Lord of the Foresaken
Chapter 35: THE FINAL CHALLENGE

Chapter 35: THE FINAL CHALLENGE

The midnight hour had come and gone, and with it, Reed’s plan to free Shia had dissolved like mist before dawn. No opportunity had presented itself—the guards doubled, the wards strengthened, and the Archon’s presence a constant, hovering threat that permeated the Tournament grounds like poisonous fog.

Instead of fleeing, Reed found himself standing in the Tournament’s central arena once more, this time beneath a sky that seemed wrong. The normal blue had been replaced by a swirling maelstrom of purple and black, clouds spiraling around a central point directly above the arena. The very air tasted metallic, charged with arcane energies that made the fine hairs on Reed’s arms stand on end.

Around the vast circular platform, the remaining Lords stood with their Heroes—eleven pairs in total, the original thirty-two whittled down by elimination rounds, politics, and in two cases, mysterious deaths that Tournament officials refused to discuss. Reed’s gaze swept over his competition, cataloging threats and potential allies. Lord Vexus with his new creation, a flesh-golem even more grotesque than Bloodmist had been. Lady Seraphina and her light-woven Champion, a being of pure radiance that hurt to look upon directly. Lord Krell and his Mountain, a warrior whose armor seemed carved from the bones of some ancient titan. And at the far side, Lord Thorn, accompanied by a slender figure cloaked entirely in gray, face obscured by a deep hood.

And beside Reed stood Shia.

They had not freed her—they had delivered her instead, bringing her to him under heavy guard just moments before the challenge was to begin. Her transformation had progressed further. The void channels beneath her skin pulsed with rhythmic intensity, like a second heartbeat. Her eyes were entirely black now, with only the faintest pinpricks of violet light indicating pupils. When she moved, she left brief after-images in the air, shadows that lingered seconds too long.

"My lord," she whispered, her voice carrying that unsettling echo that had become familiar. "They did not expect us to reach this stage."

Reed nodded slightly. "We’ve disrupted someone’s plans. The question is, whose?"

Before she could answer, trumpets blared—a discordant, alien sound that silenced all conversation. The ground trembled as an Archon rose before them, its form more corporeal than the usual projections used in ceremonies. This close, Reed could see the being’s true nature—not flesh, not illusion, but something in between. A living concept given temporary substance.

"THE FINAL CHALLENGE BEGINS," the Archon’s voice resonated not through the air but directly within their minds, painful in its clarity. "THE GAUNTLET OF CONVERGENCE AWAITS. LORD AND HERO MUST BECOME AS ONE TO SURVIVE."

The arena floor shuddered violently. Sections began to rise, others to fall, creating a landscape of platforms, chasms, and twisted pathways. From below, strange mechanisms emerged—gears and pistons, magical conduits and arcane engines, all pulsing with energy. At the center, a massive crystalline structure rose, shaped like a perfect tetrahedron, its facets reflecting and refracting the distorted sky above.

"FOUR RELICS LIE HIDDEN WITHIN THE GAUNTLET," the Archon continued. "FOUR KEYS TO UNLOCK THE CENTRAL CHAMBER. THE FIRST LORD TO CLAIM THE HEART OF DOMINION CLAIMS VICTORY IN THE TOURNAMENT AND THE CROWN’S FAVOR."

Reed studied the rapidly transforming battlefield with a strategist’s eye. "They’re forcing cooperation," he murmured. "Lord and Hero together..."

"THE LAWS OF THE GAUNTLET ARE THESE," the Archon proclaimed. "NO LORD MAY TOUCH A RELIC—ONLY HEROES MAY RETRIEVE THEM. NO HERO MAY APPROACH THE CENTRAL CHAMBER—ONLY LORDS MAY ENTER. DEATH WITHIN THE GAUNTLET IS REAL. THERE WILL BE NO MAGICAL RESTORATION FOR THOSE WHO FALL."

A cold silence fell over the assembled competitors. Previous rounds had involved magical protections that prevented true death—injuries would be healed, lives restored once the challenge ended. This declaration changed everything. The Archon was offering them glory, power, and the Crown’s favor—but at the potential cost of their lives.

"You may forfeit now without dishonor," the Archon added, its mental voice almost gentle. "Step back from the edge, and you may live to compete another year."

Three Lords immediately withdrew, pulling their Heroes back from the arena’s edge. Reed noted their faces—minor nobles, those with the least to gain and most to lose. The pragmatic ones.

Eight pairs remained, including Reed and Shia.

"THE GAUNTLET BEGINS!" The Archon’s form dissolved into particles of light that scattered across the arena, and a shimmering barrier rose around its perimeter, sealing them in.

