Nero fights.

The room becomes a blur of unholiness, claws anda biting silver light. Gungnir bit through the air like the horns of a bull, each strike breaking through the wet bodies of the Hollows.

In this state, technique was no more, pushed to the very edges of his consciousness. The Crimson Crucible style demanded momentum and he gave it everything, pressing forward even when cornered, refusing to yield even the slightest of grounds at the cost of his body's integrity.

A Hollow lunged at him from his left. Nero pivoted and drove the spear through its throat, ripping sideways to open the wound further before kicking the body into two more behind it. He spun and caught another mid-leap, impaling it through the abdomen before hurling it toward the shattered windows.

And yet, the damned things... they kept coming!

His arms burned like hot coals. The wounds carved into him by the black, gnarled claws of the Abominations constantly reopened faster than Vineheart could close them. Blood... both his blood and the blood of the damned, slicked his grip on Gungnir's shaft.

A claw raked across his back again. Nero arched and twisted, bringing Gungnir around in a wide arc that caught three Hollows across their faces.

He roared out a cursed as he spun his spear around in circles.

He did not stop to confirm the kills.

He could not stop. Because the moment he slowed, they would swarm him completely.

He threw Gungnir at the cluster near the stairwell entrance. The spear tore through them and embedded in the stone wall beyond. Nero sprinted toward it, calling the weapon back mid-run. It materialized in his grip and he used the momentum to vault over a Hollow's lunging strike, landing on its back and driving Gungnir down through its spine into the floor.

The wood beneath gave way with a splintering crack.

Nero's foot punched through weak stone and he stumbled, balance failing for a critical second. A Hollow's claws caught him across the ribs. Another slammed into his side, throwing him against the far wall hard enough to leave cracks in the stone.

He tasted blood as his vision swam.

Nero forced himself upright and threw Gungnir blindly into the mass of bodies surging toward him. The spear vanished into the press and he called it back immediately, feeling it carve viciously through flesh on the return path.

Too many. There were simply too many.

His gaze swept the room frantically, searching for an exit. The windows were at least several stories up from the forest floor. Jumping meant broken legs at best. The stairwell down was completely blocked. The door he had entered through was webbed shut with squirming bodies.

There was only one direction left.

Up.

Nero looked at the ceiling. Heavy pillars reinforced the stone, but near the far corner, one section showed damage.

He had perhaps three seconds before the Hollows overwhelmed him completely.

Nero made his decision.

He threw Gungnir with everything he had left. The spear flew upward and punched through the damaged section of ceiling, tearing stone loose in a shower of debris. Daylight flooded through the new hole.

Nero called Gungnir back and caught it as the floor beneath him erupted with Hollows.

He leaped.

His hand caught the edge of the hole and his shoulder screamed in protest. Gungnir dangled from his other hand, nearly slipping from his bloodied grip. He kicked wildly as claws raked at his legs, catching only air and cloth.

Nero hauled himself up through the ceiling with desperate strength and rolled onto the floor of the fifth level...

Darkness.

The stones here were intact but covered in thick layers of dust that were the color of ash due to the, dim, grey sunlight that bathed all.

And in the center of the room, elevated on a dais, sat a throne.

It was made of silk and flesh.

Bodies were woven into its structure, their limbs bent and twisted to form armrests and backing. The silk bound them together, preserving their forms in positions of eternal supplication.

Something sat upon it.

Nero's breath caught in his throat.

Four arms hung limply at its sides, each ending in long, black fingers.

A few seconds after Nero arrived, in the terrifying silence, the arms creaked up.

Slowly, the fingers of the four arms all formed strange hand signs.

Below, the sounds of the Hollows had stopped entirely.

Nero's hand tightened on Gungnir as he breathed heavily.

The creature's neck cracked as its head tilted up.

Instantly, Nero felt fear was over him like nothing he had ever felt before.

He instantly shut his eyes.

In the light of day, darkness came upon him.

His soul swam upon a dark sea.

There was nothing.

A weight pressed against his consciousness.

Something touched his thoughts the way fingers might brush across water, creating ripples that spread outward through his being.

The darkness began to change.

Gone were the moss covered stone walls. Gone was the forest, gone was the throne...

Then darkness fled too.

Nero's eyes snapped open.

The floor beneath his feet softened. It was not physically soft, but mellow in the way shadows were, insubstantial and filled with uncertainty.

A sound reached his ears.

A faint sound.

It was laughter.

It was not the shrieking of Abominations, neither was it the cruel mockery of demons.

This was human laughter. The sound of playing children. It was laced with joy.

Nero turned his head toward the source.

He saw a courtyard bathed in sunlight too bright to be real. Children ran across the cobbled streets, their forms blurring in his mind like hazy sunstokes.

They chased each other in circles, their laughter rising and falling in waves.

Behind them, a castle stood intact. Guards walked the ramparts in polished armor.

Nero's breath caught.

The scene shifted without warning.

The children were gone. The courtyard was empty except for a single figure kneeling in the center. It wore motley clothing, with bright colors faded to grey. A jester's cap sat crooked on its head, its once jovial bells silent.

The figure looked up.

Its face was ruined. The jaw hung open, filled to the brim with squelching maggots. An eye was missing entirely, the socket empty and dark.

The other eye—the eye that remained—was enormous, swollen to grotesque proportions, weeping clear fluid down its cheek.

The jester stretched open its mouth even wider.

There was no sound as it proclaimed a silent curse. One of endless hatred, rage and malice.

It stained the world black and darkness consumed it all.

Nero blinked.

The vision vanished.

He was back in the throne room.

He staggered backwards, sweat pooling on his back and face as he brought his trembling hands up.

'That... That...'

A deep repulsion filled his throat, overwhelming him with waves of nausea.

The being still sat on its throne of flesh, motionless except for a slow rise and fall of its chest.

But something had changed.

The silk strands covering the room's walls trembled. All of them simultaneously vibrating with tension that traveled through the entire structure.

The creature's jaw began to open.

The flesh around its mouth tore with soft wet sounds as the opening continued to expand.

From within the darkness of that throat, something emerged.

A presence.

It pushed outward into the room, filling the space like water flooding a closed chamber. Nero felt it press against him, seeping into his ears and nose and mouth no matter how tightly he clenched his jaw.

His vision blurred. The edges of the room began to lose definition, bleeding into darkness.

Somewhere far below, the Hollows that stood completely still, the light of consciousness within them absent, began moving again.

They were coming.

All of them.

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