The Heart of Fire (135 page)

He pulls himself to the wall and rests his back against it, his expression pained. ‘It will never end,’ he grunts, his voice raw and hoarse. ‘This will never end.’

You look to the runed door. It stands closed, with no sign of Cernos or Avian. They must have passed through, heading deeper into the palace. When you turn back to Virgil, you see that he is
weeping. Only then do you notice that his right hand is missing, the bloody stump pressed tight to his chest. ‘It’s over for me . . .. It’s over.’

You start to speak, but the words die quickly. The silence lengthens.

Virgil glares up at you, scowling through his tears. ‘I have hunted demons all my life. I know them better than anybody. And what good has it ever done me? I even watched my wife . . . my
daughter . . .’ He clenches his teeth, their bright gold darkened by blood. ‘What hope is there . . . for this world, when there is so much . . . so many . . . evils.’ He rests
his head against the wall.

‘There will always be good men, Virgil. Crusaders like yourself.’ You crouch to retrieve his hat, brushing the flecks of demon from its brim.

‘Good men,’ hisses Virgil. He snorts with amusement. ‘I’m no good man. I lied to you, demon. I lied to you.’

You meet his gaze.

‘There is no cure for your malady. Modoc can’t change what you have become. The demon blood . . . there is no cure. Only . . . death.’

The words cut deeper than any demon’s blade; a wound that your blood can never heal.

‘No . . .’ Your stomach lurches, your chest tightening with a wave of panic and fear.
No cure
.

You say the words to yourself, as if struggling to understand the enormity of their meaning.

‘I needed you . . . to track Cernos . . . I needed you to help me.’ Virgil winces, shifting his weight to the other shoulder. ‘For what’s it worth . . . I’m
sorry.’

You blink back tears. Words seem meaningless now. Hope seems meaningless now. All you have ever wanted is your freedom – to escape the past, the inquisition, this demon curse . . . But now
you know that you can never be free.
I have become a monster
.

You glare at the witchfinder, wanting to feel anger. Hate. Betrayal. Instead, there is only a chill emptiness.
I am a demon. That is my fate
.

You offer him the hat.

‘You keep it,’ he smiles wanly. ‘I think its luck finally wore out. . .’

If you wish, you may now take:

You look back to the runed door. Ragnarok must be nearby – the dark blade that once belonged to Barahar. If Cernos takes the sword, then he will have the means of wreaking vengeance and
destruction on the world – delivering the same misery and horror that has destroyed Tartarus and left the Lamuri cities forever cursed.

‘Kill Cernos . . .’ whispers Virgil, as if reading your thoughts. ‘Just promise me you’ll do that.’ His breath rattles in the silence.

You are already headed for the door, splashing through the bloody mire. Four runes have been carved across its face, each set within a square panel. Distracted by the battle, you did not see
what Cernos did to open the door. You push against the heavy stone, but it doesn’t budge. Clearly, you will need to press one or more of the panels to unlock some hidden mechanism.

872

As you cross the courtyard, Virgil spots something amongst the rubble. He calls a halt, crouching down next to a jagged piece of rock. Blood has been smeared across it.

‘What is it?’ You notice that there is a deliberate pattern to the stain. ‘Another blood ritual?’

Virgil shakes his head. ‘This is Avian’s mark. A sign he’s still alive.’

Your eyes quickly scan the rubble, half-expecting to see a body – or perhaps Cernos, lying in wait. Instead you spot a further trail of blood, winding through the ash and grime. It leads
to a stepped walkway, which spirals up to the last tier of the dwarven city.

Angrily, Virgil scuffs the mark into the dirt. ‘He knew this place would be the end of him. He knew and still he came . . .’

You turn in surprise. ‘He is a prophet?’

Virgil snorts. ‘Hardly. His fate was foretold by another. Jenlar Cornelius. A member of our order. Jenlar saw many deaths for Avian, but each one he has cheated. This one, I am starting to
wonder. . .’

You frown. ‘You mean the visions can be wrong?’

‘Right, wrong. I don’t pretend to know the way of it.’

‘But Durnhollow . . . what I saw . . .’

He notes your look of bewilderment. ‘Look, I live by my wits and my blades. If we’re talking destiny now . . .’ He shrugs. ‘Avian once told me that destiny was for fools
and dreamers. I think he was right. We all have a choice.’

You look past his shoulder to the dark sprawl of the city. Dawn has started to creep over the crater’s edge, steadily dressing the towers and minarets in silvery threads of light. For the
briefest of moments it is as if time has flowed backwards, and you are gazing upon the true majesty of Tartarus as it once was, all of those thousands of years ago.

