Lord of the Foresaken
Chapter 27: THE TOURNAMENT INVITATION

Chapter 27: THE TOURNAMENT INVITATION

The messenger arrived at dusk, his once-pristine white robes stained crimson by the perpetual rain of blood that had fallen over the Hollow for three days since Reed’s transformation. The man’s face betrayed no emotion—likely enchanted against fear, Reed surmised—but his hands trembled as he extended the ornate scroll sealed with gold and obsidian wax.

"From the High Council of Lords," the messenger intoned, voice unnaturally steady. "An invitation to Lord Reed of the Composite Hollow."

Composite Hollow. They had already learned of his transformation. Information traveled faster than Reed had anticipated.

Reed took the scroll without touching the messenger, whose eyes widened at the sight of Reed’s skin—translucent in places, revealing the elemental energies flowing beneath like liquid stained glass. Fire, water, earth, and air coexisted in impossible harmony within his transformed flesh.

"You may go," Reed said, his voice resonating with multiple harmonic tones.

The messenger bowed and turned, but hesitated. "My Lord," he said, breaking protocol, "I was instructed to wait for your response."

Reed smiled. It was not a pleasant expression.

"Tell them I’m considering it."

When the messenger was gone, escorted to the edge of his domain by shadows that were not entirely natural, Reed broke the seal on the scroll. The wax hissed and bubbled against his fingers, reactive enchantments trying and failing to read his intentions.

Inside, elegant script flowed across parchment made from what appeared to be human skin—an old tradition among the eldest Lords, who valued neither subtlety nor mercy.

To Lord Reed of the Composite Hollow,

Your unprecedented ascension has not gone unnoticed. The Grand Tournament of Lordly Dominion approaches with the next blood moon. Your presence is both requested and required as the newest among our exalted ranks.

You will compete to establish your position in the hierarchy. Victory brings territory. Defeat brings subjugation. Absence brings war.

Choose wisely.

The Tournament shall be held in the Obsidian Colosseum of the Central Dominion, under the Covenant of Blade and Will.

—The High Council of Nine

Reed crushed the parchment in his fist. Elemental energy reacted to his agitation—flames licked between his fingers, water droplets sizzled into steam, earth particles crystalized around his knuckles, and air currents whipped around his form.

"A trap," he murmured.

"Obviously," Shia replied, materializing from the shadows beside him. Her transformation had continued alongside his; her form now composed more of darkness than flesh, her eyes obsidian pools reflecting the elemental patterns of his skin. "But perhaps also an opportunity."

Reed nodded slowly, unclenching his fist. The invitation had not burned—enchantments protected it, of course—but the wax seal had melted into a twisted shape that resembled a screaming face.

"Summon the Circle," he commanded. "All of them. We must prepare."

The war chamber had changed since Reed’s transformation. The stone walls now pulsed with a subtle rhythm, like a heartbeat, inscribed with runes that glowed with elemental energy. The round table at its center, once carved from simple blackwood, now levitated inches above the floor, its surface a perfect mirror that reflected not those who gazed upon it, but rather their true natures—their souls, their potential, their inevitable ends.

Around this table gathered Reed’s inner circle, each changed in their own way by proximity to his evolving power.

Shia stood at his right, her form shifting between solid and shadow. At his left was Krait the Knight-Binder, his armor now fused even more completely with his flesh, bones jutting through metal at grotesque angles, giving him the appearance of a walking reliquary.

Elisara the Shadow-Chanter sat opposite Reed, her beautiful-terrible face now permanently split down the middle—one half radiant perfection, the other exposed muscle and sinew that moved when she spoke. The forbidden equations she had once whispered now wrote themselves in glowing script across her exposed tissues.

Vex the Limb-Maker had become more machine than man, his body a patchwork of flesh and clockwork augmentations. Brass gears whirred where his heart should be, and his eyes clicked as they focused on Reed.

Huren, Master of the Soul Forge, had grown translucent, his organs clearly visible within his chest cavity—particularly his heart, which burned with the same amber fire that powered the Forge.

Mara the Wild Cartographer’s fingers had elongated further, now resembling branches more than human digits, her skin bark-like, hair a cascade of autumn leaves. Maps etched themselves across her wooden flesh, depicting territories yet to be claimed.

And at the far end of the table sat the newest addition: Grax, a goblin who had once been nothing more than another expendable soldier. But he had survived when others had perished, had shown cunning that bordered on brilliance, and had risen through the ranks on merit rather than power. His diminutive green form was unchanged by the eldritch energies that saturated the Hollow—perhaps the only one in Reed’s inner circle who remained as he had begun.

"The High Council has invited me to their Tournament," Reed announced without preamble. He cast the invitation onto the mirrored table, where it floated above the surface. "I believe it to be a trap."

"Of course it’s a trap," Grax said, his voice surprisingly cultured for a goblin. "They fear you. You’ve broken their most sacred law by taking all four elements. They want you dead or bound."

"Kill them first," Krait suggested, his voice grinding like metal on stone. "Consume them all."

Elisara shook her head, the equations on her exposed flesh spiraling in disagreement. "Unwise. The Covenant of Blade and Will is binding. Even with your new powers, direct violence outside of sanctioned matches would trigger ancient protocols. You would be... diminished."

"The tournament is an assessment," Shia interjected, shadows coiling around her words. "They want to measure you before deciding whether to welcome you or destroy you."

