LOCATION: LIMINAL VOID — BETWEEN REALMS
Silence roared.
Lucan stood adrift in that place between systems and sanity, heart still echoing from the ambush. No HUD. No data. Just cold, seeping dark.
The Faceless God waited.
No face. No smile. No eyes.
But a voice that cut through eternity like a blade through prayer.
"You are Sinbound."
Lucan didn't speak. Couldn't.
The god stepped forward—glitching shadows folding like ancient robes.
"Not bound to them," he said. "Not to Thrones. Not to Rites. Not to gods who demand worship."
A pause.
"You are Sinbound to me."
Lucan's breath caught.
The void pulsed.
"No system. No leash. Only purpose."
Then quieter.
"Break the chains. Burn the faith. Become the undoing."
A pause. A pulse.
"You were made to shatter the chains others call faith."
Lucan's system flickered, then fell silent. No prompts. No glitches. Just nothing.
Only him.
And the god.
And the raw, terrifying promise of freedom.
LOCATION: THE VOIDSHIFT — MEMORY OF THE FIRST SINNER
The world twisted.
One blink, and Lucan was gone.
Not in body, but soul.
He stood now in a forgotten time, wearing someone else's skin. Feeling someone else's pain. A man—hooded, chained, kneeling in ash.
The First Sinner.
Around him, Thrones sang praises to a silent god. Choirs wept golden blood. And at the center of it all, the Rite stood tall—a monolith of law carved from the marrow of obedience.
Lucan couldn't move.
Couldn't scream.
The memory dragged him through it—merciless.
He felt the whips. The betrayals. The moment allies became judges. The moment love turned to sacrifice. The moment mercy was outlawed.
He felt the First Sinner rise.
Alone.
Unforgiven.
And still… unbroken.
The voice of the Faceless god whispered behind it all:
"Power without pain is borrowed."
"Power with pain is forged."
Lucan dropped to his knees as the memory ended—body intact, soul not.
Breath ragged. Hands shaking.
But in his chest?
A spark.
---
LOCATION: TIMELESS ECHO — EDGE OF THE WORLD — MEMORY - ???
It wasn't a battlefield.
It was an ending.
Skies ripped open like parchment soaked in blood. Ground shattered beneath cataclysms of ash and divine fire. Cities floated—then crumbled. Beasts of light and void tore through reality, screaming rites in forgotten tongues.
Lucan stood—no, watched—from a godless height.
But it wasn't him.
Not exactly.
The figure in the storm wore his face.
But the hair was dark—raven black, soaked in blood and rain.
His eyes burned—not with fire, but with judgment.
The cloak was heavier. His gauntlet, cracked and spiked with god-killing runes. He moved like a prophecy fulfilled and a warning repeated.
He tore through divine armies like parchment. Slaughtered the righteous and the corrupted alike. Titans screamed. Systems collapsed.
And when the world burned low—
He stood alone atop a mountain of corpses, soaked in ichor, divine and mortal alike.
Then… he turned.
And looked directly at Lucan.
Same face. Same eyes. But older. Colder. Endless.
And he spoke with a voice that echoed in every bone Lucan still claimed:
"You're not ready to be me."
A pause.
"But you will be."
The world blinked out.
---
LOCATION: THE VOID BEYOND RITE — TIME UNHINGED
Lucan gasped as the vision bled away.
His knees hit the obsidian floor of the void with a crunch that echoed through eternity. The mist curled tighter now, suffocating, whispering in dead languages.
Above him, the Faceless stood—taller than before, or maybe Lucan was just smaller.
No face. No expression.
And yet, he felt the question.
It pressed into his skull, his spine, his soul.
"Are you ready to begin, Sinbound?"
Lucan looked up—jaw clenched, heart hammering.
He didn't answer with words.
He just nodded once.
The Faceless raised a hand.
And the world fractured.
---
TRIAL: PATTERN OF BETRAYAL
Pain didn't announce itself.
It returned.
Lucan blinked—and found himself back in a familiar place.
Ashvale. The temple. The Rite.
Aelira stood over him again, tears in her eyes. Thalos behind her. The glyph on his chest seared.
He screamed—again.
Betrayed—again.
He blinked.
It reset.
Same betrayal.
Slightly different angle.
He reached for her.
She flinched.
He blinked.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Hundreds of times.
His rage dulled.
His heart stopped shattering.
Eventually…
He started noticing placement. Patterns. Tells.
Thalos' hands tightened before he gave the order.
Aelira's lips always trembled just before the glyph lit.
He no longer cried out.
He watched.
He learned.
The Faceless whispered through the simulation—not into Lucan's ears, but into the marrow of his being.
"Gods do not fear betrayal. They account for it."
Lucan, kneeling in the dark, breathing ragged, finally spoke.
"…What are you making me?"
The Faceless stepped closer.
Shadows kissed Lucan's brow like a brand.
"What you were always meant to be."
---
LOCATION: HOLLOW CREED — MEDICA CHAMBER, INNER CIRCLE — ONE HOUR LATER
Rivenna sat like a statue at Lucan's bedside.
Arms folded. Face unreadable. Blades nearby, but untouched.
Lucan hadn't stirred in over an hour—his body bloodied, cracked, breaths shallow but stubborn. And yet, despite the state he'd been dragged back in, she hadn't left.
Then—
He moved.
Barely. A breath drawn too deep to be sleep.
And just like that, his eyes snapped open.
But they were not the same.
For one blink—just one—Rivenna saw it.
A flicker of violet. A glyph not of the Creed, nor the Order, but of the Faceless One—seared just behind his pupils like an afterimage of a curse.
Then it vanished.
Lucan didn't flinch. Didn't ask what had happened. He sat up, slow but sure, joints aching, chest bandaged.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"You're back," Rivenna replied. "The vault site. I dragged you out. The others are gone."
Lucan didn't ask about the bodies.
He already knew.
"The relic?" she asked, almost cautiously.
Lucan looked away.
"Vault was empty."
A pause.
He could feel her measuring him. But she didn't press.
She wasn't ready for the new truth.
Not yet.
Lucan swung his legs off the slab and stood—slowly, but without hesitation.
Then, like a breath sliding across ice, his system flared to life in the corner of his vision.
But it was no longer a broken thing. No stuttering lines. No screaming error logs. The interface was… still imperfect, still other, but now it moved with clarity—god-kissed code, divine defiance refined.
---
[SYSTEM INTERFACE: CALIBRATED]
> Tier II – SINBOUND (ACTIVE)
State: Stabilized – [Faceless Link: Dormant]
---
> STATS UNLOCKED
Name: Lucan Malryk
Class: Sinbound
Level: 21
System Type: Rebellious Sync — [God-Forged Variant]
Title(s): Ritebreaker, Witness of Ash, Marked by the Faceless
---
ATTRIBUTES:
Strength: 22
Agility: 18
Vitality: 19
Perception: 23
Willpower: 30
Sin Resonance: 34 (Locked potential detected)
---
SKILLS UNLOCKED
[Spectral Reflex] – Passive
React to hostile intent before it manifests. Time distortion possible during fatal events.
[Memory Shatter] – Active
Target's last truth becomes unstable. Induces spiritual trauma and identity fragmentation. (Cooldown: 1 Hour)
[Sinforged Limit] – Core
Briefly channel corrupted divine power. Stat boost x2 for 12 seconds. Chance of system instability: 8%.
---
Lucan blinked, reading them with quiet calculation.
No awe. No pride.
Just assessment.
Control.
He looked at Rivenna again. She was watching him the way one watches something that used to be human.
"Let's report to the Creed," he said simply.
He didn't mention Verrick.
He didn't need to.
Not yet.