Lord of the Foresaken
Chapter 29: THE LORDS ASSEMBLY

Chapter 29: THE LORDS ASSEMBLY

The Spire of Nine cast its elongated shadow across the Grand Assembly Hall like a massive needle piercing the heart of the capital. Reed stood at the threshold, the cacophony of voices washing over him in waves. Lords and Ladies from every domain had gathered, their distinct elemental signatures creating a nauseating tapestry of power that made his skin crawl.

"Remember," Shia whispered beside him, her voice barely audible above the din, "they expect you to fail. To embarrass yourself. Don’t give them the satisfaction."

Reed’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the hall. Crystal chandeliers suspended in mid-air illuminated a space that defied conventional architecture—walls that curved impossibly, floors that seemed to breathe, and ceilings adorned with moving constellations that were unknown to any sky in the realm.

"I don’t intend to," he replied, squaring his shoulders.

The Assembly Hall was arranged in nine concentric circles, each elevated higher than the one before it. At the center stood a raised dais, currently empty, awaiting the Archons’ representatives. Around it sat the Nine Prime Lords, rulers of the most powerful domains, their bodies more elemental than flesh. One seat remained conspicuously empty—the place where the Lord of Hollow would sit, had Reed not been an anomaly.

As they entered, conversation faltered, then resumed with greater intensity. Eyes tracked their movement, some curious, others hostile. Reed felt each stare like a physical weight.

A severe-looking man in ceremonial robes approached, his face a mask of professional disdain. "Lord Reed of Hollow," he announced, loudly enough for nearby ears to hear. "You and your... attendant are assigned to the outer ring. Please follow protocol and refrain from addressing higher circles unless addressed first."

Reed smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes. "And who might you be, to assign me my place?"

The man stiffened. "Master of Ceremonies Validus, servant to the Archons’ will."

"Well, Master Validus," Reed leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried across the space between them, "I’ll sit where I choose."

Before Validus could protest, Reed strode past him, making directly for the fourth circle—not so high as to provoke immediate confrontation, but well above where an anomaly like him would be expected to position himself. Shia followed, her face impassive but her posture tense, ready for trouble.

"Hollow takes liberties," hissed a woman with skin like polished amber, flames dancing beneath her translucent flesh. Lady Ignita of the Southern Flames, if Reed remembered correctly.

"The outsider thinks himself our equal," replied her companion, a gaunt man whose body continuously shed flakes of stone that reformed on his opposite side. Lord Petra of the Eastern Crags.

Reed ignored them, settling into a seat that offered a clear view of both the central dais and the entrances. Shia stood behind him, a sentinel in shadow.

A gong reverberated through the hall, its sound penetrating bone and marrow. The assembly fell silent as three figures ascended to the central dais—not the Archons themselves, but their chosen mouthpieces, each bearing a mask of flawless white.

"Lords and Ladies of the Nine Domains," intoned the central figure, voice neither male nor female, "the Ninety-Ninth Tournament of Ascension now commences. The rules remain as they have for millennia."

The left figure raised its hands, and above the dais appeared a shimmering representation of a tournament bracket. "Sixty-four Lords will compete. Single elimination. The victor gains the right to petition the Archons directly and will receive one boon within their power to grant."

"Each Lord may field one Hero as their champion," continued the right figure. "The Hero fights in your stead, carries your authority, and should they fall, their defeat is yours. Choose wisely."

Reed’s eyes narrowed. He had no Hero to field—traditional Heroes were bound servants, souls pledged to their Lords through ritual and sacrifice. He had refused to enslave any of his people in such a manner.

"The first rounds begin tomorrow at dawn," the central figure announced. "Matchups have been determined by the Archons’ divine insight, balancing the scales of power and purpose."

The tournament bracket above them began to fill with names, lines connecting opponents across the phantom display. Reed searched for his name, feeling a cold certainty about what he would find.

"Lord Reed of Hollow," called out the left figure, "anomaly and aberration, you are matched against Lord Krell of the Iron Dominion."

A murmur rippled through the assembly. Krell—one of the Prime Lords, master of metal and warfare, undefeated in three previous tournaments. The matchup was not just unfavorable; it was an execution sentence.

Lord Krell rose from the second circle, his body a shifting mass of liquid metal. Where a face should be, only a reflective surface that showed distorted versions of whoever looked upon it. "I accept this honor," he said, voice grating like steel on stone. "And look forward to purging an impurity from our midst."

Laughter scattered across the hall. Reed remained still, expression unchanged.

"Each Lord may now register their Hero and make final preparations," announced the right figure. "Be advised: once registered, no substitutions are permitted."

As Lords began to move toward registration tables at the edges of the hall, a massive figure blocked Reed’s path. Lord Vexus, the fleshcrafter, whose experiments Reed had encountered during his journey to the Capital. The monstrous Lord towered over him, his body a grotesque patchwork of limbs and faces, all partially merged and eternally suffering.

