LOCATION: DIVINE ORDER OUTPOST — OUTER FLANKS OF ASHVALE
The Hollow Creed moved like blades in a sheath—silent until the moment they cut.
Smoke curled from the mouths of broken sanctums. Divine banners, once pristine, now burned black and red in the wind. What had been an Order outpost was now a graveyard painted in precision.
Lucan stepped over the twitching corpse of a Warden-priest, his voidsteel boots hissing with blood-soaked ash. Around him, Creed warriors carved through divine defenses with ease born of hate. The Rite had touched this place. He could feel it in the stones—in the prayers that still whispered even after the mouths that spoke them were gone.
"Secure the relic," Verrick Thorne had said.
"Leave no echoes standing."
Lucan moved deeper into the ruins, the System twitching behind his eyes.
[S̵c̵a̴n̶n̶i̷n̸g̶...]
[Residual Divinity Detected — Class: L̷o̸w̶-̸T̴i̷e̴r̵]
[Relic Signature: I̷n̶c̵o̷n̴c̴l̷u̸s̵i̷v̶e̷]
A flicker of motion caught his eye—beneath the cracked altar at the far end of the chamber.
A figure. Small. Still.
He approached.
A girl.
Young. Human. Unarmed. Dressed in acolyte robes, smeared with dust and blood. She stared up at him, wide-eyed, chest heaving.
"Please," she gasped, hands trembling.
"I—I don't want to die..."
Lucan froze. His fingers twitched at the hilt of his blade. The room was quiet. Too quiet.
She was afraid. Shaking. Real.
But something about the way she didn't crawl back, didn't look away…
Too calm.
The System blinked alive.
[Mercy Detected.]
[P̴o̴w̷e̶r̵ R̷e̸g̸r̸e̵s̶s̶i̴o̷n̴: 12%]
[W̵a̷r̶n̸i̴n̸g̷: Mercy C̴o̶n̵t̵r̷a̸d̷i̶c̷t̷s̷ ̶C̷o̶r̷e Protocol – 'Sinbound' P̵a̵t̴h̷]
[Override Prompt: E̸l̶i̷m̸i̵n̸a̸t̶e̷. Claim the Sin.]
He clenched his jaw.
"You're unarmed," he said aloud, almost to himself.
"I don't kill the unarmed."
She looked up at him, and her mouth curled—just slightly.
Too calm.
And then she smiled.
The glyphs bloomed across her skin in golden fire.
"Too late," she whispered.
Her body ignited in radiant sigils. Not flame—transmutation. Her limbs cracked backward, joints twisting, eyes going white.
She wasn't a girl. She wasn't even alive.
The Order had left behind puppets. Walking traps. Bait.
Three more emerged from the shadows behind her—each snapping into divine form with scything light and razored prayer-ribbons.
Lucan moved.
Too slow.
"Get down!" Talmar shouted.
One of the Creed warriors—Talmar—rushed to intercept. He caught the blade meant for Lucan. With his chest.
"Damn you," Rivenna hissed from the far flank, already cutting through another.
Lucan's eyes burned. The System wailed.
[S̸h̶i̶e̴l̸d ̷B̶r̸e̷a̷c̸h̶ Detected]
[C̶r̴e̷e̵d Casualty Count: 3]
[User Inaction Logged – Designation: M̶e̶r̵c̵y F̴a̸i̶l̵u̶r̷e̵]
Lucan slaughtered them all.
Blade flashing like a guillotine's heartbeat, voidsteel tearing through divine sinew and radiant bone. Glyphfire and system flares lit the chamber like a war god's nightmare.
When the last one fell—half-woman, half-construct, still twitching—Lucan stood over the ruin of what had been a lie wrapped in skin.
His breath was ragged. The System cooled. Then glitched again.
[Override R̸e̶b̵a̶l̸a̴n̸c̶e̷d̶ — Sin Claimed: 47 ͟U͘n͞i͝t̛s]
[P̸o̶w̶e̷r Stabilized…]
[̸T̸i̷e̶r Ascension A̷v̸a̶i̸l̸a̴b̴l̷e̶]
[̶U̷n̷l̴o̸c̶k̶i̷n̶g̶: T̵i̸e̸r ̴I̸I̴ – ͟S͟I͠N͘F͘O̸R̷G̴E̵D̷ ̷S̷T̶A͝T̶E̶]
Lucan dropped his sword into the blood at his feet. The blade hissed.
He looked at the bodies. At the ruin.
At Talmar's corpse, half-burned, half-prayer.
He clenched a fist, and didn't wipe the blood from his jaw.
"No more hesitation," he said.
The System pulsed in silent agreement.
