Chapter 103: Tomb of the Nameless King
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In the early evening, the resounding bell of the grand cathedral tolled three distinct times, echoing through its vast hallways and chambers. Each toll was a wave of sound that washed over the intricate architecture, signaling that something significant was unfolding. Vanna, known as the Inquisitor, had already entered the sanctuary before the third chime completed its reverberation. Her footsteps resonated softly on the stone floor as she moved towards the altar.
Archbishop Valentine, an elderly and venerable figure clothed in dark, elaborate ecclesiastical robes, stood motionless before a towering statue of the Storm Goddess Gomona. His eyes were closed, hands clasped in deep, contemplative prayer. Sensing the footsteps, Valentine instinctively knew it was Vanna entering the sacred space, a sixth sense honed through years of spiritual devotion.
“Inquisitor Vanna,” Valentine’s deep voice broke the silence as he turned to face her. “A command to summon a Listener has been issued directly by the Grand Storm Cathedral.”
Vanna’s eyes widened in surprise as she swiftly moved towards the statue, positioning herself in the circle of light cast by the hanging oil lamps above the altar. “Directly from the Grand Storm Cathedral? Could this relate to a newly discovered anomaly or vision?”
Valentine shook his head solemnly. “If it were merely about a new anomaly or vision, the cathedral bell would not toll three times. No, this is far more urgent. A message has been received from the tombkeepers in ‘The Chamber.’ They’ve reported unusual activity emanating from the body of the Nameless King. The details are murky, but it appears the existing list of names associated with the King is undergoing mysterious changes.”
As he spoke, the archbishop locked eyes with Vanna, emphasizing the gravity of the situation.
“We need to dispatch a Listener to ‘the chamber’ to investigate this vision, to gather any possible information from the body of the Nameless King. The chamber is under the oversight of our Storm Church. Both you and I are among the listed candidates to become the Listener.”
Maintaining her composure, Vanna responded calmly, “When do we leave?”
“Now,” Archbishop Valentine nodded, signaling her to follow him. He walked toward a hidden area behind the towering statue of the goddess. A door, adorned with various arcane and sacred symbols, creaked open, revealing a long, dimly-lit passageway. “The psychic tunnel has been prepared for our journey.”
With a final, respectful bow towards the statue of Gomona, Vanna pivoted and followed the archbishop. They walked down the corridor, the lamplight flickering eerily as they progressed further into the depths of the ancient cathedral. Finally, they reached a secluded chamber at the end of the hallway.
This room was unlike any other within the cathedral. Instead of the familiar construction of concrete and bricks, it was built entirely from uneven gray stone blocks. These blocks fit snugly together, forming both the walls and ceiling. Dominating the center of the chamber was a fire pit, where flames crackled energetically despite the absence of any visible fuel source, as if the fire had sprung from the very air itself.
The room was bare of any furniture or decorations. A constant sound of trickling water echoed around them, lending an atmosphere of moisture to the already damp walls. Even the stone floor appeared wet, covered by tiny, meandering streams. It felt less like an appendage to the cathedral and more like a hidden, submerged cave at the ocean’s depths.
Vanna was no stranger to this unique chamber. As an inquisitor of equal authority to Archbishop Valentine within the city-state, she was granted the privilege to use this room as a “psychic gateway.” This seemingly modest chamber was a specialized facility, serving as a launching point for constructing psychic channels or tunnels to distant realms.
Every central cathedral in each city-state possessed similar chambers, each designed in accordance with the religious technology specific to their deity. While priests dedicated to the Storm Goddess Gomona utilized chambers like this one, styled as “submerged caves,” acolytes of the Death God had their own versions, referred to as “pale crypts.” These chambers, though dark and claustrophobic to the uninitiated, held a miraculous purpose: they could separate the user’s spirit from their physical form and send it across a network of interconnected psychic spaces. This transcendent communication enabled instant interaction between city-states separated by the Boundless Seas.
Enabled by divine grace, this miraculous technology allowed isolated branches of the church to communicate swiftly across oceanic distances. In ancient times, before the advent of reliable oceanic vessels, this psychic network was often the only lifeline city-states had to confirm each other’s existence and well-being.
As Vanna and Archbishop Valentine stood in the chamber, the heavy metal doors behind them slowly closed with a resonant, muffled thud. Intricate runes engraved into the dark metal surfaces began to animate as if possessed by a life force, intertwining and interlocking in an intricate dance, perfectly sealing the chamber from external influences.
The two religious figures positioned themselves beside the chamber’s central fire pit, their heads reverently bowed as they focused on the sacred, flickering flames. In synchronized harmony, they began chanting the sacred name of their Storm Goddess, Gomona. As they continued their invocation, the room seemed to respond.
The illusionary sounds of water, which had been softly trickling from an unseen source, grew in volume and intensity. As they invoked the goddess’s name, the subtle sounds converged into a deafening roar, mimicking the sound of a turbulent sea. The atmosphere in the room became increasingly humid, almost palpable, and Vanna noticed the tiny streams flowing along the chamber floor transforming into rising, turbulent waves.