"No Hero to register, Hollow?" Vexus’s voice emerged from three different mouths simultaneously. "Perhaps I could fashion one for you. I have so many... spare parts."

Reed looked up at him calmly. "Touch any of my people, Vexus, and even the Archons won’t recognize what’s left of you."

"Such threats," Vexus laughed, the sound bubbling from throats scattered across his torso. "But tomorrow, Krell will break you, and I’ll claim the pieces. Your... unique composition will make for fascinating study."

Several other Lords had gathered around them, forming a predatory circle. Reed recognized Lady Ignita and Lord Petra among them, plus others he knew only by reputation—each powerful, each viewing him as an aberration to be eliminated.

"Is this how the Lords Assembly conducts itself?" Reed asked, his voice carrying across the hall. "Threats and intimidation before the tournament even begins? I had expected more... dignity."

A titter of surprise ran through the onlookers. Challenging the decorum of the assembly was unexpected—it shifted the dynamic from mockery of an outsider to a question of honor among peers.

Lord Petra stepped forward, stone grating against stone. "You speak of dignity when your very existence defies the natural order? Four elements in one vessel—you are an abomination!"

"Am I?" Reed’s voice remained level as he rose to his feet. "Or am I proof that your ’natural order’ is merely a convenient fiction? The elements are not meant to be separated. They are aspects of a single reality, artificially divided to maintain your power."

Silence fell across the assembly as Reed’s words registered. He had voiced heresy against the foundational beliefs of their society.

"Enough!" thundered a new voice. From the highest circle descended a woman of impossible beauty, her form constantly shifting between all nine elements in perfect harmony. Lady Seraphina of the Archon’s Grace, rumored to be the closest thing to an Archon that still walked among mortals.

"This quarrel dishonors the Assembly," she said, her voice resonant with power. "Save your conflicts for the arena, where they belong."

The Lords bowed their heads and retreated, though hatred still burned in their eyes. All except Vexus, who leaned close to Reed and whispered: "When Krell is finished with you, I will ensure parts of you live on... forever."

As the crowd dispersed, Shia moved to Reed’s side. "You handled that well," she murmured. "But Krell... he’s not just powerful. He’s ruthless."

Reed nodded. "I know."

They made their way to the registration tables, where a clerk looked up at them with thinly veiled contempt. "Hero’s name for registration?"

"I have no Hero," Reed stated flatly.

The clerk blinked. "Every Lord must field a Hero. It is tradition."

"Then record that I will serve as my own champion."

Gasps erupted from those nearby who overheard. A Lord fighting personally was unheard of—it betrayed either supreme arrogance or desperation.

The clerk stammered, "B-but that’s not—"

"Is there a rule against it?" Reed interrupted.

"N-no, but—"

"Then register it."

As they walked away, Shia grabbed Reed’s arm. "What are you doing? Krell’s Hero is Ironheart, a warrior who’s killed over three hundred opponents in single combat."

"I know," Reed repeated, his eyes fixed on something across the hall.

Standing alone, watching him with undisguised interest, was Lady Isolde of the Water Domain. Their eyes met, and she inclined her head slightly before turning away.

"We need to prepare," Reed said. "Tomorrow will be... interesting."

As they left the Assembly Hall, the whispers followed them—whispers of madness, of suicide, of a Lord of Hollow marching willingly to his destruction. But among those whispers, Reed heard something else: fear. Not of him losing, but of what might happen if he won.

Night fell over the Capital, the imprisoned souls that formed its foundations moaning softly in the darkness. In his assigned quarters, Reed stood at the window, looking out at the Spire of Nine piercing the night sky.

"Are you certain about this?" Shia asked, breaking the long silence between them.

Reed turned to her, and for the first time since arriving in the Capital, he smiled genuinely. "No, but certainty is a luxury we can’t afford."

A knock at the door silenced further conversation. Shia opened it cautiously to reveal a messenger in nondescript clothes.

"For Lord Reed," the messenger said, handing over a sealed scroll before vanishing into the night.

Reed broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. His expression darkened as he read its contents.

"What is it?" Shia asked, tension evident in her voice.

Reed handed her the scroll. On it was a detailed account of Lord Krell’s fighting style, weaknesses, and—most disturbingly—a warning: "He knows what you truly are."

"Who sent this?" Shia whispered, looking up with alarm.

Reed turned back to the window, his reflection fragmenting in the glass. "Someone who knows what I’m about to face." His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the four elements churning beneath his skin. "And someone who knows that tomorrow, in that arena, I’ll either destroy Lord Krell..."

His reflection seemed to shift, revealing something ancient and terrible beneath his human guise.

"...or I’ll destroy everything."