Chaos erupted immediately. Lords and Heroes scattered, some charging toward obvious pathways, others taking defensive positions to assess and plan. Lord Krell and his Mountain Hero barreled forward, crushing a mechanical guardian that rose to intercept them. Lady Seraphina and her light-being floated upward, seeking higher ground.

Reed grasped Shia’s arm, the touch sending a jolt of cold through his fingers. "The void energy within you—can you sense anything similar here?"

Her black eyes swept the arena. "Yes. Northeast quadrant. Something... familiar calls to me."

"Then that’s our first target." Reed’s voice hardened with determination. "We move swiftly, avoid direct confrontation when possible."

They navigated the twisted landscape with practiced efficiency. Where other Lords shouted commands to their Heroes, Reed and Shia communicated with glances and subtle gestures—a partnership forged in blood and suspicion and desperate circumstance. They encountered the first guardian at a narrow bridge spanning a chasm of swirling energy—a construct of bronze and crystal that unfolded from a seemingly innocuous pillar.

"Metal and magic," Reed assessed quickly. "No flesh to wound, no mind to fear."

Shia’s response was immediate and brutal. She sidestepped its first attack, her movements liquid and unnatural, then drove her hand directly into its central crystal core. Void energy surged from her fingertips, corrupting the magical matrix within. The guardian shuddered, its movements becoming erratic before it collapsed in on itself, imploding into a singularity that winked out of existence.

"The void hungers for all energy," she explained, a cold smile playing across her lips. "It consumes indiscriminately."

They pressed onward, navigating moving platforms and arcane traps with increasing confidence. Across the arena, Reed glimpsed other competitors facing varying degrees of success. Lord Vexus and his flesh-golem had already secured one relic—a pulsing orb that the golem had literally torn from a guardian’s chest cavity. Lord Krell and his Mountain were embroiled in direct combat with another Lord-Hero pair, their battle shaking the very foundations of the nearby platforms.

And Lord Thorn... Reed couldn’t spot him anywhere, which concerned him more than any visible threat.

They reached a chamber in the northeast quadrant—a hemispherical space whose walls were inscribed with familiar runes: nine interlocking circles, repeated in endless variations. At its center floated what appeared to be a dagger, its blade formed not of metal but of solidified shadow.

"The Umbral Key," Shia whispered, her voice filled with recognition. "One of the four relics."

"You know of it?" Reed asked, scanning for traps or guardians.

"The void knows it," she corrected. "It wants to reunite."

A grinding sound alerted them to danger—the chamber’s only entrance was beginning to seal, stone grating against stone.

"Take it," Reed ordered. "Quickly!"

Shia stepped toward the floating dagger, but hesitated. "My lord, there’s something you should know. Each relic changes its bearer. The Umbral Key will accelerate my transformation."

Reed met her gaze steadily. "Can you control it?"

"For now." The void-light in her eyes pulsed. "But after? I cannot say."

The entrance continued closing, now only a narrow gap.

"We have no choice," Reed decided. "Take it. Whatever comes, we face it together."

Shia nodded once, then reached for the dagger. The moment her fingers wrapped around its hilt, the chamber plunged into absolute darkness, so complete that Reed couldn’t see his hand before his face. A cold wind spiraled around them, carrying whispers in a language too ancient to comprehend.

Then, suddenly, light returned—emanating from Shia herself. The void channels beneath her skin now glowed with intense violet luminescence. The dagger had merged with her forearm, becoming part of her very flesh, its shadow-blade extending beyond her wrist.

"I see..." she gasped, her voice overlapping with something older and deeper. "I see the paths between worlds. I see the other relics."

Reed moved to her side, steadying her with a touch that sent cold fire up his arm. "Can you lead us to them?"

"Yes." Her head tilted, as if listening to distant sounds. "The nearest is already claimed by the light-wielder. The second lies in the western quadrant, guarded by abominations of flesh and spirit. The third..." She turned, pointing directly toward the central crystal structure. "The third is a trap. It lies within the central chamber itself."

Reed’s mind raced, calculating options. "Then we ignore the light-wielder for now and head west. We need two relics to open the central chamber."

They slipped through the narrowing entrance just before it sealed completely, emerging onto a platform that now overlooked much of the arena. Below, they could see Lord Krell standing over the broken form of a fallen Hero—not his own, but that of one of his opponents. The Mountain loomed beside him, massive hands stained with fresh blood.

"No magical restoration," Reed murmured grimly. "The Archon wasn’t exaggerating."

A flash of radiance above signaled Lady Seraphina’s position. Her light-being clutched a crystalline orb that pulsed in counterpoint to Shia’s new rhythm—the second relic.

"West," Shia reminded him, her senses already turned toward their next target.

They descended through a series of collapsing platforms, timing their jumps with precision that drew admiring gasps from the distant spectators. What appeared treacherous to others seemed almost trivial to them—Reed’s analytical mind mapping patterns in the chaos, Shia’s void-enhanced perceptions cutting through illusions and misdirections.

