s flame, Alexia’s blood-sorcery, Luna’s illusions—but none could penetrate the boundary that had formed. It shimmered like molten glass, locking Lucius inside a closed trial.

This was a test only he could pass.

To defeat the Eater of Thrones... he had to overcome himself.

The battle stretched across time and un-space. The Eater of Thrones warped reality with every scream. When Lucius struck it, he saw his own face contort in pain. When he bled, the creature fed.

Each time he channeled a Pillar, the Eater learned.

Time—it reversed his movements.

Creation—it replicated his attacks.

Chaos—it welcomed and grew stronger.

Destruction—it consumed and grew larger.

Lucius screamed in frustration, driven backward until he stood atop a ruin shaped like a throne—the last throne it had consumed. He was surrounded by debris: twisted scepters, bent crowns, broken oaths carved into stone.

And then he heard a voice.

Not from the creature.

From within.

"You are not fighting it," said the voice. "You are feeding it."

Lucius froze.

The realization hit like thunder.

The Eater was a reflection. An echo. A parasite that drew strength not from his power—but from his attachment to the idea of rulership, of pride, of self-importance.

He looked at the Pillars floating behind him. Then, with a breath that shook the void, he let them go.

The Pillars paused in midair.

The Eater hesitated.

Lucius stepped forward without them.

Unarmed. Unshielded.

"I don’t need a throne," he said. "I am not power. I am purpose."

The Eater screeched. The sound cracked the earth and sent spectral fires into the sky.

It lunged one last time.

Lucius closed his eyes.

And caught it.

He did not strike. He did not destroy.

He embraced it.

And the creature shattered.

It didn’t explode. It didn’t roar. It simply ceased. Unmade by the one thing it could not understand: surrender of ego.

The fragments dissolved into dust. And from that dust rose a plinth—simple, unadorned.

Upon it, the final Key pulsed.

Walter, Lilith, Alexia, and Luna broke through the veil just as Lucius reached for it.

They were breathless, shocked.

Lucius turned to them, scarred and scorched but standing.

"I passed."

Walter stepped forward, eyes wide. "No one... no one has ever resisted the Eater. You didn’t kill it. You unmade its reason to exist."

Lucius held the final Key aloft.

And the universe itself shifted.