Chapter 250 Throne Open

Chapter 250 Throne Open
The iron armor turned pitch black. The heavy steel did not just dissolve; it turned into boiling, liquid slag. The heat radiating from the rot was searing. The thick, foul stench of decay and melted metal flooded the freezing wind.

The black sludge ate through the chainmail, melting the hot iron directly into Draven’s skin.

Draven let out a high, tearing shriek. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated agony, loud enough to echo off the towering white walls of the Ivory Spire.

He dropped the silver wire. He tried to pull away from me, his hands clawing wildly at the boiling metal sinking into his chest, but he could not escape. The rot fused the armor to his flesh, turning his protection into a cage of burning liquid iron.

I dug my fingers deeper into the dissolving metal, pinning him to the stone.

"You starved him," I whispered, my voice perfectly level, cutting through his horrific screams. "You hung him from the ceiling and let him bleed in the dark."

The black decay spread down his arms, melting the heavy steel gauntlets into his hands. His skin blistered and charred, turning the same dark, ruined purple as the bruises on his neck. The golden light of the Emperor’s healing magic flared weakly in his throat, trying to fight the massive, overwhelming wave of my rot, but the Blight swallowed it completely.

"I told you," I continued, staring directly into his terrified, dying eyes. "I am the plague."

I pushed one final, heavy surge of dark magic into his chest.

The remaining armor collapsed inward. The boiling slag fused permanently with his ruined flesh, hardening instantly into a thick, jagged crust of dead, black obsidian.

Draven’s screams cut off abruptly. His amber eyes rolled back. His massive, scorched body went entirely rigid, locked forever in a twisted, melted shell of his own iron. He hit the white marble floor with a heavy, hollow thud.

I pulled my hands away.

The thick black sludge dripped from my fingers, sizzling loudly as it hit the cold stone. I stood over the ruined, broken Captain. He was not just dead. He was a monument of melted steel and rot, fused to the steps of his master's fortress.

I turned my back on him.

Klaus lay on the marble, his chest heaving violently. He had pulled the silver wire from his throat, but the deep, charred cuts still smoked in the cold air. The blood ran freely down his neck, soaking into the stone.

I dropped to my knees beside him. I reached out, my hands trembling slightly as the adrenaline began to fade. I pressed my clean palms against the sides of his face, tilting his head up.

"It is over," I breathed, my thumbs brushing the dark blood from his cheekbones. "He is gone."

Klaus looked up at me. His bright sapphire eyes were hazy, fighting the intense, tearing pain of the silver burns, but the feral, devoted fire in his gaze remained entirely intact. He looked past me, taking in the melted, fused remains of General Draven.

A low, rough sound escaped his throat. It was not a groan of pain. It was a dark, heavy laugh.

He reached up, his large, calloused hand wrapping around my wrist. The heat of his skin was a stark contrast to the freezing wind. He used my grip to anchor himself, rolling onto his side and pushing his heavy frame off the bloody marble.

I wrapped my arm tightly around his waist, pulling his uninjured side flush against my shoulder. I braced my legs, taking a massive portion of his weight. We stood up together, swaying slightly in the biting wind.

Cassian and Riven reached the top of the stairs.

They stopped ten feet away. The Vampire Lord and the Outcast leader stared at the hardened, black mass of melted iron and flesh resting on the steps. They looked at the dark sludge still smoking on my hands. They did not say a single word. The terror and awe in their eyes were absolute.

"Hold the courtyard," Klaus commanded, his voice a thick, wet scrape. He did not look at the commanders. He kept his eyes fixed on the towering structure ahead of us. "Do not let anyone inside."

I turned my head, following his line of sight.

At the very top of the wide, white marble stairs stood the entrance to the inner keep. The massive, towering doors were made of solid gold, etched with the intricate, sweeping history of the Empire.

The golden doors stood wide open.

The path to the throne room was completely clear. There were no more guards. There were no more magical walls of fire. The Emperor was sitting inside, waiting for the rot to reach his feet.

"Can you walk?" I asked Klaus, my voice dropping to a quiet whisper.

"I can walk," Klaus promised, his grip tightening securely around my waist. The white smoke continued to curl from the deep cuts on his neck, but he locked his jaw, burying the pain deep in his ribs. "I told you I would hold the doors."

We stepped over the ruined remains of the Captain of the Guard.

We walked slowly up the final flight of pristine white stairs. My heavy, mud-stained boots left dark tracks on the flawless stone. The smell of the dead basin, the blood, and the toxic decay clung to our clothes, a foul stench that completely overpowered the sweet scent of the capital.

We reached the threshold of the golden doors.

The dim, heavily perfumed air of the inner keep spilled out into the freezing morning wind. I looked into the massive, silent hall.

I was no longer the fragile, terrified girl in the silver collar. I was the warlord who had melted their gates and broken their hound. The fear that had lived in my chest for years was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, unyielding promise of violence.

I leaned into the solid, heavy heat of the immortal holding me. We stepped out of the cold wind and walked into the dark.