Heavy rain crashed down from the sky in relentless sheets, dense enough that every individual droplet could be felt striking against skin like tiny impacts. Water streamed across the stone courtyard of the temple, flowing through cracks in the ground and pooling around shattered debris left behind from violence.
"But it's nice," the man mused quietly to himself. "Washes away the blood."
He ran a hand back through his brown hair, squeezing rainwater from it for only a moment before the downpour soaked it again immediately. Though the rain washed much of the blood away, not all of it disappeared. His boots remained stained dark red, the dried remnants clinging stubbornly to the leather. His fists were no better, streaked and marked from violence that water alone could not erase. Crimson mixed with the rainwater around his feet, bleeding into the puddles scattered across the stone.
Before him lay the aftermath.
The courtyard was littered with dead demons.
Bodies had been torn apart in brutal ways. Some looked as though they had been beaten into the ground through sheer force, bones shattered beneath overwhelming strikes. Others bore deep slashes that had cut cleanly through flesh and armor alike. A few had blackened burns crawling across ruined skin, evidence of fire powerful enough to scorch even through the rain. Whatever battle had taken place here had been decisive and merciless.
The temple courtyard itself reflected that destruction. Stone had cracked beneath impacts, scorch marks scarred portions of the floor, and collapsed sections of architecture hinted at the scale of what had happened only moments earlier.
"Don't you agree?" the man asked.
He turned slightly, looking down toward another man kneeling nearby.
The younger man was panting hard against the rain-soaked stone, clearly exhausted. His breathing was uneven, his body trembling from injuries and the cold alike.
"Yes, Grand Lotus," the younger man answered between breaths. "As you say."
After a moment, he forced himself upright despite the obvious strain, standing straight as he approached.
Joshua Ambrose looked him over.
"You did well," Joshua said calmly. "Very well." His gaze drifted briefly toward the countless bodies spread across the courtyard. "Shame about the others, though." He slowly shook his head. "So many died against such insects."
"What do we do now, Grand Lotus?" the younger disciple asked, placing his hands behind his back as he stood straight despite the visible shaking in his body.
Joshua barely hesitated.
"Clear the bodies," he instructed. "The demons, the Outer Disciples, the Inner Disciples. Gather all of them and throw them into a pyre." His expression remained indifferent. "Of course, take anything valuable from them first."
The younger man nodded immediately.
"As you say, Grand Lotus."
Without another word, he turned and began gathering the surviving disciples, quickly relaying orders as groups started moving through the ruined courtyard to collect the dead.
Joshua, meanwhile, turned and walked back inside.
The interior of the temple contrasted sharply against the destruction outside.
Grand hallways stretched ahead of him, lavish and excessive in a way only wealth born from power could achieve. Gold lined the architecture in elegant patterns, silver inlays decorating pillars and walls alike. Murals stretched across sections of the halls, depicting grand stories of conquest, philosophy, and divinity. Priceless artifacts from across Aeruna filled display alcoves, trophies collected through years of influence and control.
Eventually, Joshua reached his personal chambers.
The room itself was no less extravagant.
Expensive furnishings filled the space, polished surfaces reflecting warm ambient light despite the storm outside. Decorations from across Aetheria had been placed carefully throughout, each piece clearly valuable. Along one section of the room sat three items contained behind reinforced glass.
The first was a sword resting inside an ornate scabbard.
The second, a necklace bearing a jewel set delicately into its center.
The third, a stack of notes held together beneath a ledger made from a dark obsidian-like metal.
Joshua spared none of them more than a glance.
Instead, he moved toward a wardrobe.
He removed his soaked clothing piece by piece, rainwater dripping onto the polished floor before replacing them with something dry and far more comfortable. Throughout the process, his gaze occasionally drifted toward the nearby window overlooking the courtyard below.
Outside, his disciples had already begun piling bodies together.
Even through the storm, they worked efficiently.
After all, much had changed over the years.
Since running away from Ironhelm, Joshua had grown. He had killed his former master, taken control of the Sect for himself, reshaped it into something entirely his own, and gathered disciples loyal to him rather than tradition.
"Heh," Joshua muttered quietly to himself while fastening part of his new attire. "Why am I remembering that city now?"
He stepped toward the window.
Rain hammered against the glass as his disciples below poured fuel over the growing pyre, ensuring it would burn despite the heavy downpour.
"That was four years ago," he murmured.
His hand came to rest against the glass.
Below, flames finally sparked to life.
Slowly, Joshua clenched his hand into a fist as the pyre began burning beneath the storm.
"And something like that," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the fire below, "will never happen again."
His fist tightened.
"I made sure of it."