Chapter 112: Inside the Tower Part 8
The silence that followed was heavy and wrong.
Inigo stood still, his chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths. The tip of his M4 Carbine trembled slightly in his grip, held low but ready. Violet smoke drifted from the epicenter of the Lady of Illusion’s death, curling and fading like it was being swallowed by the air itself. The echo of her last scream still seemed to linger in the corners of the chamber, a phantom wail stuck in the stone.
He shifted slowly, eyes scanning the scorched floor. Cracks ran like veins across the stone, lit faintly from below by flickers of magic too stubborn to die. The crater she left behind was wide, its edges melted smooth. A few feet from the center, something glinted faintly—metal, or maybe crystal.
Inigo crouched and brushed ash aside with the back of his glove. A shard of the Lady’s crown lay there—small, but warm to the touch. He pocketed it without a word.
Beside him, Lyra slowly lowered her bow. Her fingers were trembling. She didn’t even try to hide it. The final confrontation had drained everything out of her—body, mind, and soul. Her skin was pale, eyes distant.
"I think it’s over," she said quietly.
"No," Inigo replied, shaking his head. "She’s dead. But it’s not over."
She looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"
Inigo stepped away from the crater, boots crunching against brittle floor tiles. "Feel that? The Rift’s still here. It hasn’t closed."
That froze her. "Wait. That’s not how it works. When the boss dies, the Rift seals automatically. Every time."
"Yeah. Every time." Inigo scanned the upper walls of the chamber. There was no visible portal, no glowing light, no sign of the sky or outside world. Just black stone, writhing slowly like the walls themselves were breathing. "But this one isn’t like the others."