The western quadrant proved darker, its architecture more organic than mechanical. The platforms here resembled bones and sinew rather than stone and metal, pulsing with unnatural life.

"Lord Vexus’s domain," Reed realized. "The flesh-crafter has been busy."

"He modified the Gauntlet," Shia confirmed. "His affinity with flesh and blood allowed him to corrupt this section, make it his own."

A wet, tearing sound echoed from ahead—the unmistakable noise of flesh being rendered. They approached cautiously, keeping to shadows, until they could observe the chamber that held their target.

The sight turned even Reed’s hardened stomach. Lord Vexus stood at the center of a pulsating mass of flesh—human and otherwise—his hands buried elbow-deep in the chest cavity of what had once been his own Hero. The flesh-golem was being unmade, its components harvested and reshaped into something new—something that cradled a pulsing red gemstone in its forming chest.

"He sacrificed his own Hero," Reed whispered. "He’s incorporating the relic into a new creation."

Shia’s eyes narrowed. "He cheats the Archon’s law. No Hero may approach the central chamber—so he builds a new Hero around the relic itself."

Reed watched the grotesque process with analytical detachment. "Clever. Risky, but clever." He turned to Shia. "Can you extract the gemstone?"

"Yes. But we must be swift. His creation is nearly complete."

They formulated their plan in whispers, then separated—Reed circling to create a distraction while Shia prepared to strike from the shadows. Reed deliberately dislodged a piece of the bone-like platform, sending it clattering across the chamber floor.

Lord Vexus’s head snapped up, eyes wild with creative frenzy. "Who intrudes on my work? Show yourself!"

Reed stepped into view, unarmed and apparently vulnerable. "Impressive modification, Lord Vexus. The Tournament officials might question its legality, however."

Vexus barked a laugh, his hands still working within the pulsating mass of flesh. "Legality? In a death match? How quaint, Lord Reed. Your common birth shows in your naive adherence to rules."

"Perhaps," Reed conceded, taking another step forward. "Or perhaps I simply prefer my Heroes with fewer... seams."

Vexus sneered. "Your shadow-witch is impressive, I grant you. But she is merely gifted. My creation is perfection incarnate!" He pulled his hands free, dripping with ichor and unidentifiable fluids. "Behold!"

The flesh-mass convulsed, limbs sprouting and retracting in random patterns before settling into a vaguely humanoid shape. At its center, the red gemstone pulsed like a heart, sending waves of magical energy through the creature’s body.

"The Blood Prism," Vexus crowed. "The third relic, and soon to be the instrument of my victory!"

"Remarkable," Reed agreed, taking another careful step forward. "Truly the work of a master flesh-crafter. I particularly admire the integration of the crystalline matrix with the arterial system."

Vexus preened under the praise, momentarily distracted—exactly as planned.

Shia struck from behind, emerging from Vexus’s own shadow with impossible speed. Her shadow-blade plunged into the creature’s back, directly opposite the gemstone. Void energy coursed through the creature, disrupting the magical bonds holding it together. Before Vexus could react, Shia’s free hand plunged into the destabilized flesh and extracted the Blood Prism.

"NO!" Vexus screamed, his creation collapsing into quivering, disconnected tissue. He lunged at Shia, a scalpel of bone materializing in his hand.

Reed intercepted him, catching the noble’s wrist in a grip that spoke of street brawls and survival rather than formal combat training. "A lord attacking another’s Hero? Now who’s violating Tournament law?"

Shia retreated to Reed’s side, the Blood Prism clutched in her hand, already beginning to merge with her flesh like the shadow-dagger had done—this time into her opposite arm.

Vexus struggled in Reed’s grip, his face contorted with rage. "You think this changes anything? You’re still nothing! A gutter rat playing at nobility!"

Reed released him with a contemptuous shove. "And yet this gutter rat now holds two relics to your none."

The chamber shuddered around them—the flesh-architecture beginning to collapse without Vexus’s focus to maintain it. Reed and Shia retreated swiftly, leaving the flesh-crafter kneeling amid the ruins of his creation.

As they emerged onto a more stable platform, a horn sounded across the arena—deep and resonant, signaling a significant development. Reed looked up to see Lady Seraphina and her light-being approaching the central crystal structure, relic in hand.

"She only has one," Shia observed. "She cannot enter without a second."

"Unless she knows something we don’t," Reed countered. "We need to move quickly."

They raced toward the center, navigating the increasingly unstable landscape. The Gauntlet was breaking down, platforms crumbling and energy conduits rupturing as the challenge approached its climax. Across the arena, Lord Krell and his Mountain also converged on the central point, something metallic clutched in the giant’s massive fist—the fourth relic.

Four competitors, four relics, one prize.

