Chapter 24
The heavy blade weighed like regrets in the hand of the Ironclad. Before him pulsed the Spire's heart, a twisted mass of gray and pink flesh originated from a place even his benefactor could not identify. He approached and felt his vision cloud, as if the heart was rejecting his mere presence. He had to press on despite the pain, knowing that all the suffering he had gone through would be worth it.
The Ironclad raised his sword and the heart shrieked. His ears immediately bled like fire and he found himself stepping back as if compelled by an otherworldly force. The Spire was evil, this much he knew, but he had doubted its power up until this point.
Reaching within himself, the Ironclad tapped into his scarred soul and unleashed his full potential, black horns and wings sprouting from his body and a crimson hue slashing across his skin. With yellow eyes, the demon pressed onwards, blade in hand, and readied himself to slay the Spire.
Strength welled through his arm as he pulled the sword back and, in a strike he had perfected since he took his first step into the dredded halls of the tower, brought the sharpened edge down onto the dark matter of the heart.
Immediately he lost grip on his weapon and found himself on the ground, the room spinning about him. For a second he swore it began to lose shape, and in seconds he couldn't even remember where he was. Past that, he couldn't remember the journey he had had, although he swore that he had taken up some task. What was it? What was it he had done?
Was the Ironclad a hero? A monster? Who was he?
As his eyes found light once more in a torch-lit hallway, the Ironclad felt a powerful presence nearby, someone he knew he could trust instinctively.
"Greetings… Choose…"