A World of Hollow Thrones

Warmth.

That was the first thing Ethan felt as his consciousness returned.

Not the suffocating heat of fire, nor the searing pain of a rusted blade carving through his flesh.

But a mocking warmth. A lie.

The golden light of the Site of Grace flickered before him, unwavering, its glow casting long shadows against the blackened stone. He sat there, his breathing ragged, his chest rising and falling in silent tremors. His fingers curled into fists against the dirt, trembling as he struggled to process it.

Again.

Another death. Another reset.

His mind was unraveling. The sharp, visceral terror of dying, of feeling the cold metal pierce his back, the blood flooding his throat, the sheer powerlessness of it all—it refused to fade.

The wounds were gone. His body was whole. But the memories remained.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips.

"How many times do I have to fucking die before I get it right?"

His voice cracked. It didn't even sound like his own anymore.

The first time, it had been horror.

The second time, frustration.

Now? Exhaustion.

His heart pounded, but not from fear. It was something colder, more insidious. A gnawing weight in the back of his mind, whispering that this was pointless. That he would never get out. That the city would keep crushing him over and over until there was nothing left.

He dug his nails into his palm.

No.

He refused to let this place win.

Even if his mind rotted away, even if his sanity crumbled, as long as he could reset, he would find a way.

No matter how many times he had to die.

THE CITY OF ASH – THIRD ATTEMPT

The suffocating crimson haze of the city welcomed him back as he stepped beyond the Site of Grace. The air was still thick with the stench of rot and blood, the very air coarse with ash. The same ruins. The same twisted alleys. The same horrors waiting in the dark.

But this time, he wasn't going to play by their rules.

His failures had taught him something valuable.

This world had rules.

Rules that he had to exploit.

The Ashen Remnants were still feasting in the distance, their grotesque forms huddled over the lifeless corpse of that woman. But Ethan didn't even glance their way.

His attention was elsewhere.

He had memorized this path already. He knew where he had failed before. He knew that trying to sneak past them hadn't worked.

This time, he had a different plan.

His body tensed as he darted forward, avoiding the alley entirely. Instead, he climbed the half-collapsed structure again—but this time, instead of rushing across it, he stopped and took a deep breath.

A plan was forming in his mind.

What if… instead of avoiding the Remnants, he could make them fight something else?

A NEW ENEMY

Ethan scanned his surroundings. The ruins stretched ahead, a shattered, labyrinthine cityscape, but what caught his eye was something far beyond the alley of Remnants.

A ruined cathedral.

Its structure was barely standing, its walls crumbling, its massive stone arches twisted and broken. But something else lingered inside.

A presence.

Even from a distance, he could feel it.

The air was heavier here, charged with something unnatural. The shadows at the cathedral's entrance were too deep, too wrong, shifting subtly as if something inside was breathing.

A system notification flickered.

[UNKNOWN ENTITY DETECTED]

[THREAT LEVEL: HIGH]

Ethan's mouth went dry.

"Something else is here."

And that meant—

He could use it.

The Remnants reacted to movement. They were programmed hunters, drawn to sound, scent, the mere presence of something alive.

If he could lure them into the cathedral…

They'd be forced to fight whatever was inside.

And in the chaos, he could escape.

His grip tightened around the half-burnt plank he had scavenged before. His heart was pounding again, but this time, not from fear.

From determination.

He was done playing prey.

It was time to turn this cursed city's horrors against each other.

THE BAIT

Ethan moved swiftly, descending the ruined structure with practiced precision. He stayed low, creeping along the outskirts of the alley where the Remnants were gathered.

He took a deep breath.

Then, with all the strength he could muster, he hurled the burning plank towards the feasting Remnants.

The embers exploded as the wood clattered against the stone. Sparks flickered in the air. The fire illuminated the alley, its sudden glow casting long, flickering shadows.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

The Remnants snapped their heads toward the noise.

A horrific silence fell over them.

Their empty sockets locked onto the burning wood. Then, slowly, they turned toward where the fire had come from.

Towards the cathedral.

Ethan could barely breathe as the first Remnant lurched forward, then another. They moved in unison, their grotesque, skeletal forms slithering across the ash-coated street.

Then, from the cathedral—

A response.

A deep, inhuman growl.

Something inside the ruined church had noticed them.

A sudden gust of wind howled through the street, carrying with it the scent of something ancient and wrong. The air crackled with tension, the shadows at the cathedral's entrance twisting violently.

And then—

A hand emerged from the darkness.

No. Not a hand. A claw.

Long, jagged fingers, too many joints, too many bones, covered in ashen-black tendrils that pulsed like they were alive.

A second growl, deeper this time.

The Remnants stopped. For the first time since Ethan had seen them, they hesitated.

But it was too late.

A massive shape surged from the cathedral's shadows, its horrific form dragging itself into the red-tinged light. Ethan barely caught a glimpse before he instinctively backed away.

The beast was unlike anything he had encountered before.

Its face—if it even had one—was obscured beneath layers of dark, writhing flesh, its body twisted with too many limbs, its torso covered in countless, blinking eyes that glowed with an eerie, golden light. Its form flickered, like it wasn't fully real, shifting between shapes as if struggling to maintain a solid existence.

And then—

The Remnants attacked.

The grotesque, soulless creatures lunged at the beast, their rusted blades flashing. A shriek—one filled with pure, monstrous rage—ripped through the air.

The beast reacted instantly.

One of its tendril-like arms lashed out, grabbing a Remnant by its skull, lifting it effortlessly into the air. The creature twisted violently—and the Remnant's body exploded into a cloud of black ichor and bone.

The others rushed forward.

The battle had begun.

Ethan didn't wait to watch.

He ran.

This was his chance.

And he wasn't going to waste it.