Chapter 81: Collapse of the Obsidian Throne

  The highly corrosive, entirely unstable violet gas expanded across the massive inner courtyard with the terrifying, unstoppable speed of a chemical tidal wave. The ambient temperature within the cavernous assembly floor instantly skyrocketed, the raw, toxic friction actively eating away at the ancient stone pillars and melting the abandoned iron tools left behind by the fleeing assassins. The air tasted sharply of ozone, burning sulfur, and raw, unrestrained destruction.

  Zeno did not waste a single, precious heartbeat looking back at the frail, broken body of the Syndicate King. He had firmly wrapped his incredibly thick, heavily muscled right arm entirely around Lyra’s waist, effortlessly pulling her flush against his side to support her failing strength. She was coughing violently, her lungs struggling desperately against the toxic fumes and the excruciating, burning pain radiating from the awakened parasitic spores in her bloodstream.

  With his left hand, Zeno securely gripped the thick leather straps of his heavy backpack, ensuring his beloved, dented iron cauldron was perfectly balanced against his spine. He entirely engaged his Flowing Step, utilizing his monstrous Agility to navigate the chaotic, obstacle-strewn courtyard. He moved like a blur of scorched red silk and dark leather, vaulting smoothly over overturned workbenches, sliding beneath collapsing iron scaffolding, and completely outrunning the expanding cloud of lethal violet gas.

  "Keep your face completely covered!" Zeno ordered loudly, his voice rumbling deeply in his chest as he sprinted toward the absolute rear of the fortress.

  Lyra weakly pressed her leather-gloved hand over her nose and mouth, burying her face directly into the thick fabric of Zeno’s blackened tunic. Her vision was swimming, the edges of the world blurring into a dark, painful haze, but she entirely trusted the massive boy carrying her. She could feel the steady, incredibly powerful rhythm of his heart beating against her cheek, a deeply comforting, grounding anchor amidst the absolute chaos of the collapsing factory.

  They reached the sheer, completely vertical wall of black obsidian. High above them, fifty feet up the completely frictionless surface, was the jagged, shadowed gap created by the ancient rockfall—their only viable exit.

  The pale white line of Lyra’s incredibly strong spider-silk rope still hung precisely where they had left it, but the toxic, highly corrosive gas was already beginning to pool heavily at their boots, actively eating away at the bottom of the rope.

  "The rope is going to melt," Zeno analyzed instantly, his tone completely shifting from his usual cheerful demeanor to one of absolute, unyielding tactical focus.

  He didn't attempt an impossible, blind jump to the top, knowing the sheer weight of his armor, the cauldron, and the incapacitated scout would drag them back down into the toxic fog. Instead, he relied on the path he had already carved.

  "Hold onto my shoulders very tightly, Lyra," Zeno instructed, quickly shifting her weight onto his broad back in a secure piggyback hold. "Do not let go."

  Zeno didn't hesitate. He slammed his heavy, spiked Rock Serpent gauntlets directly into the exact same deep, jagged anchor holes he had punched into the obsidian glass during their initial infiltration.

  He moved with terrifying, mechanical efficiency, hauling their combined weight straight up the sheer vertical face. He climbed exactly like a massive, heavily armored insect, his heavy boots finding the lower handholds perfectly. He entirely ignored the burning strain in his shoulder muscles, scaling the fifty-foot wall with blistering speed.

  He reached the jagged opening just as the rising tide of violet gas brushed against the heels of his heavy climbing boots. Zeno shoved Lyra safely through the narrow gap first, then violently hauled his massive frame and the heavy cauldron through the jagged edges, tumbling completely out onto the freezing, snow-covered rocks of the Jagged Peaks.

  The instantaneous transition from the suffocating, burning chemical heat of the alchemical factory to the biting, absolute zero temperature of the mountain air was a massive shock to the biological system. Zeno hit the snow hard, rolling quickly to completely absorb the kinetic impact and shielding Lyra from the jagged rocks with his own body.

  Before they could even stand, the ancient earth beneath them violently heaved.

  A deep, highly muffled, catastrophic rumble echoed from entirely within the core of the mountain. The ruined alchemical reactor inside the fortress had finally reached critical mass. The Obsidian Throne did not explode outward in a massive ball of flame; the incredibly thick, First Era volcanic glass entirely contained the initial, devastating blast. Instead, the incredible, expanding pressure violently sought the weakest structural points.

  Massive, searing jets of blinding violet fire shot violently out of the narrow drainage grates, the high arrow slits, and the jagged hole they had just miraculously escaped through. The sheer, overwhelming thermal pressure completely melted the ancient iron portcullis at the front of the keep into a rushing river of glowing, white-hot slag.

  Zeno scrambled to his feet, scooping Lyra entirely back into his arms. He sprinted aggressively away from the fortress walls, his heavy boots crushing the deep snow, desperate to gain a safe, absolute distance from the highly unstable, collapsing structure.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  He ran for several hundred yards across the dark, flat plateau, finally sliding to a heavy halt behind a massive, towering outcropping of grey mountain shale. He set Lyra down gently against the cold stone, breathing heavily, his breath pluming in massive white clouds in the freezing air.

  He looked back at the Obsidian Throne. The tall, sharp spires of the fortress were currently venting thick, highly toxic black smoke heavily into the grey winter sky, effectively turning the ancient stronghold into a massive, burning tomb for the Black Lotus Syndicate's industrial ambitions.

  "The factory is permanently closed," Zeno noted softly, wiping a mixture of thick black soot and white snow from his face.

