Nightblade (Darkest night)

"Master..." Kazarax’s voice rasped suddenly, breaking through Morgan’s spiraling thoughts.

​

​"You feel it too, don’t you?" Morgan asked silently, his boots grinding against the ancient slate.

​"...It is... vast..." Kazarax murmured.

"​...It still slumbers, and yet its intent bleeds through the bedrock... Sarenus observed quietly.

Through the darkness, the dust disturbed by Morgan’s abrupt arrival settled around them in silent, rhythmic waves, disturbed only by the quiet crunch of Morgan’s boots against ancient slate as he took his first steps forward.

Every step forward felt as though he were wading through thick, pressurized water.

The sheer weight of the atmosphere down in the pitch black abyss was suffocating and filled with the oppressive gloom of countless millenia.

With every breath he took, Morgan tasted cold sulfur and ancient iron.

Around him, the colossal, inhuman architecture stretched upward into the lightless void above.

Gargantuan archways, stripped of whatever decoration they had once borne, loomed above them like the ribcage of a forgotten god.

Columns thick enough to hold up whole cities stood cracked and tilted, their surfaces marred by impossibly deep, jagged gouges.

THUMP!

The ground beneath Morgan shuddered with a slow, rhythmic pulse that made his teeth ache.

"If only Lucian were here," he murmured, continuing forward, with a wistful smile.

Dust streamed down from the looming friezes above.

Within him, Morgan felt the golden sun hum with barely restrained power.

The Void expanded in lockstep, sending tendrils of black shadow creeping down his arms, shielding him from the raw, unadulterated oppressive aura within the cavern.

Without Azrael’s power, falling into this place would be akin to suicide.

"Did Valerius even know about this..."

The Zeregran Ranges had become a nightmare even for the young Lord of Moreus

Morgan kept walking. His body felt incredibly lighter and sharper, transformed by the fire of the acirnt memories forcing their way through the needle of his consciousness.

Even as he moved through the darkness, each movement markedly had an effortless grace, even as his instincts screamed at him to turn back.

Before, fear would have driven him to desperation.

But he was no longer the same, not anymore.

He had seen civilizations turn to dust, he had seen empires burn down to forgotten ashes, he had felt the lightless, infinite exhaustion of a man who had lived ten thousand lives.

Facing the titan beneath the mountain felt less like an impossibility and more like an inevitability at this point.

"You carry the light that builds civilizations, and the darkness that swallows them whole."

Azrael’s cryptic words echoed in his thoughts, heavy and unsettling.

"Damn lunatic..."

Oddly, it reminded him of the underground city andd its lost temple and the poetic riddle engraved into its walls.

A source.

But now instead, he was racking his brain over the words of a phantom.

" Is this the darkness he spoke of... or am I?

Morgan reached the edge of the paved slate plain.

Ahead, the floor abruptly gave way to a vast, sunken amphitheater of jagged basalt and shattered rock, spanning miles into the dark.

At first, Morgan thought he was staring at a massive subterranean mountain range, a jagged, sprawling ridge of black stone that curved through the center of the deep abyss, walling off the dark horizon.

The ridge was encrusted with thick plates of ancient, glassy obsidian, scarred by time and covered in deep, glowing fissures that bled a faint, molten orange light into the dark.

Then—the mountain range shifted and groaned.

It was a low, resonant melodic sound that echoed through the canyon.

The temperature of the air plummeted rapidly , then spiked violently as a wave of dry heat washed over Morgan’s face.

A moment later, the dark ridge shifted.

A section of what Morgan had assumed was petrified, layered slate began to glide over itself.

The sound of massive stone plates grinding together rattled his spine. Thousands of tons of obsidian scales overlapped, sliding smoothly with a terrifying, rhythmic precision.

Morgan’s breath hitched in his throat. His boots remained anchored to the edge of the stone precipice, but his hands clenched into tight fists as his mind slowly came to terms with what his eyes.

"Shit..."

The creature’s length disappeared into the absolute blackness to the left and right, so vast that his newly enhanced senses couldn’t even map its complete coil.

"So this it..."

This was the serpent beneath the mountain.

The Forgotten God.

The entity that had drowned ancient Elaris in shadow and blood before being dragged down once more into the dark by Azrael.

"Nythrakar."

Slowly, impossibly high above the cratered floor of the abyss, a massive section of the obsidian wall began to part.

A eyelid made of overlapping black slate slid upward.

Behind it, a single, colossal eye opened.

It was an orb of pure, incandescent gold, intersected by a slitted pupil of light smothering darkness.

Cracks of molten orange light spiderwebbed out from the iris, illuminating the immense, dark scales surrounding its massive skull.

It’s gaze slowly shifted, then fell upon the ledge.

Morgan felt his strength slowly leaving body, his face paling slightly even as he met the titan’s gaze.

The sheer weight of that single, focused gaze hit him like a physical blow.

The air in his lungs was forcefully expelled, his knees trembling under a sudden, staggering pressure that made the stone floor beneath his boots crack.

Gritting his teeth, he fought the abrupt impulse to scream, to run, to leave the accursed mountain behind.

The golden sun inside his chest flared violently, casting a blinding aura of golden light around him. The Void responded instantly, weaving a mantle of dark shadows around his shoulders to absorb the suffocating intent.

The titan stared down at the small, glowing figure standing on the edge of the stone precipice.

And Morgan stared right back.

A cold, dry drop of sweat traced its way down his temple, but his gaze did not waver, standing his ground out of sheer stubbornness.

He could feel the terror in his heart, sharp and cold, but beneath it lay an uncanny, absurd sense of clarity.

"Well," Morgan whispered, his voice raspy against the oppressive silence.

"I suppose asking for directions back to the surface is out of the question."

"...My Lord... Kazarax’s guttural voice rumbled within his mind, laced with an unprecedented, rigid tension.

" ...Do not provoke it..."

The colossal serpent did not move to strike.

Its slitted eye remained fixed on Morgan, pupils dilating slightly as the golden radiance from Morgan’s core reflected off its ancient, obsidian scales.

The air around them vibrated with a power hum, crackling silently with barely restrained power.

Morgan took a single, deliberate step forward, stopping at the absolute edge of the drop. He looked up, meeting the titan’s terrifying, lake-sized gaze without flinching.

"Nythrakar."

[If you’ve been following Nightblade for a while, thank you for still being here.

I know the release schedule hasn’t been as consistent as it should have been over the past few months.

I’m trying to change that.

We’re entering a major part of Morgan and Emily’s story now, and I’m committing to bringing Nightblade back properly.

If you’re still reading, let me know what you think Morgan is becoming.

And if you’ve been waiting for the story to return...

The Darkest Night is back.]