Footsteps echoed faintly against the finely carved stones of the corridor, disturbing the ominous silence that pervaded this part of the castle. Gripping the long iron poker in his bloody hand, Lysander slowly advanced toward the ritual chamber, dreading his encounter with the castle's Master.
'Even with the element of surprise, do I have a chance to win? Or survive?' Lysander thought. 'He is most probably an Ascended or higher, since Qeius was his servant and an Awakened.'
After a few minutes of walking, Lysander arrived before a gigantic door of steel adorned with gems and gold, making him seem small and worthless by comparison. The young man stood in front of the last barrier that separated him from the end of his First Nightmare...
'Or is it? If I flee now the castle and run long enough... maybe I can escape the explosion...'
Despite the doubts rising in his chest, making his heart beat faster and faster from fear, Lysander knew: the only way to possibly escape from this horror was behind this door.
With a resolute mind, he pushed the door, which, despite its enormous size, easily opened.
''For Jet, for Rose... for me,'' Lysander muttered as he entered the ritual chamber.
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A grand chamber in the form of a dome was illuminated by hundreds and hundreds of torches, bathing it in what seemed holy light. But Lysander knew better. It was all fake.
In the center stood a circular pool of blackish blood, perspiring the scent of death and corruption. The surface of the pool was undisturbed, like a grotesque and gory mirror.
'The ritual.' Lysander thought.
But the young man was not alone in the chamber.
Standing in front of the ritual, a hooded figure was kneeling, murmuring in an unknown language.
Lysander stood still, hoping that his arrival had not been noticed by a miracle of luck.
Sadly for him, even luck was not sufficient.
The hooded figure slowly rose and spoke to the intruder, releasing a dark aura that made Lysander suffocate.
''You are the reason the prisoners managed to escape the dungeon.''
The young man had difficulty even forming thoughts in his head, feeling his body die and die again from the strength emanating from the hidden figure.
'The Master.'
The Master of the Castle froze for a second, then chuckled.
''I see, you killed Qeius. That's how you managed to get the keys. I must give you my praise; killing an Awakened as a normal human is quite a feat.''
Lysander was terrified, knowing that in front of absolute power, he could do nothing. In front of him stood a being that was leagues above him.
Turning sharply, the young man rushed to the door with the hope that the Master was too focused on the ritual to chase after him.
Just as he was close to the entrance, a fist appeared in the corner of his vision and punched him on the side of his chest, throwing him against the wall of the chamber in a crashing way.
''Urghhh!''
Pain flooded the mind of Lysander, making him scream as he no longer felt the right side of his chest, as if it had been pulverised.
The sound of the door closing resonated, and a deep voice spoke in a fanatic tone as the person behind it dragged Lysander toward the center of the chamber.
''Master, please, you should focus on the ritual and not waste time on a worthless wretched.''
The Master of the Castle approached and raised the chin of Lysander, making the young man see the red ember lodged in the eyes looking at him. A mad grin was plastered on the face of the human, no, the monster in front of Lysander.
''That's where you are wrong, Atlas; our dear friend here is all but a worthless wretched.''
Slowly, he carried the dying Lysander in his arms, walking on the surface of the pool by unknown means.
''This young man is a sacrifice for our grand plan. And I can say that, with what he has shown us so far, his soul will be the key to success.''
Then, he dropped him into the pool.
Despite the pain, Lysander had still not passed out, and could feel his body being completely submerged in blood as he heard the last words of the Master.
'I... I don't want... to... die...'
The last thought of Lysander formed in his mind before he was plunged into the depths of the pool.