A short way up the tunnel they arrived at the Chamber. To the naked eye it was no different than any other spot in these grim, blood-soaked tunnels, but here the pervasive sense of despair crested even higher. Nira’s feet dragged to a halt, and she couldn’t make herself go any farther. She wished for a coral knife to open her veins. She wished for the tunnel to collapse on her. She wished to beat her head against the unforgiving granite until it was nothing but a red smear, but she was completely enervated. The feeling flowed in waves, and she imagined she could feel the fabric of the world stretching and tearing all about her. The contents of her bladder trickled down her leg, and she barely noticed. This is the end.
Gamarron reached back with a hissing, spitting staccato of words and pulled her hard up the ramp into the room. With a snap of the wrist, he sent her sprawling to her knees. She gibbered inside, not daring to look up. I can feel him! Oh Light, oh Gaia, ANYONE, save me! From where she cowered Nira could imagine the almighty Bakal sprawled languidly on a massive throne, a scepter of knotted bone in one great hand and flames dancing in the caverns of his eyes. She felt an insane urge to worship him. All the talk of gods she had ever heard paled in comparison to the earth-shattering presence that radiated at her. A morbid, death-loving curiosity seized her. If she was going to die, she would at least see the face of the power that killed her. She dared to look up.
There was no demon king before her. No Devourer, no throne, no one. Only a great, shining, gray box. The Box. It was the one she had seen when she dreamt of Gamarron’s past. This was where it had begun. The power radiated from here. Bakal was within. She knew it in her bones.
Gamarron threw Guyrin to the floor and slapped him hard across the face, once, twice. The sad, abused little fellow jerked into consciousness with a cry. “Stop, stop!” he pleaded. His eyes latched onto Gamarron, and recognition dawned in him. “What’s wrong? What is it?” Gamarron hissed and growled at him in the hideous foreign tongue, and the chaos wielder’s face filled with dread. “I don’t understand,” he said quietly. Catching sight of Nira, he reached for her. “What’s wrong with him?”
“It’s not him,” she replied. “It’s…” she trailed off. Explanations were pointless.
Gamarron slapped Guyrin again, and he shied away. “Stop, please!” The old man pointed to the chaos wielder, to the great box, and then pressed his hands together, opening them like a book. “You… want me to open it?” The soft young man crabbed forward to the box, eager to avoid more punishment. The great growth on his back humped up obscenely through his clothes. He pried at the surface of the great gray thing, but it did not yield. “I don’t know how,” he whimpered.
With a snarl, the black-robed monk pulled him back, and he let out a squeal. Taking Guyrin by the hand, he forced the boy’s fingers toward Nira’s pocket – the one holding the Chaos Shard. Suddenly he understood, and he bucked in Gamarron’s grip. “No, I can’t, don’t, don’t! I can’t touch it! It’s too soon, it’s too much! Please, I’m half-dead already!” The old man ruthlessly pulled him forward, and the crazed chaos wielder flung himself about with abandon, doing anything he could to get further away from the Shard. Finally, with a roar, Gamarron backhanded the little man, tossing him aside. He advanced on Nira.
He pulled her to her feet using her bound, deadened arms. The movement made her aware of the unpleasant numbness that crept all the way up to her biceps. Her shoulders still screamed at the abuse, though, and she grunted in pain. The old man fiddled behind her for a moment, and her limp arms swung free. Sparks of feeling awakened in her hands and she tried to cradle them in front of her, but the muscles wouldn’t respond. She concentrated on her hands, trying to block out the terror that was all around her and only think about getting blood back into her fingers. She swung her arms gently, relishing the uncomfortable pins and needles of returning sensation.
The possessed savage circled in front of her, pointing repeatedly to her pocket and speaking unintelligibly. Her blood ran cold. He wants me to use the Shard. To open the box. She knew that she couldn’t do that, no matter the cost. She remembered the long-ago vision of the Devourer consuming everything in flame, Chaos Shard in hand, and her hopeless terror receded ever so slightly. I can’t let this happen. I have to stop it, even if I die for it.
“My hands aren’t working,” she said slowly. “Give me a minute.” She could twitch her fingers, but only barely. She could feel a line of fire starting to burn along her wrists where they had been bound. Gamarron bared his teeth and peered at her suspiciously, but let her be. Looking into those dark eyes, she could see nothing of the man she had known. He was completely possessed. I can touch the Shard. He can’t. Once I’m touching it, though… sorry, grandpa, but I think I’m going to have to kill you. Now that her hands were free, she had her chance. All I have to do is touch it. Doesn’t matter if my fingers aren’t working.
The black-robed monk strode over to where he had dumped Guyrin and pulled the stunned chaos wielder by one arm toward the Box. The blond man’s face was dragging against the rough floor, but