You lower your head with a sigh. ‘I saw my own death, here – at the foot of the mountain. Cernos will take Ragnarok. We will fail to stop him.’

Virgil rises to stand at your side. ‘Then we must cling to a fool’s hope. One of us has to change the future.’ (Return to the quest
map
to continue your journey.)

873

For defeating Krakatoa, you may now help yourself to one of the following special items:

When you have made your decision, turn to
651
if you still need to choose rewards, or
545
to continue.

874

Quest: The Crematorium

(
NOTE
: You must have completed the orange quest
The Abussos
before you can access this location.)

Bile splatters against the wall, eating through the rock in a hissing cloud of steam. You grab Virgil and push him ahead, aware that the giant centipede is closing in fast. The cavern rings with
the endless tapping of its many chitinous legs.

‘I need to heal.’ Virgil staggers dizzily. He cradles his burnt arm to his chest, the shreds of cloth mingling with the blood and seared flesh.

‘Keep going!’ you urge, shoving him forward. ‘We’ll make it!’

Across the cave, a row of stalagmites block the face of the wall. They spear upwards to meet the stalactites hanging down from the ceiling, together forming a colonnade of crystal-glowing rock.
A natural barrier.

You push Virgil between the columns. As you move to follow, you risk a look over your shoulder – and wish you hadn’t. Your vision is filled with a nightmarish mishmash of spines and
mandibles. The creature shows no signs of slowing, its hundreds of legs driving it forward at an alarming speed . . .

There is a loud crack.

The centipede’s spiked head smashes into the columns, crumpling through the stone and filling the air with dust. You reel behind Virgil, who is already half-running and half-stumbling
along the makeshift corridor. Ahead you spy a narrow opening in the wall, little more than a jagged crevice. The witchfinder has also seen it, quickening his pace. Behind you the giant monster
shrieks with rage, knocking through the columns like a ball through skittles.

Just as the ensuing dust cloud is about to engulf you, your hands find the opening. Cloth and scales rip on the gnarled rock as you push yourself into the claustrophobic space. A second later
and the black body of the insect hurtles past, its immensity filling your narrow view with shell and spines. Then it is gone, skittering away with an angry screech.

The crevice brings you out into another cavern, lit by pillars of multi-coloured crystals. Virgil is gasping for breath as he struggles one-handed to pull a gourd from his coat.

‘Need . . . tonic.’ He lifts the gourd to his mouth, clamping his gold teeth around the cork and yanking it free. You glance down at his burnt arm, wincing at the sight of the
terrible wound. For once, the injury was not the work of demons, but Virgil’s own pistol – the heated powder having exploded in its chamber.

He starts to raise the gourd to his lips, then gives a dismissive grunt. ‘Ah, to Allam with it.’ He tips the contents over his ravaged arm. The flesh smokes and sizzles, dragging a
sobbing cry from his cracked lips. He staggers back as the skin continues to cauterise, becoming an ugly stretch of scarred tissue. ‘Never did like taking medicine,’ he gasps between
gritted teeth.

‘At least we lost the bug.’ You look back towards the crevice, wondering if the creature will try and pummel its way through. Since first encountering the oversized centipede, it has
proved a persistent foe, chasing you through nearly a mile of tunnels and caves.

‘It will find us again, have no doubt.’ Virgil rests his back against the wall, clenching and unclenching his maimed hand. ‘Let’s just be grateful for this
reprieve.’

‘I wouldn’t get too settled . . .’

Virgil looks up, following your gaze.

Carved into the opposite wall is a colossal throne of black obsidian – and seated on it is a stone giant, its body patched with shards of bright-glowing crystal.

The witchfinder slides a pistol from his coat. When he catches your look he returns a guilty smile. ‘Don’t worry. It’s my last one. Explosions are rare, mostly. . .’

Before you can deliver a reprimand, you hear a dull rumbling coming from the far wall. The throne is shaking, releasing thick curtains of stone and dust.

‘That doesn’t look good,’ you grimace.

Through the thickening haze, you can make out movement – the giant’s hands are pushing down on the throne, heaving its immense body forward. Then, with a grating sigh, the giant
rises up, its gemencrusted crown scraping the cavernous ceiling, nearly a hundred feet above you.

The witchfinder glances at his pistol. ‘We’re gonna need a bigger gun.’

Slowly, the giant’s head tilts forward, angling its stone gaze at the floor of the cave. ‘
Tourmalus protect. Tourmalus obey
.’ The voice seems to come from everywhere at
once, amplified by the smooth, curved walls of the chamber.

Virgil moves to your side, grunting with pain as he draws his sword from its scabbard. You follow his lead, your enchanted weapons spinning into your hands. It is time to fight:

Special abilities