  He quickly turned his absolute, undivided attention back to Lyra. She was slumped heavily against the grey shale, her eyes completely closed, her chest heaving with incredibly shallow, ragged gasps. The extreme physical exertion of the infiltration, combined directly with the catastrophic collapse of the magic suppression field and the terrifying adrenaline crash, had allowed the dormant Snare Vine spores to violently, aggressively reassert their control over her nervous system.

  Zeno carefully pulled back her left leather bracer. The faint, subtle pink lines had drastically, horribly worsened. They were now a deep, angry, highly inflamed crimson, branching out rapidly across her pale skin exactly like a toxic spiderweb, visibly pulsing as they actively, hungrily consumed her remaining natural energy.

  "I have to get you warm, and I have to get the mule," Zeno stated, his voice completely devoid of panic, heavily laden with a deep, methodical determination. He knew exactly what he needed to do to survive the night.

  He left her resting against the rock for only a fraction of a minute, sprinting rapidly through the drifting snow back to the deep, highly sheltered rock crevice where he had tied Gravel.

  Gravel was not standing calmly. The incredibly stubborn grey mule was absolutely terrified. The heavy, muffled explosions and the sharp, burning scent of sulfur drifting on the wind had sent the animal into a complete panic. Gravel was stamping his heavy hooves frantically against the stone, his long ears pinned completely back against his skull, violently pulling against the thick lead rope in a desperate attempt to break free and flee the mountain.

  Zeno didn't yell or pull aggressively on the rope. He approached smoothly, calmly, and completely without fear. He reached out and placed his massive, completely steady, dark-wrapped hand directly onto the side of the panicked mule's thick neck.

  "It is okay, Gravel," Zeno murmured, his voice a deep, incredibly soothing, grounding rumble that entirely cut through the animal's terror. "The loud noises are over. The bad smoke is blowing away. The sledgehammer is right here."

  The sheer, absolute physical confidence and warm, unyielding stability radiating from Zeno’s touch acted exactly like a heavy anchor. Gravel shuddered violently once, entirely stopping his frantic pulling, and let out a long, shuddering exhale, realizing his safe mountain had completely returned.

  "You are a very good, very brave mule," Zeno praised the animal genuinely, untying the lead rope with highly practiced efficiency. "But we have to move right now. The needle is very sick."

  Zeno led the heavily laden mule back to the outcropping. He didn't ask Lyra to walk. He gently lifted her entirely from the snow, placing her carefully onto Gravel's broad, sturdy back, securely resting her entirely atop the soft canvas cold-storage bags. He took the lead rope, completely ignoring the burning exhaustion in his own legs, and began marching them far away from the ruined fortress, seeking a pristine, uncontaminated section of the mountain pass.

  They traveled for another grueling hour as the grey daylight began to slowly fade into a deep, freezing, incredibly hostile mountain twilight. Zeno utilized his newly expanded intelligence and his deep, organic connection to the wild to entirely locate a perfectly suited campsite. He found a deep, highly sheltered geographical depression surrounded completely by massive, towering boulders that naturally, flawlessly broke the howling wind, creating a quiet, completely isolated pocket of absolute stillness in the brutal landscape.

  He quickly unloaded the mule, entirely setting up their camp with mechanical, deeply focused precision. He completely cleared the deep snow from the absolute center of the depression, exposing the hard, frozen earth beneath. He utilized the dry, dead scrub brush he had collected during their ascent to build a highly efficient, hot-burning fire, easily igniting it with a completely controlled spark of his blue Tena.

  He gently moved Lyra close to the comforting warmth of the flames, wrapping her entirely in every single thick blanket and warm pelt they possessed, creating a massive, heavily insulated cocoon to entirely trap her failing body heat.

  Zeno then unbuckled his heavy iron cauldron, scrubbing it meticulously with a massive handful of clean snow to entirely remove the toxic soot of the factory. He filled the massive pot with completely pristine, untouched mountain snow and set it directly over the roaring flames to melt and boil.

  As the water heated, Zeno sat cross-legged beside Lyra, watching the flickering orange firelight dance across her pale, entirely strained features. He reached out, gently holding her burning, highly feverish hand in his massive, cool fingers.

  The striking image of the frail, dying Syndicate King suddenly flashed entirely clearly through his mind. The King hadn't been a monster of pure, overwhelming strength; he had been a completely broken, sickly man relying entirely on toxic machinery to project an illusion of power.

  Zeno thought deeply about the King's final, incredibly cryptic, gasping words. The customers have already paid.

  Zeno furrowed his brow, entirely applying his straightforward, highly logical, food-based worldview to the complex geopolitical puzzle.

  If I give a baker my silver for a very large, incredibly sweet apple pie, Zeno reasoned smoothly in his mind, and then the baker's oven completely breaks and I do not get my pie... I am going to be incredibly hungry, and I am going to be very, very angry.

  The absolute realization hit him with perfect clarity. The Black Lotus wasn't just an isolated group of sneaky assassins. They were baking completely toxic, anti-magic arrows for someone else. And those wealthy, highly funded buyers were still entirely out there, waiting in the shadows of the Nine Kingdoms, fully prepared to utilize the weapons.

  Those unknown buyers were incredibly angry right now because their dark bakery had just burned to the ground. And they would absolutely come looking for the people who had ruined their massive order.

  The violent destruction of the Obsidian Throne wasn't the absolute end of the war; it was simply the violent kicking of a very large hornet's nest.

  "They are going to be incredibly mad about not getting their purple arrows," Zeno whispered softly to the crackling fire, his amber eyes narrowing with absolute, unyielding resolve as he gently squeezed Lyra’s burning hand. "But they are absolutely not going to hurt you. I will punch every single one of them if I have to. The sledgehammer is not going to stop swinging."