LOCATION: HOLLOW CREED — SHADOW-FORGED TRAINING CHAMBER
The chamber breathed cold.
Forged from obsidian and reinforced with nullstone, it was a place where echoes went to die and blades learned to sing. Torches flickered with smokeless flame, casting long shadows that didn't quite belong to anything.
Lucan moved like a memory sharpened.
Barefoot. Bare-chested. His cloak folded on a nearby pillar. He flowed through forms—close-quarters strikes, feints, counters, motions drilled to the marrow. Each movement precise, deliberate. His system remained quiet, but the air around him pulsed faintly—Sin Resonance leaking like heat from a buried forge.
Steel flashed. Then silence.
Another strike. Then stillness.
He wasn't training to stay alive.
He was training to survive death.
"Still think you're prettier with a blade than without."
The voice came from the shadows near the door—calm, easy, like a joke passed between old soldiers.
Lucan didn't flinch.
He finished the arc of his motion, then slowly turned.
"Jareth."
The man stepped into the light. Cloak loose. Hood down. That same disarming grin that always made people underestimate how fast he could kill them.
"Didn't think I'd find you down here," Jareth said, arms crossed. "You usually haunt darker places."
"I was trying to go easy on the shadows for once," Lucan replied.
A brief silence stretched between them—not awkward, but fragile.
Jareth stepped closer and tossed Lucan a practice blade.
Lucan caught it without looking.
"You up for a round?"
Lucan nodded. "Always."
They squared off.
No fanfare. No theatrics.
Just steel meeting steel in a rhythm older than trust and more honest than prayer. The clang of blades rang out, sharp and sudden, then dulled as both men slid into the tempo they once knew like breath.
Lucan struck low—Jareth parried and spun.
Jareth feinted left—Lucan didn't buy it.
They circled.
Fast. Clean. Almost… familiar.
Then it happened.
Jareth's blade stopped an inch from Lucan's neck.
Too long.
Not by mistake.
Lucan didn't move.
Didn't blink.
"Still fast," Lucan said, eyes locked on his friend's.
"Still trusting," Jareth replied, his tone lighter than it should've been.
The blade stayed there another second—then pulled back.
"Dangerous combination," Jareth added, stepping away.
Lucan didn't reply. Just turned, wiped his blade, and said quietly—
"Some things are worth trusting. Even if they get you killed."
The torchlight seemed to flicker harder at that.
And somewhere between breath and silence, something shifted.
Not broken.
But bent.
The kind of bend that precedes a snap—or a salvation.
---
LOCATION: HOLLOW CREED — OBSIDIAN BATTLEMENTS
Wind curled around the high corridor like a whisper with teeth.
Rivenna stood alone, arms folded, cloak swaying like a shadow dared to speak. From her vantage, the training chamber below was visible—just enough to catch flashes of motion. Steel on steel. Step and counterstep. A dance older than faith.
She saw them.
Lucan and Jareth.
They moved like brothers. Like warriors.
But she knew war too well to be fooled by rhythm.
Her eyes narrowed.
Something was off.
Not in the way Jareth moved—but in the way he hesitated.
And Lucan… he was pretending not to notice.
That was worse.
---
LOCATION: HOLLOW CREED — INNER WALKWAY, LATER
Lucan walked the corridor alone, drying sweat still clinging to his neck, when the shadow stepped beside him.
Rivenna matched his stride.
Silent.
Then—
"You spar like you're waiting for something."
Lucan didn't look at her. "Noticed, did you?"
"I notice everything," she said. "Especially men who've stopped blinking around their friends."
A beat passed.
Then another.
"Something you want to say?" Lucan asked, voice calm.
She didn't answer right away. Just watched him. Not like a hawk watching prey—but like a seer watching a storm she couldn't stop.
"He's not the same," Rivenna said softly.
"And neither are you."
Lucan's steps slowed. "Is that a warning?"
"It's a truth."
Then she turned and walked away.
But not before adding—without looking back:
"Whatever you're planning… be ready to finish it."
---
LOCATION: HOLLOW CREED — STRATEGIC SANCTUM, STONE VAULTS
The table was circular, carved from the bones of a fallen god—or so the Creed whispered.
