Story 1000: The Rotting Crown

The gate groaned as it opened, revealing a path of bone and ash winding through a withered forest of crucified corpses. Every tree moaned, twisted in pain, their limbs reaching out like pleading hands. Lightning carved jagged veins across the blood-red sky. Ahead, the Rotting King’s fortress towered—a cathedral of ruin, pulsing with necrotic power.

Draven Cross stepped forward, his coat tattered, the cursed blade humming at his side. Mira Caldwell walked beside him, gaunt yet unwavering, the final incantation burned into her memory. Behind them, Elias Grimm gripped the smoldering remains of the Book of Binding, each word within now alive, whispering.

The gates closed behind them.

Inside the throne room, the Rotting King waited—throned atop a mountain of skulls, his crown of thorns glowing with foul sorcery. He was massive, cloaked in black decay, with eyes like twin eclipses. The Forsaken Girl knelt at his feet, eyes empty, soul fractured.