The sect master looked down at the empty wound in his chest.
His face broke with disbelief.
The thing he had worshipped, protected, and fed with blood had left him without asking permission.
The faction members froze.
Then the frenzy came.
Some screamed.
Some attacked Lucien.
Some tried to throw themselves into the ritual pit.
Some begged the vanished fragment to return.
Some turned their blades on their own allies to create more fuel.
Lucien's expression did not change.
He did not give a speech.
He did not debate fanatics while the leyline below them screamed.
He moved.
Light flashed once through the hall.
Then the massacre began.
It was not cruel.
That made it worse.
Cruelty had hesitation.
Lucien had judgment.
Those who tried to flee with no weapon and no active ritual mark were bound by light and thrown aside.
Those who attacked died.
Those who fed the ritual died first.
