Selene's fingers closed around the hilt.

  The weight hit her immediately, impossibly heavy. Her good arm trembled, muscles screaming as the sword barely shifted, scraping against stone with a harsh, grating sound. She gritted her teeth and pulled harder.

  The fire opal blazed.

  Light erupted from the gem, violent and blinding, searing her vision white. The colors that had once shimmered now screamed. Then the pulse came.

  It erupted outward in a single, massive wave, neither sound nor light, but force. Pure and primal, it tore through the chamber, rattling columns, shaking the dome, sending ripples racing across the crimson pool, reverberating through stone and bone alike.

  Selene gasped, her grip tightening instinctively.

  The carved figures shuddered.

  Their stone faces twisted, mouths opening in silent screams. Blood streaming from their eyes thickened, pouring faster, running down the columns in thick rivulets, spreading across the floor, deepening the crimson layer into dark pools.

  And above, far above, the oculus poured.

  The darkness within split apart, and blood began to fall.

  A torrent.

  A roaring, cascading column of thick, viscous crimson plummeted from the center of the oculus. It did not spread or scatter. It fell in a perfect, concentrated stream, passing through the trembling veils, straight toward the altar.

  Straight into the hollow at its center.

  The sound was deafening, a relentless, thunderous roar that drowned out everything else.

  Selene’s eyes widened.

  Blood from the oculus struck the hollow with violent force, pouring into its depths, filling it, then overflowing. The alignment was perfect: the oculus above, the hollow below, bound by an unbroken column of falling blood.

  As though the chamber had been designed for this moment.

  Selene tried to move. Her legs wouldn't respond.

  The sword's weight dragged her forward, knees buckling. She fell toward the altar, her good hand still locked around the hilt, her broken arm hanging useless at her side.

  She tried to let go.

  Her fingers wouldn't open.

  The fire opal pulsed again, softer now, rhythmic, like a heartbeat. With each pulse, her grip tightened, her hand fusing to the hilt as though welded by something unseen.

  “Stop—please—”

  Her voice was barely a whisper. The hollow pulled.

  It wasn't gravity. It was will.

  The hollow reached up through the roaring torrent and dragged her forward.

  Selene screamed.

  Her body lurched toward the altar's edge, pulled by the sword's unbearable weight. Her broken arm flailed uselessly, pain exploding through her shoulder as she tried to brace herself.

  But there was nothing to hold onto.

  She pitched forward.

  The column of blood engulfed her.

  It slammed into her like a physical blow, thick and cold and suffocating. The torrent poured over her head, drenching her completely, filling her mouth, her nose, her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t scream.

  The sword pulled her down. She plunged into the hollow.

  Her body hit the blood-filled depths with brutal force, the impact driving air from her lungs. The crimson liquid closed over her head, thick and viscous, clinging to her skin like oil.

  She tried to kick, to swim, to claw her way back up.

  But the sword dragged her deeper.

  Its weight was relentless, pulling her down into the hollow’s impossible depths. The walls pressed close, smooth and warm. She couldn’t tell if she was falling or being pulled or simply drowning in endless blood.

  Her broken arm twisted beneath her, white-hot pain lancing through her shoulder.

  Blood filled her throat.

  Her vision flickered, darkness and crimson and flashes of impossible light.

  And still she fell.

  above her, far across the chamber, Selis dragged herself forward.

  Her hands slapped against the blood-slicked floor, fingers scraping through the shallow crimson layer. Her broken leg trailed uselessly behind her.

  Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the blood coating her skin.

  "Selene!" she screamed, her voice raw and broken.

  She reached out with one trembling hand, stretching as far as her body would allow, fingers grasping toward the altar.

  But Selene was already gone.

  The column of blood continued to pour from the oculus, a roaring torrent falling endlessly into the hollow's gaping centre.

  The carved figures wept.

  The chamber floor gleamed scarlet.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  And at the altar's heart, the hollow swallowed everything.

  Selis collapsed onto her stomach, hand still outstretched, shaking.

  "Selene," she sobbed. "Please—"

  But there was no answer.

  Only the roar of blood.