And somewhere in the dark, something watching smiled.
---
LOCATION: ASHVALE – THE SEER'S SPIRE
The air in the sanctum was stale—too still, as if even the dust feared to stir in Mother Halix's presence.
Aelira Varn stood with her hands folded behind her back, head slightly bowed, robes too clean to hide the tremble beneath. She had been summoned, but not told why.
She knew.
She always knew.
At the far end of the chamber, Mother Halix sat on a high, narrow dais of bonewood and obsidian. Her posture was perfect. Her eyes, sharper than fate.
She didn't blink when she spoke.
"You loved him."
Aelira's throat clenched.
"You betrayed him."
She looked up.
"And now, child… the gods are watching you both."
The silence that followed cracked like thunder. Halix rose, slow and deliberate. Her steps were measured, her shadow long and impossibly straight behind her.
"Lucan Malryk is not dead. The Rite failed."
"The Hollow Creed shelters him. Feeds him. And you, Aelira Varn, are the thread tying him to Ashvale."
Halix stopped inches away. Her voice was soft. Surgical.
"So here is your choice."
She raised a hand—two fingers extended like a priest offering final rites.
"You will go to him. Infiltrate the Hollow Creed. Earn their trust. Find Lucan. And kill him."
Aelira didn't move. Her heart pounded.
Halix's hand dropped.
"Or… you may follow your guilt into exile. Become the thing you fear: a heretic. A traitor. A fugitive."
The air thickened like blood in water. Aelira could barely breathe.
"I'm not ready," she whispered.
Halix didn't smile.
"No one ever is."
She turned and gestured to the heavy archway behind the dais—the Chamber of Echoes.
"You will have one night. One truth. Then you will choose."
The door closed behind her with the sound of finality.
No light. No warmth. Only the walls—ancient, alive. They hummed with memory.
Aelira dropped to her knees, clutching her chest as it burned from within.
She screamed—short, sharp, ugly.
Then silence.
When the door opened hours later, Aelira emerged.
Pale.
Drenched in sweat.
Her eyes were hollow.
She hadn't chosen.
But the glyph still pulsed.
Halix stood in silence. Then spoke to the shadows behind the throne.
"Follow her."
---
LOCATION: OUTSKIRTS OF THE RUINED OUTPOST – NIGHT
The relic still pulsed in Lucan's palm. Smooth. Cold. Whispering with power he didn't understand.
He crouched low by the dead fire, held it to the light—then touched it fully.
And time… cracked.
---
The First Death
Rivenna Drae.
Expression flat. Voice quiet.
"It was always going to be you."
She buried the blade in his chest. Lucan reached for her—she didn't flinch.
---
The Second Death
Aelira Varn.
Her hands shook. Her eyes bled.
She screamed his name—then slit his throat.
"You made me choose…"
---
The Third Death
Verrick Thorne.
His spear punched clean through Lucan's side. No hesitation.
"Even fire must be contained."
---
The Fourth Death
Mother Halix.
Robes torn, glyphs blazing.
She stepped over Lucan's dying body and whispered like a lullaby:
"Forgiveness is not for your kind."
He couldn't even scream.
---
The Final Death
Lucan stood alone.
Looking into his own eyes.
Older. Colder. Smiling.
"I warned you," his mirror-self said, twisting the blade.
---
Lucan gasped and staggered back.
The relic dropped. Cracked.
The System screamed.
[M̴u̷l͠t͘i͘-F̶a̷t͠e O̴v̵e̷r͜l͞a̛p Detected]
[Future Integrity: 17%]
[M͘e͢m͏o͡r͏y C͡o͜r̡r̢upt͟i͡o̕n: Hi͏g͡h]
[S͢Y̡S̸T̨E̶M A͢D͏V̕ĮS͘O͞R͜Y: T̡RU̸S͘T̵.͟ ̵N̷O͟.͢ ̕O͜N͠E.̶.͏. B̡U̢T ̷T̕H͞E̶ S̴YŚTEM̷]
Lucan dropped to one knee.
Breathing hard.
Eyes burning.
Voice a whisper:
"I don't even trust myself…"
The relic cracked in two.
And the night fell quiet again.
---
LOCATION: HOLLOW CREED SANCTUM – DEEP HOURS
The message came wrapped in shadowsteel ribbon—no seal, no name. But Lucan knew the mark.
The Umbral Seat.
He read the letter once.
Twice.
Then burned it in his palm.
Behind him, the air shifted. He didn't need to turn.
"How long have you been standing there?" Lucan asked.
Rivenna leaned against the obsidian archway, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
"Long enough to see you get a letter and try to sneak out."
Lucan rolled his eyes and grabbed his cloak.
