Chapter VI: The Septic Walk and the Carnage of Üřieľ
I. The First Crack
The walk from the Solar Council was a gauntlet of silence. Zerø's heavy boots thudded against the marble, each step accompanied by a hiss of steam.
"I fail to believe it," Zerø murmured, his voice a low vibration. "That heretics actually believe an Įshtärį is capable of anything but filth."
His gauntlets—The Cinder-Hands—glowed a dull, angry orange. The heat was insatiable, consuming the oxygen in the hallway and making it hard to breathe.
Kælthør walked beside him, his face a mask of frozen indifference. He opened his palm, and through his sheer Malice, the moisture in the air condensed into the shape of a jagged Įshtärį skull. He watched the frost-bone grow, then crushed it with a slow, sadistic twist of his fingers. "There is no better ending for a demon than a Saint's mercy," he said. "And our mercy is death."
Seraphine trailed behind them, her Navy eye struggling to remain still. Her mind was a battlefield of scriptures and Ashēn's whispers.
"King Somýîr quoted the Vħìnçka," she said, her voice small. "Does that mean... we are to wipe out the entire village? Even those who have not 'turned'?"
The hallway went dead silent. Zerø stopped mid-stride. A wave of intense, dry heat erupted from him, singing the tapestries on the wall. Kælthør's ice crept across the ceiling in a sharp, jagged burst.
"Saintess..." Zerø turned, his orange eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and disgust. "You are the Mirror of Purity. Why would you ask a heretic's question?"
Kælthør narrowed his eyes, the frost on his breath becoming a thick fog. "The King wants ash, Seraphine. He has always wanted ash. I thought you, of all people, understood the necessity of a clean slate."
Seraphine felt the weight of her heresy like a stone in her chest. She grabbed her head as the cognitive dissonance spiked. Every training session, every "purification" she had performed, began to scream in her ears.
A hand clapped onto each of her shoulders. On the right, a grip of killing frost; on the left, a palm of blistering heat.
"Something is wrong with you," Zerø said, his voice surprisingly soft. "It isn't every day a Saint commits a heretic thought without a reason."
"Let alone the High Saintess," Kælthør added.
A single gold tear crawled down Seraphine's cheek—the same gold that had spilled when she found Ashēn. She shook them off, her voice returning to its flat, robotic coldness. "I am fine. We have a duty to perform."
II. The Gateway to Rain
They passed through the lower servant corridors, nearly colliding with a small group. Lilac dropped to her knees immediately, her head bowed in terror. "We have tainted your holy armor with our impure presence!" she cried.
Jubus stood beside her, a smug but cautious smile on his face. Behind them, a small boy in a hooded robe watched with wide, observant eyes.
"We are simply showing the new recruit, Ashēn, the layout of the cathedral," Jubus said, his Gift of Rapport humming to soothe the tension. "Forgive the intrusion, My Lords, My Lady."
Seraphine's eyes met Ashēn's for a split second. She saw the boy's gaze drop to the gold tear on her cheek. Before she could speak, Jubus pulled the boy away into the shadows.
"Annoying gnats," Zerø muttered as they reached the outer courtyard.
Waiting for them was Ġlykøņ. He knelt on the stone, his blonde hair damp from the spray of a nearby fountain. He didn't need to ask questions; he lived on the knowledge of the map. He extended his palm, and a golden platform of light—the Ascension Gate—bloomed on the ground.
"Nǐbųn," Seraphine commanded. "The region of ceaseless rain."
They stepped onto the light and fell through the world.
III. The Carnage of Üřieľ
They emerged into a nightmare. Nǐbųn was a town of grey stone and drowning mud, currently being torn apart by a creature of white-green light.
Üřieľ was a titan of corruption. His face was covered by five white, malleable orbs that shifted like mercury, with a single, massive green eye in the center. He roared, and from his mouth, smaller balls of light rained down like landmines, sprouting obsidian spikes as they hit the earth.