Reed nodded, his gaze fixed on the reflected image in the table—not his face, but a swirling maelstrom of elemental forces contained within a vaguely humanoid outline. "Then we will give them something to measure."

"But what of the Hollow?" Mara asked, her voice rustling like wind through leaves. "Your absence creates vulnerability. The Archon’s forces will not wait politely for your return."

"They’ve been quiet since your transformation," Huren noted, his amber heart pulsing faster. "No more Sentinels. No more crimson skies. It’s as if they’re... watching. Waiting."

Reed tapped his fingers on the table, each touch sending ripples across its mirrored surface. "The Hollow must be protected during my absence. Shia will accompany me to the Tournament. The rest of you will maintain our defenses."

"And who will govern?" Vex asked, gears clicking in his throat. "The Tainted require direction. The Soul Forge needs tending. The borders must be patrolled."

Reed’s gaze fell on Grax. The goblin straightened in his chair, yellow eyes widening.

"Grax will govern in my stead."

A moment of stunned silence fell across the chamber.

"A goblin?" Krait snarled. "You would entrust the Hollow to a goblin?"

"Yes," Reed replied simply. "Because Grax understands what none of you do—survival at any cost. He rose from nothing through cunning and adaptability. More importantly, he has no magical or elemental affinity that might be corrupted by the power vacuum my absence will create."

Grax bowed his head, a sharp-toothed smile spreading across his face. "I am honored, my Lord. I will not fail you."

"See that you don’t." Reed stood, and the chamber seemed to darken around his illuminated form. "Each of you has specific tasks. Krait will command our military forces. Elisara will maintain the boundary wards. Vex will continue producing war constructs. Huren will ensure the Soul Forge remains stable. And Mara will monitor for spatial anomalies."

He placed his palms flat on the table, and the mirrored surface rippled, forming into a map of the Hollow and surrounding territories.

"If we are attacked while I am away, do not engage directly. Fall back to defensive positions. The Hollow itself is now an extension of my being—the land will fight for you if necessary."

As if in response to his words, the floor trembled slightly beneath them, a pulse of recognition from the transformed territory.

"And if you don’t return?" Elisara asked, mathematical formulae swirling faster across her exposed tissues.

Reed smiled, elemental energies brightening beneath his skin. "Then the Hollow will know. And it will consume everything within its borders to fuel what comes next."

He gestured, and the map on the table changed, showing the Obsidian Colosseum where the Tournament would be held. "The Tournament begins in seven days. I will use this time to prepare, and to ensure the Hollow remembers my will."

"And what of the Archon?" Shia asked quietly. "Your transformation has altered its plans, but not stopped them."

"The Tournament and the Archon are connected," Reed said with certainty. "The ancient records I absorbed from the elemental chamber confirmed what I suspected—the Lords’ hierarchy is designed to maintain the prison. With each Lord I kill, with each territory I claim, I weaken the Archon’s bonds."

Grax leaned forward, clawed hands clasped together. "Then why continue? Why not simply stop?"

"Because there is no stopping," Reed replied, his voice resonating with power. "The prison was failing long before I came. The Archon was already waking. The difference now is that I hold the key to something greater than mere containment."

The table’s surface shifted again, now showing an ancient symbol—a spiral within a square within a circle within a triangle.

"I don’t seek to maintain the prison," Reed continued, his eyes glowing with elemental fire. "I seek to remake it. And for that, I need more power. Power the Tournament will provide."

As the meeting concluded and his advisors departed to begin preparations, Reed remained in the war chamber alone. He waved a hand over the mirrored table, changing its reflection to show not the Hollow or the Colosseum, but a vast, cosmic prison—a construct of such scale and complexity that it defied mortal comprehension.

At its center writhed a consciousness older than the world itself, bound by chains forged from the combined essences of all living Lords.

Reed’s transformation had weakened those chains. Each Lord he defeated in the Tournament would weaken them further.

The System notification appeared before him, floating in his enhanced vision:

OBJECTIVE UPDATED: PARTICIPATE IN THE LORDS TOURNAMENT

REWARD: ELEVATED STATUS IN HIERARCHY

WARNING: ARCHON CONTAINMENT AT 47% AND DECLINING

NEW OBJECTIVE UNLOCKED: [REDACTED]

The last line flickered, as if something was preventing the System from displaying it properly. Reed frowned, focusing his will on forcing the information to appear.

For a brief moment, the redaction lifted, revealing five words that changed everything:

NEW OBJECTIVE UNLOCKED: BECOME THE ARCHON’S VESSEL

Before Reed could process the implications, a searing pain ripped through his chest. The elemental energies beneath his skin went wild—fire erupting, water boiling, earth cracking, air howling. He fell to his knees, clutching at the glyph over his heart, which now burned with black flame instead of amber light.

A voice that was not his own spilled from his lips—ancient, terrible, and triumphant:

"AT LAST, A WORTHY VESSEL APPROACHES. COME TO ME, LITTLE LORD. COME AND BE UNMADE."

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the possession ended. Reed collapsed onto the floor, gasping, elemental energies once again flowing in harmony beneath his skin.

But something had changed. The glyph on his chest now bore a new pattern at its center—an eye, partially open, watching.

The Archon had marked him. And the Tournament would be more than a test of strength against other Lords.

It would be a contest between Reed and the ancient entity for control of his evolving soul.