Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 143: Event Horizon

The inside of the estate had changed from the last time I'd seen it. Most of the roof had collapsed as months of weathering wore away at the already weakened structure. A large room stretched before us: doubly larger due to crumbling walls and unsupported floors. What had once been a picture of decadence had fallen into the deepest sort of decay. That of being forgotten.

But my attention was immediately drawn to something at the center of the room. A massive heart-shaped ruby-red crystal vibrated audibly, the noxious aura emanating from it scraping against my skin. Green energy roiled within, a streaking red seeming to tie it back into the crystalline form. The sheer amount of compressed mana in that thing made it hard to think, the pressure scrambling my thoughts and causing my reason to run dry. Two black spikes, each as long as my forearm, thrust into the heart like nails driven into wood.

How many people? I thought, struggling to speak. How many others lost their fathers to this drug to make whatever this horrid heart is?

I watched mutely as a stream of blithe mist descended from the hole in the ceiling, no doubt having come from some poor fool who'd been converted to a mana battery. I watched in disgust as the mist wrapped itself around the red crystal, being absorbed at a rapid pace.

Sevren stepped forward, the beastward covertly held in his palm. A mask of grim determination spread across his face.

"I've waited for far too long," a voice like oozing slime said from above, "far too long to see my purpose fulfilled."

My limbs locked up, the contained pressure radiating from the crystal battery suddenly overwhelmed by a power beyond my ken. My breath left my body as an aura in the air stole it from me greedily. My knees shook, my mana stalling as I looked up, my wide eyes drinking in the horrible sight before me.

Mardeth, the Vicar of Plague, hovered near the ceiling, his long, gangly legs crossed nonchalantly and a misshapen finger tapping against the side of his skull. I'd never seen the man before this, but I knew it was him. His mottled skin was riddled with blithe stains, and a milky white eye, though clearly blind, seemed to strip me bare. It seemed set too far forward in his skull, like it wished to crawl its way out to get even closer to me. An aura of quiet menace radiated from the vicar, making everyone present quake.

Yet that aura was only compounded by the long, protruding horn that jutted from his forehead. It looked mismatched for his body: it was smooth and elegant, bearing striations of deep red across its onyx surface that seemed to dance with the shadows. It had the same air of regality as a dark iron crown, though the king who wore it seemed paltry in comparison. Through the haze of my terror, I was able to recognize what I was looking at. Around the base of the horn, ugly black stitches and bloody cuts belied the truth.

That horn had been grafted on. Transplanted from somewhere.

"Do you know what makes power, Rats?" Mardeth asked the silent room. I dared not breathe, some primal part of me hoping that if I didn't move, he wouldn't see me. "It is pain. The pain of struggle."

His good eye burrowed into me for a moment, and I heard myself whimper slightly as his aura pressed down on me. All of us coming on this mission were aware Mardeth could be here. We hadn't said anything, fearing to make our terrors a reality. If we didn't think about the guardian of our final destination, then he wouldn't haunt our steps.

But we couldn't ignore it any longer. He was here.

"I plateaued in power long ago," Mardeth said with a snort, content to hover in the air and twiddle his fingers. "I wanted to become Scythe Melzri's Retainer to help me push past my limits. Then I'd kill her, too, taking her position as Scythe. One day, I would take Varadoth's head for myself as well."