Lucid saw her in the afternoon crowd. The merchant girl. The one who had sold him the worthless ring for seven gold coins. Brown hair. Cap pulled low. That engineered smile she had used to take his money.
She was walking through the market district. Casual. Unbothered. Probably looking for her next mark.
'There. Right there. The person who scammed me.'
His first instinct was to let it go. Seven gold coins were gone. Chasing her would not bring them back. Would not undo the humiliation. Would just waste more time he did not have.
He set that thought aside.
Started walking faster. Caught up to her. Grabbed her shoulder.
"Hey."
She turned. Saw his face. Her expression shifted through several emotions in rapid succession. Recognition. Calculation. Decision.
She ran.
"Wait!" Lucid ran after her.
She was fast. Faster than she had any right to be in merchant clothes and soft boots. She darted through the crowd. Used people as obstacles. Turned corners without slowing.
Lucid followed. His lungs burned. His legs protested. But he kept pace. Kept her in sight.
'Why am I doing this? What do I gain from catching her? The coins are spent. The ring is worthless. This is stupid.'
But he kept running anyway. Something about being scammed twice in one day. Something about needing one small victory. One moment of not being the fool.
They turned down an alley. Narrow. Dark. The buildings pressed close on both sides. Laundry hung overhead. Blocked most of the light.
The merchant girl was twenty feet ahead. Running hard. Not looking back.
Lucid gained ground. Got closer. Reached out to grab her again.
She turned another corner. Disappeared from view.
Lucid followed. Turned the same corner.
Dead end.
Brick wall. Ten feet high. No doors. No windows. No escape route.
'What the hell?'
He stopped. Looked around. The alley was empty. No merchant girl. No movement. Just brick and shadow and the smell of rot from garbage piled in corners.
'Where did she go? She was just here. Right here.'
He turned to leave. Retrace his steps. Find another way.
Movement behind him. Fast.
He started to turn.
Metal punched through his stomach.
Impossibly painful.
A sword. Through him. All the way through. He looked down. Saw the blade protruding from his abdomen. Saw blood spreading across his shirt. Dark. Wet. Too much.
The blade withdrew. Pulled back through flesh and muscle and organs. The sound was wrong. Wet. Final.
Blood sprayed. Not just seeping. Spraying. Arterial. The kind that meant something vital had been severed.
Lucid tried to think. Tried to activate healing. Tried to call Alice. Tried to do anything.
His mind was not working. Thoughts came slow. Disconnected. Like watching someone else's life through frosted glass.
He stumbled backward. Hit the brick wall. Slumped down. His legs would not hold him anymore. Blood pooled beneath him. Warm. Growing.
'This thing... it's coated with corrosive fate essence...'
'Shit... it's not a mundane...'
He couldn't think.
A foot connected with his ribs. Kicked him sideways. He fell completely. Cheek against cold stone. Blood mixing with alley filth.
Footsteps. Two sets. Coming closer. Casual. Unhurried. The particular sound of people who knew their victim was not going anywhere.
A feminine voice resonated down the corridor. Cultured. Precise. Familiar.
"I take it you have finished him."
"Yes, master." Male voice. Younger. Deferential.
Lucid's vision was blurring. He forced his eyes to focus. Saw two figures approaching.
A woman. White hair. Sharp features. The same face from the plaza. From the golden Domain. Celeste.
Accompanied by someone in purple robes. Cloaked. Face hidden. The colors and cut matched Congregation styling. Cultist. Working with the magistrate.
Lucid shot them a lazy glance. His body was shutting down. Pain was fading. Replaced by cold. Spreading from his core outward.
'Oh. Your magistrate works with the Congregation after all.'
The thought drifted through his mind without weight. Just observation. Fact noted and filed away in a brain that would not be using it much longer.
Celeste walked closer. Her boots made precise sounds on stone. Each step measured. She stopped beside his slumped form. Looked down at the mess he was making.
"You dared to lay a hand on my business. You dared to touch me inside that Domain."
She leaned down. Spat on his head. The saliva ran down his face. Mixed with blood and sweat and the particular desperation of someone who had minutes left.
"Die."
Her voice was flat. Matter of fact. Not angry. Not triumphant. Just stating outcome.
She straightened. Adjusted her robes. Prepared to leave.
Then paused. Looked back down at him. Smiled.
Wicked. Genuine. The smile of someone who had won completely and wanted the loser to know it.
"May Mother Alisia grant you peace in her final embrace toward oblivion's end."
The blessing sounded wrong. Mocking. Like using sacred words for profane purpose.
Lucid tried to respond. Tried to curse her. Tried to do anything except lie there bleeding.
His mouth would not work. Lips moved but no sound came. Just wet gasping. Blood bubbling up his throat.
'Alice. Where are you? Why are you not healing me? Why is nothing working?'
Silence inside his mind. Empty. The deity who lived in him was absent. Gone. Unavailable when he needed her most.
Celeste turned away. Started walking. The purple-robed figure followed. Their footsteps echoed. Faded. Disappeared around the corner.
Lucid was alone.
Bleeding out in a dead-end alley. No witnesses. No help coming. Just him and the growing pool of blood and the cold that kept spreading.
He thought about Arthur. About Ayame. About how they would react when he did not return. About how they had been right to worry. Right to want to keep him close. Right about everything.
'I should have let them come with me. Should have listened. Should have been less stubborn.'
His vision was darkening at the edges. Tunnel vision. The particular visual effect of a brain running out of oxygen.
He thought about the boy with yellow hair. About the guillotine. About someone trading their future to save him from Celeste.
'And now she killed me anyway. What a waste. What a pointless waste.'
He thought about Karmen. About the mission she had sent him on. About how he had lost contact and never found his way back.
'I am sorry. I tried. I really tried. But I was not good enough.'
He thought about the relic. About the cultists. About House Maren. About all the pieces he had been trying to fit together.
'Someone else will have to stop them. Someone smarter. Someone who does not chase merchant girls into dead-end alleys.'
The cold reached his fingers. His toes. Everything was going numb. Distant. Like his body was a place he was leaving behind.
'Is this it? Is this how it ends? In an alley in Port Vexis? Killed by a magistrate working with the very people I was sent to stop?'
He wanted to laugh. It was funny in a terrible way. Ironic. Poetic even. The boy who survived impossible wounds. The boy who could not die because a deity healed him. Dying from a simple sword thrust in a dirty alley.
But laughing required air. Air required working lungs. His lungs were full of blood.
His eyes started to close. He fought it. Tried to keep them open. Tried to hold on just a little longer.
'Not yet. Please not yet. I am not ready. I have not finished anything. Have not saved anyone. Have not made any difference at all.'
'Alice why aren't you healing me...'
'I should be familiar with this... but for some reason im so scared.'
But death did not care about readiness. Did not care about unfinished business. Did not care about anything except its own inevitable arrival.
He sighed.
The darkness took him. Slow. Gentle. Almost kind.
His last thought was that he hoped Arthur and Ayame would not blame themselves. Would not spend too long looking for him. Would just move on. Complete the mission. Do what he had failed to do.
Then nothing.
Just cold.
Just dark.
Just the absence of everything he had been.