The building was ancient and terrible, carved from black stone that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. It was built like a great square well, sinking deep into the earth, with the red light pouring out of it like blood from a wound.
Morgana leaped from Swefarna’s back and ran toward the structure, her heart pounding with fear and desperation. From somewhere deep below, she could hear screaming - Jaenor’s voice, filled with agony and terror.
She found stone steps leading down into the chamber and took them three at a time, her hands already glowing with silver fire as she prepared for battle.
But even as she descended, the screaming below began to change. It became higher, more intense, as if the pain was beyond anything a human mind could endure. And then, suddenly, it stopped.
The silence was somehow worse than the screaming had been.
The Lordess Apostle
Morgana reached the bottom of the steps and burst into the ritual chamber, ready to fight whatever enemies awaited her. But what she saw made her blood turn to ice in her veins.
Jaenor was still chained to the platform in the center of the chamber, but he was no longer moving. His body had turned a sickly purple color, and his chest was not rising and falling with breath. He looked... empty, as if something vital had been drained from him completely.
But that was not the most terrifying sight in the chamber.
Standing in the center of the glowing platform, where the carved image had been, was a woman. She was tall - nearly six feet - with skin as white as fresh snow and hair like liquid silver that flowed down her back. Her body was curved and shapely, with a thin waist that emphasized her large hips and full bosom that moved with each breath she took.
She wore only a thin robe that barely covered her form, and from her forehead grew two curved horns like those of a great ram. But it was her eyes that were the most disturbing feature - they were red as fresh blood, with pupils that were narrow slits like those of a serpent.
The woman was looking upward, her arms spread wide as if embracing the sky. Around her, the circle of dark figures had fallen to their knees and were chanting in voices filled with worship and fear.
"All hail the Lordess Apostle!" they called out in unison. "All hail the awakened one!"
Morgana felt her heart nearly stop as she heard those words. The Lordess Apostle - it had been centuries since that name had been spoken by human lips. She was one of the Seven Demon Apostles, beings of such power and evil that entire kingdoms had fallen before them in ages past.
The woman finished her transformation and lowered her gaze to look around the chamber. Her red serpent eyes swept over the kneeling figures with satisfaction, and she smiled with teeth that were just slightly too sharp to be human.
"My faithful servants," she said, her voice like honey mixed with poison. "You have done well. The ritual is complete, and I am reborn into this world."
It was then that she noticed Morgana standing at the edge of the chamber, staring in horror at Jaenor’s still form.
"And what have we here?" the Lordess Apostle said, tilting her head like a cat studying a mouse. "Another little witch come to play hero?"
Morgana tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. She forced herself to look at Jaenor again, and what she saw confirmed her worst fears. His chest was not moving. His eyes were closed. His skin had the color of death.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no..."
The Lordess Apostle followed her gaze and laughed, a sound like silver bells mixed with screaming. "Oh, you mean the boy? Yes, he was quite delicious. All that pure Origin power, flowing right into me. I haven’t tasted anything so sweet in centuries."
Rage exploded in Morgana’s chest like wildfire. She raised her hands, silver flames blazing around them, and started forward toward the platform.
"You monster!" she snarled. "Give him back!"
But the Lordess Apostle merely flicked one finger in Morgana’s direction, almost casually. The gesture sent a wave of force that hit Morgana like a charging bull, lifting her off her feet and hurling her backward out of the chamber.
She crashed into the stone steps with bone-jarring force and rolled to a stop at the top of the stairs, gasping for breath and tasting blood in her mouth.
When she tried to get back to her feet and return to the chamber, she found her way blocked by a wall of solid stone. The entire structure was collapsing in on itself, the walls folding inward like a flower closing its petals.
"No!" Morgana screamed, throwing herself against the stone barrier and pounding on it with her fists. "Let me in! Let me get to him!"
But it was too late. The ritual chamber sealed itself completely, sinking down into the earth as if it had never existed. Where the great stone structure had been, there was now only a smooth patch of ground covered with dead grass.
Morgana fell to her knees in the clearing, staring at the spot where Jaenor had been. The boy she had sworn to protect, the last male heir of the Arkwright line, was gone. And in his place, one of the most dangerous beings in existence had been set free upon the world.
She had failed. And the consequences of that failure would be felt far beyond this dark forest.
Behind her, Swefarna landed softly and folded her great wings. The dragon’s storm-gray eyes were filled with sorrow as she looked at her rider’s broken form.
"I’m sorry, old friend," the dragon said quietly. "We were too late."
Morgana didn’t answer. She could only kneel there in the dirt, surrounded by the twisted trees of Shademore Gorge, and try to comprehend the magnitude of what had just happened.
The Lordess Apostle was free. And Jaenor was dead.