They reached the base of the crystal structure simultaneously—Reed and Shia from the west, Seraphina and her light-being from the east, Krell and his Mountain from the south. For a moment, they regarded each other in tense silence, each assessing the threat the others posed.

"An interesting convergence," Lady Seraphina broke the silence, her voice unnaturally calm. "Four paths, four relics, three Lords. The Archon’s symmetry is... incomplete."

"Where is Lord Thorn?" Reed asked, suddenly aware of the missing competitor.

As if in answer, a slow handclap echoed from atop the crystal structure. All eyes turned upward to see Lord Thorn standing at its peak, his hooded Hero nowhere to be seen.

"Well done, survivors," he called down. "You’ve played your parts to perfection."

"What is the meaning of this?" Lord Krell demanded. "How did you reach the apex without relics?"

Thorn smiled, and even from a distance, Reed could see the violet light now openly pulsing beneath his skin. "Who said I didn’t have relics?" He raised his hands, pulling back his sleeves to reveal forearms embedded with familiar objects—a metallic sphere in one, a crystalline shard in the other.

"Impossible," Seraphina breathed. "Those are copies of our relics."

"No, my lady," Thorn corrected. "Those are the true relics. What you carry are mere reflections, shadows of power meant to lead you here at precisely this moment."

Reed’s mind raced, connecting fragments of conversation, hints dropped over days of competition. "The ninth circle," he realized aloud. "It was never empty because it was meant for you."

Thorn’s smile widened. "Very good, Lord Reed. You truly were the most promising of pawns." He thrust his relic-embedded arms toward the sky. "The Trial of Nine concludes! The Convergence is at hand!"

The crystal structure beneath him began to resonate, sending harmonics that matched the pulse of the void energy within Shia. She gasped, dropping to her knees as the relics embedded in her arms pulled toward the structure with magnetic force.

"My lord," she cried, her voice overlapping with others, "he means to use us—use the void within us—as the final key!"

The sky above tore open, the swirling maelstrom parting to reveal absolute darkness beyond—a void that stared back at all who looked upon it. From that darkness, something began to descend—a throne formed of ash and bone and shadow, trailing void-matter like a comet’s tail.

"The Throne of Ash," Thorn announced, his voice no longer entirely human. "Prophesied to return when the nine circles are complete. When the anomaly takes its rightful place!"

Reed looked from Thorn to Shia, seeing the same void energy consuming them both, and made his decision. He reached down and grasped Shia’s hands, relics and all, pulling her to her feet.

"If void is the key," he said grimly, "then let’s give him more than he bargained for."

Without hesitation, he pressed his forehead to hers, and willingly opened himself to the cold fire of the void that had been growing within her since the moment she consumed the vial. Pain like nothing he had ever experienced flooded through him—reality itself seeming to splinter around his consciousness.

"What are you doing?" Lord Krell shouted, backing away in horror.

"The only thing a gutter rat knows how to do," Reed answered through gritted teeth, void-light now coursing through his own veins. "Survive at any cost."

Lady Seraphina’s light-being surged forward, but too late. The transfer was complete. Reed and Shia now stood as twin conduits of void energy, their combined power creating a feedback loop that made the very air crackle with potential.

"IMPOSSIBLE!" Thorn screamed from above, his carefully orchestrated plan collapsing before his eyes. "The void cannot be shared! It consumes!"

"You’re right," Reed agreed, his eyes now swirling with the same darkness as Shia’s. "It does consume."

With newfound power coursing through him, Reed grasped Shia’s hand and together they leapt—not toward the crystal structure’s base, but impossibly upward, void energy propelling them directly toward Lord Thorn and his usurped position.

"It consumes," Reed continued as they ascended, "especially those who think they can control it!"

Thorn’s face contorted with fear and rage as they landed before him, the platform cracking beneath their feet. "You don’t understand what you’ve done! The prophecy requires a single vessel!"

Reed smiled coldly, the void speaking through him now. "Then perhaps the prophecy was incomplete."

As the Throne of Ash descended toward them, Reed and Shia moved as one, void-blades manifesting from their joined hands. Before Thorn could react, they struck—not at him, but at the relics embedded in his arms, severing them from his flesh with surgical precision.

Thorn’s scream echoed across dimensions as the relics fell free, their power suddenly unbound. The crystal structure beneath them shuddered, beginning to collapse.

Reed seized the relics from midair, their power recognizing the void within him, accepting his touch where they should have rejected it. With Shia at his side, he turned toward the descending throne.

"The anomaly will take the throne of ash," he recited, understanding flowing through him now. "But which anomaly, I wonder?"

The Tournament’s Final Challenge had become something else entirely—a battle for a power older than the kingdom itself. And as the Throne of Ash descended toward them, Reed realized that victory in the Tournament had never been the true prize at all.