How to Fake a Kingdom

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Fortress of Broken Crowns

The Hollow King's fortress loomed like the corpse of a god.

It rose from the cracked earth, all jagged spires and coiled chains, its obsidian walls etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly in the ashen twilight. At its base, the colossal bone gates stood sealed—guarded by shadow-forged sentinels that barely resembled anything mortal.

Above, skeletal airships circled like vultures. Rivers of molten silver coiled between fractured towers. The sky churned with green lightning, casting eerie reflections across the broken landscape.

Elliott Fen tightened his grip on the relic as the others gathered at the ridgeline.

This was it.

The end of the journey—the place where everything unraveled… or everything was set right.

The Last Plan

Dorian's expression was carved from stone as he surveyed the fortress.

"No way through those gates without a fight," he muttered.

"Fighting's inevitable," Seraphine added, adjusting her daggers. "But a distraction helps."

Marlow's eyes burned with quiet resolve. "I'll handle the left flank. Hit them fast, hit them hard."

Elric fumbled with a battered scroll, anxiety radiating from him. "I—I've got enchantments ready. Mostly stable. Probably."

Indigo Voss, lounging against a boulder, flashed her teeth in a grin. "The fun kind of unstable, I hope."

Elliott's gaze never left the fortress. The relic pulsed steadily, its golden light faint but insistent.

"This ends now," he said. "We get inside. We stop the Hollow King. And we finish this."

No one argued.

There was no point.

The Assault

The moment they moved, the shadows noticed.

The sentinels at the gates roared—inhuman, bone-shaking bellows that rattled the cracked earth. Their skeletal frames creaked as they hefted weapons forged from void and iron.

Elliott raised the relic.

A golden shockwave burst outward, momentarily staggering the sentinels.

Seraphine darted forward, blades flashing, carving into exposed joints.

Dorian charged, shield raised, meeting the enemy's swing head-on with raw, brute strength.

Marlow hurled arcs of kinetic force, shattering bone and shadow alike.

Elric muttered frantic incantations, his magic flaring in unpredictable bursts of flame and lightning.

And Indigo… well, Indigo casually lobbed an enchanted explosive over the ridge.

The resulting boom cracked one of the sentinels' skulls clean in half.

The Gates Fall

The battle was brutal, but brief.

The sentinels collapsed in heaps of smoking bone and fractured metal. The ground trembled as their corpses settled.

Elliott stepped forward, the relic glowing brightly now.

The massive bone gates shuddered under its power, runes unraveling like threads of old magic. With a resounding groan, the gates buckled inward, revealing the fortress interior.

Dark corridors stretched ahead—walls lined with twisted statues, glowing veins of molten silver snaking across the floor.

A gust of stale, icy air met them, carrying the faintest echo of laughter.

The Hollow King was waiting.

Inside the Maw

The fortress felt alive.

Shadows coiled in the corners, whispering. Ancient stone shifted beneath their feet. The deeper they ventured, the more time seemed to… stretch. Minutes bled into hours. Corridors looped impossibly. Doors vanished and reappeared at will.

"This place isn't obeying physics," Elric muttered, eyes wide with panic.

"Neither is Indigo's cooking," Seraphine quipped. "Focus."

Elliott's grip on the relic tightened.

The fortress wanted to disorient them. Break them.

But they pressed on.

Through endless halls of bone and obsidian.

Past altars stained with forgotten blood.

Into the heart of the Hollow King's lair.

The Throne of Shadows

At last, they reached it—a vast chamber carved from black stone and silver veins.

The ceiling stretched into nothingness, vanishing into a starless void. Broken crowns littered the floor—relics of fallen kings, shattered hopes, lost empires.

And upon a jagged throne of fused bone and metal… sat the Hollow King.

His mask cracked further along the edges, his form flickering between man and shadow. The remnants of forgotten power pulsed around him—familiar, terrifying.

He rose as they entered, voice echoing across the vast chamber.

"Welcome, Bearer. You've come so far… only to kneel."

The Choice

Elliott stepped forward, the relic blazing in his hands.

"I'm not kneeling," he said evenly.

The Hollow King's empty eyes flickered with amusement. "You misunderstand. You don't kneel for me. You kneel for the truth."

A vision exploded in Elliott's mind—cities crumbling, oceans boiling, the world drowning in unending night.

"You've seen it," the Hollow King continued. "The inevitable collapse. The relic rewrites… or the world burns."

Dorian's blade scraped free. "Lies."

"Prophecy," the Hollow King corrected.

Elliott's pulse raced. The relic pulsed hotter in his grasp, caught between destruction and salvation.

This was it.

His choice.

End of Chapter Twenty-Seven