  Only the silence beneath.

  Selis lay on the chamber floor, her broken body trembling in the shallow pool of blood.

  Her hand remained outstretched toward the altar, fingers splayed, reaching for something already gone.

  "Please," she whispered, voice cracking. "Please—"

  Her lips moved faster, words tumbling out in desperate, breathless prayer.

  "Architect of all things, Keeper of the design..." Her voice broke. "Don't let her be gone. Please don't let her—"

  The roar of the blood column swallowed her words.

  But she kept praying.

  Her forehead pressed against the blood-slicked floor, tears streaming down her face, mixing with the crimson beneath.

  "Please..."

  Deep within the hollow, Selene's body disintegrated.

  The blood unmade her.

  Her skin dissolved first, peeling away in thin, translucent layers that scattered into the crimson depths. Then muscle, unravelling in spirals of tissue. Then bone, crumbling to powder. Her body came apart piece by piece, fragment by fragment, until nothing remained.

  The fire opal blazed at the centre of it all, suspended in the blood, pulsing with violent brilliance.

  Then something shifted.

  The blood began to move differently.

  The torrent from above slowed, its descent faltering. The current from below, rising from the hollow’s impossible depths, surged upward with sudden, violent force.

  The two streams collided.

  Halfway between altar and oculus, the blood stopped.

  It gathered.

  A sphere began to form.

  The blood swirled inward, drawn by some unseen gravity, coiling in tight, spiralling layers. The torrent from above fed into it. The current from below fed into it. And at its centre, the fire opal burned, a single point of radiant light.

  The sphere grew.

  Larger. Denser. More perfect.

  It expanded rapidly, swelling outward until it filled the space between altar and dome, a massive, perfectly round mass suspended in midair, rotating slowly, pulsing with rhythmic light.

  Within it, something moved.

  A shadow.

  At first, barely visible, just a faint outline against the fire opal’s glow. But it grew clearer with each pulse, solidifying, taking form.

  A silhouette.

  Like a child in the womb.

  The shape curled inward, limbs folded, head bowed, suspended at the centre. Small at first, fragile, but growing rapidly. Stretching. Unfolding. Limbs extending. Spine straightening.

  Seconds passed like years.

  Arms. Legs. Torso. Head.

  A fully formed figure, centred perfectly before the fire opal's light.

  The sphere pulsed.

  Once.

  Twice.

  The blood surrounding it trembled, rippling outward in waves.

  Then it began to fall.

  Not all at once. Drops at first, then streams, then torrents. The crimson liquid peeled away from the sphere in thick, cascading sheets, pouring down onto the altar below, splashing across the chamber floor.

  The figure remained.

  Suspended in midair.

  Naked. Pale. Perfectly still.

  The archway entrance shuddered.

  Three tall figures stepped through it.

  Skeletal. Their movements were sharp, unnatural. Their eyes glowed faintly, embers drowned in ash.

  They moved into the chamber without hesitation, eyes locked on the suspended figure.

  Fire erupted in their hands.

  Not normal fire. Flames that twisted and coiled in unnatural colours — violet and green and searing white. The heat was immediate, oppressive, filling the chamber with scorching air that hurt to breathe.

  They raised their arms.

  And threw.

  Three powerful balls of fire tore through the air, hurtling toward the figure with violent speed.

  They struck.

  The impact was deafening.

  The fire opal at the sphere’s centre blazed brighter, impossibly bright, flooding the chamber in blinding radiance. The flames wrapped around the figure, consuming, devouring, burning through the layers of blood that still clung to pale skin.

  The skeletal figures stepped forward.

  Then stopped.

  Their bodies shuddered.

  Blood began to pour from their faces, from eyes, noses, mouths. It streamed down their robes in thick, dark rivulets, pooling at their feet.

  They didn’t scream.

  They simply stood there, trembling, as the blood poured out.

  From every opening. Every wound. Every pore.

  Their bodies drained.

  And the blood didn’t fall to the floor.

  It rose.

  Drawn upward by the same force that held the figure, their blood lifted into the air in thin, spiralling streams. It coiled through the flames, threading between fire and light, merging with what remained of the sphere.