"It's nothing."
"Right," she said, voice flat. "Nothing wrapped in Umbral silk. That always means bedtime stories."
He paused.
"Where I'm going… you can't follow."
"Where you're going," she cut in, "you'll die if I don't."
He faced her then. Their eyes locked—heat and silence and something that tasted like a dare.
"Why?" he asked. "Plan on stopping me? Think I'll betray the Creed?"
Rivenna didn't blink.
Didn't smirk.
Didn't deny it.
The tension stretched—until she sighed and drew a jagged glyph into the air.
A portal cracked open, humming with cold light.
"You coming?" she asked.
Lucan blinked.
"That wasn't a yes."
"It wasn't a no either."
He stepped in beside her, and together they vanished into the dark.
---
LOCATION: THE VEILED SPINE – BORDER OF THE DEAD VALLEY
They emerged in the heart of the jagged clifflands—black rock ridges jutting like the ribs of a long-dead god.
Waiting ahead, surrounded by five silent warriors clad in bone-etched armor, stood Ezekar Nythe.
No helmet. No fear.
His face was lined with battle and belief, his stance so still it felt sculpted.
Lucan stepped forward, eyes wary.
Rivenna didn't lower her guard.
"Didn't think you'd come yourself," Lucan said.
Ezekar smiled—a sliver of shadow and steel.
"I don't send others to speak for me. That's how kings become corpses."
His gaze flicked to Rivenna.
"You brought the Creed's blade."
Lucan shrugged. "She tends to bring herself."
"Good. Then you both can hear this."
Ezekar spread his arms—not as threat, but as invitation.
"Of the Seven Thrones under the Seven Pillars… only one remembers what it means to defy the gods."
"The Umbral Seat remembers."
"And now, it remembers you."
Lucan's eyes narrowed. "You're offering… what? Alliance?"
Ezekar stepped closer.
"I'm offering a throne that does not kneel. A force that does not pray. I'm offering war—not yet. But when it comes, it will come clean."
"You're not just a spark anymore, Lucan. You're fire."
He held out a gauntleted hand.
"And fire must spread."
---
AFTERMATH:
Lucan didn't shake his hand.
But he didn't walk away either.
Rivenna stood beside him—silent.
But something in her expression shifted.
Like maybe she did bring herself here.
Not to guard.
Not to spy.
Maybe… to choose.
---
LOCATION: UMBRAL SEAT – STRATEGIC WAR ROOM, NIGHT
Deep beneath the Dead Valley, Ezekar Nythe stood before a circular stone table carved from obsidian and voidglass. Around him, maps burned with living ink—realms drawn in warpaths and bloodlines.
Five shadows watched from the edges of the chamber—his closest warbringers.
He spoke low, but the words curled like blades in the air.
"The Sinbound rises. The Rite failed. The gods stir."
He looked down at a symbol now etched into the center of the war table—Lucan's mark, flickering faintly with residual sin-energy.
"We'll move when the others hesitate. Let the Divine Order chase ghosts. We build the future behind their backs."
"The Umbra Seat was the third to kneel when the Pillars were raised."
"We will be the first to stand when they fall."
They all bowed. No questions asked.
Halix—Mother of the Faith, Seer of Ashvale—held the fourth throne.
Ezekar Nythe held the third.
And now… he held a dangerous hope.
"Whatever Lucan Malryk becomes," he whispered, "we shape the storm around him."
---
LOCATION: HOLLOW CREED – RETURN, LATER THAT NIGHT
Neither Rivenna nor Lucan spoke when they stepped back through the portal, shadows clinging to them like they'd returned from someplace forbidden.
They reappeared in one of the lesser-used hallways, two levels beneath the Creed's upper sanctum.
No alarms.
No eyes.
No questions.
No one knew.
Lucan exhaled as they walked.
Rivenna matched his pace without effort.
"You think you can trust the Umbra Seat?" she asked.
Lucan didn't look at her. "No. Maybe. I don't know."
A pause. Long. Weighted.
She nodded slowly.
"Ezekar's dangerous. But not untrue."
"And you?" he asked, half-turning toward her. "Should I trust you?"
Her lips barely twitched. A ghost of a smirk, too sad to be cruel.
"I haven't decided if I trust me yet."
Silence returned.
But it wasn't empty.
It watched them.
Rivenna slowed as they reached the edge of the Creed's sanctum. Her cloak fluttered like a shadow breaking free of stone. She looked up at him—not soft, not kind, but clear.
"Whatever you're becoming… I hope the world can take it."
Lucan's eyes held a quiet violence. A grin without joy.
"It won't."
---
FADE TO BLACK.