Fixating her gaze on the fire pit, whose flames seemed undeterred by the illusionary aquatic upheaval, Vanna closed her eyes and allowed her spirit to be fully engulfed by this metaphysical seawater.
The initial sensation of cold vanished quickly. When she reopened her eyes, she found herself no longer in the confined, stone-built chamber designed to mimic a submerged cave. Instead, her consciousness had been transported to an incomprehensibly vast, chaotic square. Towering pillars, each a monument to divine majesty, stretched as far as the eye could see. Their tops appeared broken or fragmented, as if they had shattered and dispersed into the heavens. Floating above this grand square was a nebulous river of light, veiling something profoundly distant and mysterious beyond mortal understanding.
Gathering her composure, Vanna surveyed the expansive square. It was filled with shadowy figures, their forms reduced to mere black silhouettes outlined in faint, ethereal light. Although their faces were obscured, she identified each individual by the distinct auras radiating from them. These were devout followers of the Storm Goddess, from various city-states and even the Grand Storm Cathedral that sailed the Boundless Sea.
It was understood that only “saints” could be chosen to serve as “Listeners,” primarily because certain divine “voices” could only be comprehended by these spiritually advanced individuals without losing the integrity of the message.
As she pondered this, a familiar shadowy figure drifted towards her. Even before he spoke, Vanna recognized him as Archbishop Valentine, identified by the specific energy signature she had come to associate with him over the years. The archbishop appeared somewhat embarrassed. “It seems I’m the last to arrive again, just like at our previous gathering.”
Vanna mused aloud, “Do the saints from other city-states permanently reside in chambers like ours? The moment a summons is issued, half of them can gather here within ten minutes.”
Chuckling, Valentine shook his head. “Ever since Saint Forlson inscribed ‘First’ next to his name on the attendance roll twenty years ago, this absurd competition to arrive early has become a trend. The Goddess doesn’t grant additional blessings for punctuality.”
Before Vanna could reply, a sudden, thunderous noise reverberated from the far end of the square, disrupting her thoughts and halting the murmured discussions among the gathering of saints.
Simultaneously, Vanna and Valentine raised their eyes to witness a supernatural vision: the ground at the center of the square began to rise. Ancient stone bricks, which had seemed as immovable as the earth, started rippling like a pond disturbed by a thrown stone. Rapidly ascending through these undulating waves of stone, a pale peak broke the surface, followed by leaning walls and archaic pillars of the same pale material.
Within seconds, the entirety of this mysterious tower came into view—a massive, looming structure of enormous pale stones. This colossal building was grim and austere, resembling a pyramid at its core and flanked by menacing obelisks and daunting towers. No known city-state boasted architecture of this style; the building exuded a gloomy and oppressive atmosphere inhospitable to life.
Rather than a palace, it was more accurate to label this titanic structure as an immense tomb, a mausoleum for a bygone, powerful entity.
Like everyone else gathered in the square, Vanna’s attention was irresistibly drawn to the base of this awe-inspiring pyramid. Under the collective scrutiny of countless ethereal eyes, the massive door at the entrance of the tomb started to creak open, revealing long-concealed mysteries.
As the monumental stone doors of pale hue gradually parted, a towering figure emerged from the dark recesses of the tomb. This was no ordinary being; he was the guardian of the Tomb of the Nameless King.
For Vanna, the term “human” felt insufficient to describe him. A complex patchwork of shrouds enveloped his body; these fabrics were singed and nearly charcoal-black on one side, as if they had borne witness to eons of infernal fires. The other half of his body was bound by heavy iron chains engraved with dark runes that seemed to writhe as if alive. Some of these grotesque chains appeared integrated into his flesh, twisting around pulsing veins and exposed nerves as if fused with his biology. This guardian was an unsettling amalgam of decaying flesh, oppressive chains, and lingering dark enchantments. With heavy, deliberate steps, he advanced toward the congregation of shadowy figures assembled in the ethereal square.
Although Vanna had crossed paths with the tomb guardian on previous occasions, she found herself involuntarily holding her breath, her muscles tightening reflexively in anticipation.
Her tension escalated as she realized the guardian was walking directly toward her. Ignoring the other figures that filled the square, he continued his inexorable approach until he stood just in front of her. His head was a cacophony of shrouds and chains, with a single eye visible—an eye that held her gaze with an unsettling calm. Vanna was not a short woman, but the guardian dwarfed her, towering at least a head taller.
“You may enter the tomb,” the guardian intoned, his voice carrying an unsettling rasp as if speech was a struggle for a long-dead corpse. As he spoke, he raised what appeared to be his right hand—a charred, almost skeletal appendage—and held a quill pen along with a weathered scroll of parchment.
“Write down what you hear,” he ordered, his voice tinged with an urgency that belied his otherworldly composure. The command was terse, but in its brevity lay an enormity of responsibility. Whatever messages she would hear in the tomb were likely of grave import—not just to her, but perhaps to the world at large.
lmao ‘first’
second! mwahaha
Third is mine.
Fourth !
Author really out here dissing commenters
Fifth
Thirty-Sixth