Verrick stood before it like a high priest in warpaint, voice steady, composed.
"There's word of a surviving relic," he said, tracing a ruined map with one gloved finger. "A fragment of the original Rite—hidden in a crumbled outpost along the black ridge. Supposedly it resonates with Sinforged echoes."
Lucan raised a brow. "That's awfully close to the Divine Order's watchlands."
Verrick smiled thinly. "That's why we'll be fast."
"Rivenna?" Lucan asked, scanning the room. She was noticeably absent.
Verrick shook his head. "Too visible. The Order would smell her from a league away."
Lucan didn't believe that. But he didn't say so.
He noted the others present—Eight shadows in dark Creed armor, masks unreadable. Loyal to Verrick, not the Creed.
And Jareth.
Unmasked. Calm. Quiet.
When their eyes met, Lucan searched for something.
Jareth gave him nothing.
"Strike swift. Extract the relic. Return by dusk," Verrick instructed, rolling up the map. "Nothing dramatic."
Lucan almost laughed.
---
LOCATION: RUINED OUTPOST — WESTERN BLACK RIDGE, HOURS LATER
The path had narrowed.
Cracked stone stretched like ribs under a sky gone blood-orange. No birds. No winds. No echo, even when they moved.
Lucan walked ahead. Jareth beside him. The three shadows trailed like ghosts.
Something felt... off.
Too quiet.
No Divine banners. No glyphs. No trace of relic resonance. Not even the usual Order traps.
Just broken stone. Dead air.
And that scent.
Copper. Old and patient.
Lucan stopped.
Jareth stopped, too.
"What is it?" one of the shadows asked.
Lucan crouched, touched the earth. Blood. Dried. Days old.
He stood slowly.
"This isn't an outpost," he murmured.
The others shifted.
"Then what is it?" Jareth asked—too even.
Lucan didn't turn.
He simply said, "It's a grave."
A pause.
Then —
Steel sang behind him.
The silence shattered.
Verrick's shadows lunged, blades gleaming with void-etched poison. No warning. No command.
Just movement—fast and final.
Lucan barely dodged the first strike, twisting between broken pillars as a blade carved air where his throat had been.
He parried the second, barely—only for the third to drive him against the wall.
The shadows fought like they'd trained against him. Perfect counters. Familiar footwork.
Lucan's eyes flared. So did his system.
---
[SYSTEM RESPONSE: HOSTILITY DETECTED]
[Skill Unlocked: [Spectral Reflex] Passive: Fatal movement slowed.]
[Time dilation engaged.]
---
The blade that should've torn into him slowed—just enough.
Lucan ducked under it, rolled forward, and lashed upward with a flare of violet-edged force.
One attacker fell—mask cracking, ribs shattered.
Two more came from opposite flanks.
Lucan spun—struck one, blocked the other—but not before a serrated dagger ripped through his side.
Pain bloomed.
Blood spilled.
[Sinforged Limit] activated on instinct—he roared as divine energy flared, his stats doubling for a heartbeat too brief.
Bodies flew. Stone cracked.
And still, they kept coming.
Lucan dropped to one knee—vision swimming, system warning of overdraw.
"Too many," he muttered. "Too soon."
One shadow lunged again.
But this time—
A flash of silver.
The attacker staggered mid-charge—eyes wide.
A blade had pierced clean through his spine, sliding out with surgical grace.
He fell.
Dead before he hit the ground.
Lucan turned—stunned.
Jareth stood there. Blade bloodied. Face unreadable.
"You…" Lucan began, voice raw.
Jareth didn't speak—he just stepped beside him, facing the remaining two like it was always meant to be this way.
Back to back.
Shadow and shadow.
Brother beside broken.
Lucan exhaled, slow. Pain and surprise warring behind his eyes.
"…You know you're making a mistake joining me, right?"
Jareth smirked, almost nostalgic.
"Then live long enough to prove me right."
The remaining assassins closed in—hesitant now.
Lucan's system pulsed again.
Blades rose.
---
[SYSTEM STATE: COMBAT SYNC ESTABLISHED]
[Allies Detected: 1]
[Override Protocol: Instinct + Memory]
[Ready.]