  Feeding it.

  Strengthening it.

  The fire opal pulsed again brighter.

  The figure suspended in the sphere opened its eyes.

  Silver. Luminous. Glowing softly in the blood-soaked light.

  Selis lay on the chamber floor, body trembling violently.

  Her eyes were wide, unblinking, fixed on the scene above.

  She watched the flame creatures collapse, their bodies withering as blood drained from them.

  She saw the figure’s eyes within the blood sphere, those terrible silver eyes.

  She saw the fire opal blazing at its centre, brighter than the sun.

  Her lips moved.

  Words tumbled out, frantic, desperate, broken.

  “Architect forgive us… forgive what we’ve done… forgive what we’ve awakened…”

  Over and over.

  Her voice barely a whisper, lost beneath the roar of fire and blood.

  She pressed her forehead against the floor, hands splayed in the shallow crimson pool.

  And she prayed.

  The sphere pulsed one final time.

  Then it exploded.

  Blood erupted outward in a massive wave, a shockwave of blood that tore through the chamber with deafening force. It slammed into columns, walls, and floor, coating everything in a single, violent instant.

  Selis screamed.

  The wave hit her like a battering ram, lifting her off the ground and hurling her backward. She crashed into a column’s base, her broken body slamming against stone. Blood drenched her completely, face, hair, clothes, thick and warm and suffocating.

  She gasped, choking, vision swimming in red.

  Across the chamber, the three creatures were thrown backward as well. Their drained, lifeless bodies tumbled through the air like discarded dolls, crashing against the far wall in broken heaps.

  Empty husks.

  Silence fell.

  The blood settled.

  A thick, even layer now covered everything, floor, columns, altar. Crimson pooled in every corner, dripping from the veils, running down the carved faces of the weeping figures.

  Selis lay on her back, gasping, her body trembling uncontrollably.

  She couldn't move. Couldn't think.

  Blood filled her mouth, her nose, stinging her eyes.

  Slowly, painfully, she turned her head.

  And saw her.

  At the chamber's centre, standing before the altar, was the figure.

  No longer suspended. No longer forming.

  Complete.

  She stood naked, her skin pale and flawless, gleaming faintly in the dim light. White hair fell in waves down her back, shimmering like liquid moonlight. Her eyes, silver, luminous, impossibly bright, glowed softly.

  She was beautiful. She was terrifying.

  Above her, suspended in the air, floated a sword.

  Restored.

  The blade was breathtaking, slender and impossibly long, nearly six feet of mirror-polished steel that caught light like water. A single fuller ran its length, inlaid with hairline veins of silver. The metal had an unusual quality, not quite steel, something older, something that held light differently.

  At the cross-guard’s junction, the fire opal blazed, pulsing with molten light, colours flashing in rapid sequence. Gold swallowed by violet, crimson rising through blue. Each pulse sent waves of radiant colour cascading through the chamber, reflecting off the blood-slicked floor, the columns, the veils.

  The cross-guard swept outward in graceful curves, its terminals shaped like reaching hands.

  The sword was ancient. Lethal. Whole.

  The entire chamber glowed with the fire opal’s light, crimson and gold and violet bleeding across every surface, painting the blood-covered stone in shifting, impossible hues.

  Blood covered the chamber floor everywhere, thick, dark, endless.

  Everywhere except where she stood. Around her feet, the blood recoiled.

  It didn’t touch her. Didn’t dare.

  A perfect circle of bare stone surrounded her, the crimson retreating as though repelled by something unseen. The boundary was sharp, absolute, blood pressing against an invisible barrier, unable to cross.

  She stood untouched. Unsoiled.

  Divine.

  Her head tilted back slightly, silver eyes gazing upward toward the oculus.

  Then she began to cry.

  Blood.

  Thick, dark tears streamed down her pale cheeks, running in slow rivulets down her neck and shoulders. They fell silently, dripping onto the stone at her feet, pooling at the edge of the circle where the crimson dared not cross.

  She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just wept.

  Her gaze lowered.

  Silver eyes locked onto Selis.

  And the blood kept falling.