Legacy of Death

Arthur plummeted.

Darkness swallowed him whole, a spiraling abyss with no end, no direction—just falling.

His breath tore from his lungs as the weightless void yanked him downward. His limbs flailed, reaching for something—anything—to stop his descent, but there was nothing to hold onto.

Then, the whispers returned.

"Falling… falling… falling…"

Their voices coiled around him, slithering into his mind like writhing serpents. They weren't just words; they carried meaning, knowledge that scraped against the walls of his thoughts like nails on glass.

Arthur clenched his teeth. "Shut up!"

But the voices did not stop.

"You are not meant to resist, Master."

The weight of unseen hands brushed against his skin. Not solid. Not flesh. Just presence. He felt them reaching into him, clawing at something buried deep in his soul.

Arthur thrashed.

"I said SHUT UP!"

The abyss trembled.

A crackle of energy surged through him, a deep, raw power that pulsed beneath his skin like something alive. The darkness recoiled, the voices shrieking in distorted agony as a surge of unseen force exploded outward from his body.

And then—

Impact.

Arthur slammed onto something solid, the force rattling his bones. He gasped, pain flaring through every inch of his body. His vision swam, the world a blur of shifting shadows and sickly, pulsing light.

His hands pressed against cold, uneven stone. A floor. Something real.

Arthur groaned, pushing himself onto his knees. His body ached as if he had fallen for centuries.

He forced his breath to steady, his mind to focus.

Where was he?

The air was thick, suffocating, carrying a scent that sent an instinctual shudder through his spine—old blood and something rotting.

The world around him was… wrong.

Towering pillars, cracked and covered in veins of blackened light, stretched into an unseen ceiling. The walls bore carvings—twisting, shifting symbols that hurt to look at. At the center of it all, an altar stood, ancient and weathered, its surface marred with deep, claw-like gouges.

Arthur swallowed hard.

The eye—the thing that had been watching him—was gone. But its presence lingered, like a phantom breathing down his neck.

And then—

A laugh.

Low. Amused.

It slithered through the vast chamber, echoing off the ancient stone. Arthur's fingers curled into fists as he forced himself to stand. His legs protested, but he ignored them.

"Well, well."

The voice dripped with something old, something that had seen far too much of the world and had grown bored of it.

Arthur turned toward the source.

And froze.

A figure sat lazily atop the altar, one leg crossed over the other, arms resting on his knee as if he had been waiting for Arthur to arrive. His features were sharp, unnaturally flawless, but his eyes—

Arthur's blood ran cold.

They were nothing but void. Endless, swirling pits of darkness, deeper than the abyss Arthur had fallen through.

The man smiled.

"Took you long enough, little heir."

Arthur's breath stilled.

He had seen this man before.

Not in memories. Not in dreams.

But in the deepest, most hidden part of his soul.

A name surfaced.

A name he shouldn't have known.

Yet, the moment it formed in his thoughts, the man's smile widened.

"Ah… so you do remember me."

Arthur's pulse thundered in his ears.

Because he did.

He knew exactly who this was.

And that meant—

Arthur wasn't supposed to leave this place alive.