Lionel raised his hand. The tip of the skeleton’s glaive began to decay the instant it made contact with his bronze skin.
The rot crawled up the pole of the weapon like a living thing, disintegrating the skeletal guard where it stood.
The darkness around Lionel burst forth in a violent roar of wind.
A shockwave of decay rippled outward, crumbling the front line of the undead army as they charged.
The rest of the horde stopped in their tracks.
Dammit.
They were cautious. They weren't as mindless as Lionel had hoped.
The executioner raised a hand, signaling the skeletons to halt.
At this rate, the wave of darkness clinging to Lionel would rot the entire prison's defense system.
The prisoners on the ground and those hanging in cages above stared down in curiosity.
The undead backed away, leaving Lionel and the executioner locked in a silent standoff.
“Let him pass!” a man’s voice echoed through the chamber.
Lionel looked around for the source, as did the executioner.
An older man with stringy white hair over his shoulders gripped the bars of a ground-level cell.
The withered man yelled at the executioner again.
“You’re struggling! The boy clearly has you beat! Shouldn't that count as clearing the first trial? Let him see the second!”
The other prisoners began to join in.
The prison transformed into a cacophony of rebellious chants.
“Let him go! Let him go!”
The executioner seethed at the disruption of order.
The collective anger of the prisoners was becoming suffocating, preventing the skulls from devouring their usual feast of pain and sorrow.
The executioner’s shoulders grew tense. It looked up at the hanging cages and spotted Cinco.
Cinco noticed the gaze. He clutched his wound and narrowed his eyes, staring the monster down.
The executioner looked back at Lionel. The prince was surrounded by a black mist dappled in gold, framed by the points of a dozen skeletal glaives.
He was glaring, teeth grit, ready to keep fighting.
The chanting grew into a roar. “Let him go!”
Finally, the executioner reached its breaking point.
“SILENCE!” the creature roared.
The voice was deep and demonic. It vibrated through the stone floor and into the prisoners' marrow, instilling a primal fear.
The prison fell into a sudden, heavy silence.
Cinco felt a fresh spark of anger rise in his chest. The audacity to demand silence? When they were only demanding justice for their fighter?
“You shut the hell up!” Cinco yelled back, slamming his fists against the rusted bars.
The executioner snapped its head toward Cinco.
“I’m talking to you, feo!”
“Feo?” the executioner echoed, the word sounding foreign in its raspy throat.
“It means ugly,” Lionel responded.
The executioner looked back at the prince. Lionel stood perfectly still, his eyes locked on his opponent.
“I speak the same language as him,” Lionel said. He raised his hand toward the ceiling. “Cinco!”
Cinco sighed, a small smile playing on his lips, and reached his arm through the bars.
He funneled the remainder of his angry energy toward Lionel.
Lionel watched the bright light travel down through the darkness.
He absorbed the power, finally able to solidify the shifting mist into a physical form: a massive, bladed claymore.
The weapon was pitch black, with streams of Cinco’s silver light gleaming along the edge.
“I’m done with this standoff!” Lionel shouted.
The executioner’s options were spent. It raised its obsidian blade and swiped through the air.
Arcs of darkness hurtled toward Lionel, decapitating several undead guards who were unlucky enough to be in the way.
Lionel didn't charge. He waited, guided by an instinct pulsing from the glyph on his back. He swung the claymore.
The silver edge glittered as it tore through the air, the heavy blade scraping the brimstone floor and sending sparks flying against the metal.
With a swift slice, he ripped through the atmosphere itself, leaving a momentary rift of darkness between them.
The rift swallowed the executioner’s attack whole. Lionel stumbled back, his muscles straining as he adjusted to the sheer weight of the new weapon.
The executioner growled in annoyance. It glanced at Cinco a second time.
That damn Numerical is fueling his star. What kind of star did they bring into this prison?
The monster grumbled to itself.
I cannot keep them. They destroy the balance of things.
The executioner lowered its obsidian blade until it clunked against the floor.
Lionel straightened his back, his expression clouding with confusion.
“Both you and that Numerical may proceed to the second trial,” the executioner sighed with resignation.
Lionel lowered the claymore, but he didn't lower his guard.
Cinco’s eyes widened at the sudden shift. “Wait, we’re actually free to go?”
The executioner raised a skeletal hand and snapped its bony fingers. Cinco felt his cage jerk violently.
“Uh?!” He gasped as the bottom of the cage swung open.
“AAAAAAH!”
He plummeted from the labyrinth of hanging cages. Lionel’s heart skipped a beat.
“CINCO!”
He gripped the claymore and began to run. The undead guards parted like a black tide, terrified of being touched by his blade.
The chains on Lionel were heavy, dragging against his pace.
I won't make it!
Cinco gripped his black Stetson as his white duster fluttered wildly behind him.
The hollow sockets of the guards watched him fall toward the hard stone. He reached for the aquamarine stone of his necklace.
“ANGEL NUMBER!” he shouted, the words carrying the weight of a prayer.
The blue stone flared with an iridescent white light.
For a fleeting moment, Cinco became a beacon in the dark.
The light billowed outward, forming the shape of feathers around his shoulders.
Lionel stopped midway, surrounded by hesitant guards. His eyes were wide with awe.
The prisoners gasped as the sparkling light illuminated the entire expanse.
The executioner stood aside, watching the two of them finally meet.
Lionel held out the flat side of his massive claymore, creating a makeshift landing platform.
“Land here!” Lionel shouted.
Cinco hit the blade with a heavy thud. His knees buckled as he absorbed the impact.
As the silver light and black mist fused, a blinding monochromatic shockwave rippled outward, turning the nearest skeletons into fine white ash.
The executioner stood frozen as its guards were desecrated.
Cinco stood tall on the blade, his duster finally settling.
His hair glowed with the same celestial radiance as his necklace.
He looked down at Lionel and flashed a sharp, wild grin that cut through the grime on his face.
Lionel watched the light-feathers drift and fade.
He felt a rare moment of calm, admiring the brief beauty of the light before the reality of their situation returned.
The prison had fallen into a stunned murmur. The executioner simply watched, its hand resting on its hilt, content to let the chaos settle for now.
Cinco adjusted his Stetson, pulling the brim low to hide the exhaustion in his eyes. He let out a long, shaky breath.
“Nice catch,” he muttered with a tired smirk.
Lionel looked at him with worry.
He’s too drained. He won't last the next walk.
“Reside in my blade,” Lionel whispered. “Let the darkness protect your glow.”
Cinco gave a weak nod. His body turned into a swirl of light and vanished into the claymore.
The silver radiance spread from the edge to the hilt, which was now shaped like a skeletal spine.
The executioner gestured toward the far end of the hall.
A massive set of iron-bound doors began to grind open.
A cool, damp wind drifted through, smelling of old stone and rain on dry earth.
“The first trial is satisfied,” the executioner stated in a low rumble.
“Enjoy the reprieve. It is the only one you will receive.”
Lionel looked at the doors.
He wasn't out yet, and the second trial was a mystery, but the air felt different.
It felt like progress.
“May the gods have mercy on your soul in the next trial,” the executioner remarked as Lionel stepped through the threshold.
Lionel rolled his eyes.
No god is coming.
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