Chapter 117: The King
Arthur and Aziel reached the same terrifying conclusion with the speed that came from bitter experience. This was their second encounter with such overwhelming malevolent presence, and the familiar crushing weight of an abomination’s aura left no room for doubt in their minds. The memory of their previous encounter—the desperate flight into the city, the termites’ inexplicable retreat—suddenly made perfect sense in the context of what they now faced.
For Kay and Lara, however, the realization came more slowly. Neither had ever encountered an abomination before, had never felt the soul-crushing pressure that emanated from such creatures like a physical force. But there was no mistaking that kind of raw, primal power once you experienced it. The terror that clawed at their minds, the way their very bones seemed to ache with dread—these were not reactions their bodies could fake or misinterpret.
Kay’s mouth trembled uncontrollably as the group finally managed to focus their vision on the chamber that lay before them, forcing themselves to look past the overwhelming fear that threatened to paralyze them completely. His voice came out as barely more than a whisper, broken and stuttering with terror.
"A-an A-abomination."
The throne room that spread out before their terrified and shaking forms was indeed grand, though it carried the same air of faded majesty that pervaded the rest of the castle. A rich red carpet, its color dimmed by age and dust but still recognizable as once having been magnificent, stretched in a straight line from where they stood to the massive stone throne that dominated the far end of the chamber.
The throne itself was a masterwork of ancient craftsmanship, carved from what appeared to be a single block of dark granite and adorned with intricate reliefs depicting scenes of royal power and divine authority. The high back of the throne was crowned with carved symbols of rulership—crossed swords, a crown, and other regalia that spoke of absolute power over a once-great kingdom.
The rest of the throne room was largely empty, its vast floor space uncluttered by furniture or decorative elements, creating an impressive sense of scale and grandeur. The walls, however, were richly decorated with tapestries and murals that had somehow survived the centuries, their colors faded but still telling the story of a realm that had once been prosperous and powerful.
And upon that ancient throne sat the source of their terror—a figure that had once been a king but was now something far more terrible. The creature wore robes that had clearly once been magnificent examples of royal finery, constructed from the finest silks and decorated with gold thread and precious gems. But time and corruption had taken their toll, leaving the garments aged and ragged, hanging loosely on a frame that seemed somehow both substantial and insubstantial at the same time.
Most disturbing of all was the mask that covered the figure’s face—the same sun-shaped golden mask with its serene human features that they had seen depicted in countless paintings throughout the castle. But here, in person, the mask seemed twisted and wrong, as though the corruption within had somehow tainted even this external symbol.