Prison Tower
Inside of the fallen tower, dozens of crooked tabletops were lined up against the wall, bolted to the stone. They hung by— what was the promise of age— nothing much more than rust.
But it was atop the tables that shocked Artemis and Ruffliette so much.
Bodies littered the tabletops, caked in thick layers of writhing liquid, which seemed to be solidifying at a slow pace, hardening into harsh craggy black stone. The corpses that had been fully enveloped by the stone had been petrified permanently in their final state of agony, mouths agape and glassy eyes widened, forever.
But that wasn't all that the tower contained. Lining its sloped walls which extended far into the distance, eventually reaching the top of the palace, there were hundreds of cells. Iron bars kept safe many thousands of figures, all curled up next to each other as cries of agony resounded through the tower.
They hadn't yet taken notice of Artemis and Ruffliette, who remained horrified.
They had found themselves in the city's prison.
But what had those prisoners become?
All that remained in the city had been monsters.
Was it possible that there were survivors in the city?
How would they have survived this long?
Artemis's grasp curled tighter around the hilt of his blade.
Only if this prison had a Warden…
But the tower seemed empty, besides the prisoners.
The bodies were covered in the festering black liquid, which coarsed through their protruding veins at a high rate, causing them to churn and rush along like the waves of the sea.
It's- it's really the black water… f-ck.
This is what's in my blood right now…
Artemis cursed silently, brushing against his sleeve, which now concealed his wounds.
Would he become like them?
Would he become a monster in his own flesh?
How long would it take?
He was already a Demon on the inside, Lark made sure of that.
He scoffed, tears beginning to well up in his eyes.
It was ironic that he would now look the part.
Were these the prisoners on the table? Was it more like a laboratory than a prison? Or were the two symbiotic in nature?
What exactly had the denizens of this city been doing? And what did the black water have to do with it?
No, the black liquid looked much thicker than the water he had encountered. It was much more likely that the water itself was fine, only contaminated with this strange substance.
That was why Lark had warned him previously.
The prisoners eventually took notice of them as they stepped through the tower.
They didn't worry too much. After all, what could they do behind bars?
But their voices… they were addling.
"THE CASTELLAN! THE CASTELLAN!"
"THE CASTELL-"
"WATCH OUT!"
"WATCH!"
"WATCH FOR THE-"
They were not just screaming, it seemed like their voices became the air itself. The dampening of the stone around them exemplified it. They seemed lofty, booming, terrifying. Like they weren't human.
Like they were monsters.
They looked almost like the skeletal creatures Artemis had first encountered when he had come to the city. Their skin was withered and decaying, mottled and rotten. He glanced at one, sheathing his blade.
"Who are you? Do you need help?" Artemis spoke in a calm, unmoved tone.
"THE CASTELLAN! THE CASTELLAN! HE'S COMING!"
He shook his head.
No, it's already too late for them. They're monsters.
Just like I'll soon be.
Will I lose my mind too?
There really are no survivors in the city.
He took a moment to consider what they were saying, however. It wasn't just that their ramblings had meaning. It was that they were all saying the same thing.
If there really was a Castellan, an administrator of the palace and warden of the prison, was it possible that he was lurking nearby? If the noise of the prisoners brought him about, would they have to fight against him, or would such a figure be amiable to talking?
That was… if that figure hadn't become a monster himself.
Perhaps he had become like the skeletal prisoners.
Or even lost himself, becoming a spirit that inhabited the armour.
It was clear that the black liquid's changes made one capable of surviving for extended periods of time. They would wither and decay, but they would still yet live.
And they would become monstrous.
But there was another key trait that shook Artemis's already-addled mind.
The armoured hollow knights were the enemies of the skeletal figures. He had seen this clearly the moment he had arrived.
Was it possible that they were imprisoned because of that?
Then it must be the case that the 'Castellan' the prisoners were speaking of was one of the armoured figures.
And that definitely meant they would need to fight it.
Amidst the huddle of screaming prisoners, their voices cutting deep into the air, he saw the wavering golden-eyed shadow. It stared at him, and its maw drooped open, black shadow dripping from its upper lip as it seemed to speak, but no sound came out.
This was a figure he cared about much more than the existence of some prison warden. This mysterious figure had been with him from the very beginning! He really did want answers.
But this time was different. Was it… talking to him?
What are you saying!?
Artemis grasped the bars of the prison cell, but as soon as he approached, the infected prisoners quickly rushed towards him, crashing into the bars. It was with such ferocity, such disregard for themselves, that the mottled and rotted flesh that clung to their bones fell away from their greater forms, bits and pieces of them falling out into the tower's hall.
The shadow simply observed. He didn't run along with the other prisoners, only watching as they ravenously ruined themselves, how they unknowingly deteriorated beyond what could be considered truly living.
What did he want from Artemis?
Why did it keep following him?
Artemis let out an audible 'tsk', looking away as they continued through the tower. As they walked, the prisoners continued rattling the bars, murmuring or raving about the Castellan, eventually screaming about how he would come, how he would hurt them, how they would wish to die.
They foretold how difficult he would be when he appeared.
They eventually reached its exit, a shattered entryway from when it had collapsed. It was quite odd to Artemis.
How did an entire tower collapse from the base, yet preserve its structure so grandly?
At the top of the tower, on a large platform facing the bridge-like structure atop the city's wall, a figure towered overhead. A shadow larger than they could comprehend was cast atop the stone platform, glaring absentmindedly at the sky.
This was the Castellan! The figure that the prisoners had been crazily warning them about was right outside the tower! Why had he not come after hearing the raving prisoners? They had made such a commotion!
F-ck! There really was a Warden of the prison! Will we have to fight this crazy monster!?
The black-steel armour sported a victorious red mane that fell to its waist, with several hundred spikes sticking out of the front of the helm, as sharp as daggers.
It carried a black-steel broadsword in one hand, and a stalwart shield on the other. Although, besides the weapons he was carrying, there was a lengthy red-tipped spear embedded in the stone, skewering several aged, withered corpses.
It eyed the two figures who had just appeared, but seemed too preoccupied to care about them.
"Lord Lautstarke…" His hollow, ancient voice echoed through the air. The night that he seemed to speak towards, which casted the area in darkness, seemed to quiver at the sound. Almost as if it was at his command.
Although they could not perfectly understand him, his language seemed… eerily familiar. It was deeper, darker, in an accent as thick as mud, but it was recognisable, understandable.
It was theirs.
Artemis stumbled backwards, drawing his talwar immediately.
This monstrous beast… why was it speaking their human language!?
And as it raised its shattered, decaying black hand, it grasped at its helm, pulling it away.
Underneath the armour, pitch-black skin that shimmered like metal met the starlight. Eighteen prongs lined the rim of his head like a curved crown, sharpened like blades, and he had visor-like irises that stretched along the front of his face, no visible seams for a mouth or nose.
His visor-like eyes glowed a dull, fading red, and would blink away periodically.
Even though they were strange, they could decipher the emotion in those eyes.
It was the look of a defeated figure, one in pain, one prepared to die.
He raised the blade up in the air, dropping the shield as he grasped its hilt and flipped it around, holding its point against his chest.
"Tell them that Vaultracht has not betrayed the Citadel again…"
He drove the point into his chest, spilling black blood against the ground.