The Golden Hand that Burns the Gods
The narrow tunnel beneath the city of Mythra was thick with darkness, lit only by the faint glow of torches lining the walls. Dust swirled, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and metal. Lesendra stood tall, his breath labored, his golden hand radiating a warm light that seemed to shake the very space around him.
Behind them, the gods' soldiers emerged—tall figures armed with long swords, spears, and black steel shields. They moved in silence, but each step rumbled the ground. Their armor gleamed faintly in the torchlight, faceless iron masks reflecting the flickering flames.
"Lesendra," Seira whispered beside him. "We're surrounded. These aren't just ordinary soldiers. They're the Throne's Vanguard—the right hands of the gods."
Lesendra clenched his golden hand. "Then we'll break their hands."
The first wave charged, their thundering steps like the rumble of the earth. Lesendra leapt forward, deflecting the first sword strike with his golden hand, melting the blade with intense heat. He seized an enemy's spear, snapped it with a forceful strike, and hurled it into another soldier.
Seira moved swiftly, her curved dagger slicing through the gaps in the black steel armor, felling soldiers with deadly precision. Black blood spilled, staining the stone floor.
Lesendra spun, facing two warriors wielding massive swords. They attacked in unison, but his golden hand struck hard, shattering the first blade into molten fragments, then smashing the second soldier's helmet with such force that his body slammed into the wall.
Suddenly, from another corridor, a squad of archers clad in black armor appeared, longbows drawn, silver arrows glinting in the torchlight. Lesendra and Seira ducked behind a stone pillar as arrows rained down, embedding into the walls with a sharp hiss.
"Seira, we have to close the distance. We're not made for long-range," Lesendra muttered.
Seira nodded, pulling three throwing knives from her belt. With swift, practiced motions, she threw them, taking down three archers simultaneously. Lesendra burst from cover, his golden hand slamming the ground with a shockwave that sent archers sprawling. He grabbed a broken bow from a fallen soldier and hurled it like a spear, shattering another enemy's helmet.
A deep, booming horn echoed in the distance—a signal summoning the main forces. From the corridor's end, a towering figure appeared, twice the height of a man, clad in horned black armor, wielding a massive spear embedded with a glowing blue gem. This was the God of War, master of battle and the right hand of the Dark Throne.
His footsteps were heavy, each one sending dust flying. "Weak mortal… you dare defy the will of the gods," his voice rumbled like a storm.
Lesendra's golden hand glowed brighter. "I'm not defying their will. I will destroy them."
The God of War swung his spear, slicing through the air with a gust that shattered stone pillars into rubble. Lesendra dodged with a quick leap, closing the distance with a spinning strike of his golden hand. Their clash ignited sparks and blinding light.
Their duel became the focal point of the battle. Seira engaged the remaining Vanguard with swift dagger strikes and agile movements. Lesendra fought the God of War with a blend of golden strikes and rapid combat techniques. The sounds of clashing metal, shouts, and crashing blows filled the narrow tunnel, creating a heart-pounding symphony of chaos.
Finally, Lesendra broke through, his golden hand plunging into the giant's chest. "You're just an illusion of power," he growled. With a powerful thrust, his golden hand split the God of War's chest open, releasing a blinding burst of golden light.
The God of War's body collapsed, sending a deafening crash through the tunnel. The remaining forces froze in place, then scattered. Seira approached, her breath ragged, her face streaked with dust and blood.
"You've just ignited this war," she murmured. Lesendra gazed into the tunnel's shadows, his golden hand now glowing like an eternal flame. "This war isn't over. It's only just begun."
---
The Golden Hand that Burns the Gods – Journey to the Dark Throne
The ruined tunnel led Lesendra and Seira out of the underground maze and onto a rocky plain under a sky cloaked in storm. In the distance, the Black Throne's tower rose like a spear piercing Mythra's sky, its peak shrouded in thick swirling clouds. Here, the gods dictated human fate, crafted rituals, and maintained unmatched dominion.
Seira paused at a small cliff, drawing a deep breath. "This path isn't just a way forward. It's a labyrinth guarded by the curses of the gods." Lesendra gazed ahead. "I don't care how many traps they've laid. I'll shatter them all."
They descended through a narrow crevice towards the Dark Gate, an archway of massive stone carved with faintly glowing ancient symbols. As Lesendra approached, the ground crumbled beneath him, plunging them into a rocky underground chamber.
They landed hard in a dome-shaped room, its walls adorned with ancient murals depicting battles between humans and gods. Seira's torchlight illuminated intricate carvings—humans with golden hands fighting winged, shadowy creatures.
"This isn't just legend," Seira whispered. "These are traces of those who fought before… and failed."
Suddenly, the floor began to shift, forming a spiraling labyrinth pattern. The stone walls split apart, creating branching paths that appeared and vanished. From the darkness, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed—stone statues carved in the image of gods slowly rising, their eyes glowing red, their hands wielding massive stone swords.
"The first trap," Lesendra muttered, his golden hand beginning to glow brighter.
They sprinted through the branching corridors, dodging the swings of stone swords that shattered the floor. Seira scanned the wall symbols, reading the ancient carvings. "The exit is behind the kneeling statue!" she shouted. Lesendra slammed his golden hand into the wall, revealing a hidden passage behind the symbols.
They leapt through, tumbling into a new chamber—the Black Mirror Room. Within, the torchlight reflected off dark mirrors that cast no reflection, instead showing past memories and deepest fears. Lesendra saw his younger self kneeling before a god who slaughtered his family. A voice whispered, "You are but a weak mortal… this power will consume you too."
Lesendra closed his eyes, clenching his glowing golden hand. "I am not your slave of fear." With a powerful punch, he shattered the mirror, collapsing the chamber and opening a path to the next room.
Seira stared in awe. "Your strength isn't just physical. You're fighting your fears." Lesendra's gaze steeled. "And I'll fight them all."
At last, they reached the Obsidian Bridge, a gleaming black stone span leading to the grand gates of the Dark Throne. Beneath, an endless chasm glowed with dark blue light. Yet the bridge was unstable—each step triggered a shifting pattern of glowing symbols on the stone surface.
"There's an order to solve this," Seira murmured, examining the symbols that emerged. "A wrong move, and the whole bridge will collapse."
Lesendra studied the pattern. The symbols weren't mere carvings, but an ancient puzzle representing elements: fire, water, earth, and air. He quickly recalled the old teachings passed down by his father.
"Fire to earth, air to water, then back to fire," he whispered. They stepped carefully, following the sequence. The obsidian stones lit up beneath their feet, streaming golden light to guide their way.
Halfway across, a rumbling echoed. A towering shadow appeared—the Dark Throne's guardian, a giant figure with dark skin and a massive obsidian sword. Its eyes blazed blue, its steps shaking the bridge.
Lesendra clenched his golden hand. "You're not the first… and you won't be the last."
A battle erupted over the chasm, the giant obsidian blade clashing against his golden strikes. Sparks and flashes of light filled the darkness, the sound of their blows echoing far and wide. Below them, the blue-lit abyss hissed, awaiting anyone who would fall.