Eight Intertwined II

239 - Sage

Cyrus opened his eyes slowly as the Gate of Finis pulled him through. He wasn't entirely certain of what had happened when he passed through the portal, but he knew he had lost track of the rest of the travelers. He had felt something pulling on him when he entered Galdera's domain, and Cyrus knew even with closed eyes that his friends were being yanked in different directions. Aelfric and the rest of the gods had said the Gate of Finis would tear apart anyone who was not prepared to enter it, and Cyrus could only assume this was the imitation of that ripping so long as they were immune thanks to Aelfric's blessing. 

When Cyrus found himself grounded again, he was in front of a small stone altar with a blue flame dancing atop it. He glanced around with a muted frown, finding himself lost in a massive void of crimson and black. The small staircase behind him descended into pure darkness, and even when Cyrus summoned a light spell, he was unable to chase the shadows away. He could have pushed through it, or at least tried, but he doubted it would do him any good. If anything, that would only pull him away from the rest of the travelers more, and Cyrus didn't trust any darkness in the Gate of Finis to not try and smother him. 

Cyrus turned once again to the altar with the blue flame, his eyes narrowing. Something about it felt like it was calling to him. Two voices were layered on top of one another, crying out for his attention, and Cyrus knew already that he couldn't ignore it. He reached his fingers toward the fire, but when he touched it, the flames did not burn at his skin. Instead, he felt his world begin to tilt and twist once again. He knew this feeling very well. He had come to understand it perfectly since he first set out on his journey. It reminded him of what it was like to be taken to the battlefield of the gods in their shrines, and even though this situation was very different, Cyrus knew it was similar. 

Sure enough, when he next opened his eyes, he was standing in the middle of a vast stony battlefield. He looked around slowly, trying to catch even a fleeting glimpse of the people who were vying for his attention. A moment later, Cyrus saw two hulking shadows made of black ooze. Both of them were massive and monstrous, and he squinted to pick out the details. Those silhouettes looked almost familiar...

When Cyrus realized, he felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. 

Yvon and Lucia.

Both of them were in their hulking monster forms. Yvon was lumbering forward with his grotesque, bulging muscles and veins that looked to pop right out of the poor imitation of skin pulled taut across his body. Lucia's neck was drooped low, bones sticking out of her spine as her hair billowed around her long, lanky arms. The beasts of the blood crystals--both perfect and flawed--stared at Cyrus with bright red eyes that seemed to want to pierce his soul. Their resentment could be felt even from the empty husks of their bodies. 

After all, Cyrus knew these could not be the headmaster and his assistant. Something about their eyes was mindless, and all they could do was glare at Cyrus and wait for him to approach them first. Their hatred was the only thing sustaining their bodies anymore, and the resentment made the air feel thick and heavy in a way that was almost suffocating. 

Though if Cyrus was being honest with himself, he knew it was more than Yvon and Lucia's hatred toward him that made the air feel sickening. He felt nauseous at the sight of them both, all of the pain and trauma he had been trying to shove aside rushing into his head in an instant. These two weren't just Cyrus' headmaster and assistant at the Royal Academy... They were the ones who had tried to kill him. Lucia had stabbed him and left him and Therion for dead. Yvon had kidnapped a child and tried to drain her blood for standing against him. They were the two who had ruined so many lives in the name of their twisted research. The dead of Quarrycrest were on their hands, and they hadn't cared in the slightest for the agony they left behind.