"You ready?" Zerø's gauntlets growled. His skin began to smoke as his Enraged Assault activated. His teeth sharpened into predatory points, and his eyes became solid pits of flame.
"I have been waiting for this all morning," Kælthør said. His hands transformed into claws of black, glowing ice that could rend diamonds.
The two men leaped from the platform like starving wolves. Zerø was a blur of violence, his fists creating beams of pure heat that erased the limbs of any Įshtärį in his path. Kælthør fought with a crazed, rhythmic malice, freezing his victims solid before shattering them into a thousand red shards.
Seraphine hovered in the sky, her white wings beating against the heavy rain. She called Tÿkøle to her hand, the spear humming with a low, mournful light.
"They are corrupted," a voice whispered from behind her.
Seraphine spun around in the air. Cynix was hovering nearby, his wings working double-time to stay level. Ashēn sat on his back, looking down at the slaughter with a face of ancient grief.
"Why are you here?!" Seraphine hissed. "Cynix, it isn't safe—"
"I am where I need to be," Ashēn interrupted. He pointed down at Üřieľ. "Üřieľ is fueled by optimism, but the King has inverted it. He is being fed on his own despair. He is a 'Gift' that has been turned into a bomb."
Ashēn extended his palm, which glowed with the same runes found on Seraphine's spear. "You must defeat him, but do not kill him. If I can touch his chest, I can consume the corruption. He will be freed to reincarnate when the prophecy is fulfilled."
IV. The Duel of the Mirror
Seraphine dove.
Her Navy eye began to spiral. She chose the Brute Path—a massive boost in speed and strength. She became a streak of white light, zipping past Zerø and Kælthør, who were busy "purifying" the smaller Įshtärį.
Üřieľ roared, launching his mercury orbs at her. Seraphine dodged, her skin—tougher than the King's steel—shrugging off the grazing spikes. She raised Tÿkøle for a killing blow.
"STOP!"
The voice echoed inside her skull—not Ashēn's, but a distorted, weeping melody.
"I will guide you," the voice of Üřieľ whispered. "I have no control. I trust the one you carry on your shoulder. If you strike my center now, the orbs will explode and kill the villagers. Fight from a distance. Watch the spikes."
Seraphine nodded to the "demon." She leaped back, using Tÿkøle to fire a concentrated ray of light that sliced through Üřieľ's outer armor but left his core intact.
She fought with a strange, surgical grace. Over the next ten minutes, her Judgment ramped up. She saw five seconds into the future, dodging spikes before they even emerged from the mud. She dismantled Üřieľ's defenses until he lay pinned against a stone wall, his green eye fading.
Ashēn fell from the sky, Cynix catching him at the last second so he could press his palm against Üřieľ's chest. The green light was sucked into Ashēn's skin, and the titan's body dissolved into a soft, violet mist.
"Thank you, Little Mirror," the voice whispered as it vanished.
Ashēn stumbled back, laughing breathlessly as he absorbed the power. Seraphine wanted to run to him—to hold him—but she saw Zerø and Kælthør approaching, their armor drenched in black blood.
Ashēn mimicked Lilac, bowing with a cheeky smirk before Cynix scooped him up and vanished back toward the portal.
"That was AMAZING!" Zerø roared, slamming a heated gauntlet against Seraphine's shoulder in a warrior's hug.
"The Saintess has returned," Kælthør added, his face still flushed with bloodlust. "I haven't seen you move with such lethal intent in years."
Seraphine smiled—a plastic, practiced expression. "We have a duty," she lied.
Chapter VI: The Septic Walk and the Carnage of Üřieľ
I. The First Crack
The walk from the Solar Council was a gauntlet of silence. Zerø's heavy boots thudded against the marble, each step accompanied by a hiss of steam.
"I fail to believe it," Zerø murmured, his voice a low vibration. "That heretics actually believe an Įshtärį is capable of anything but filth."
His gauntlets—The Cinder-Hands—glowed a dull, angry orange. The heat was insatiable, consuming the oxygen in the hallway and making it hard to breathe.
Kælthør walked beside him, his face a mask of frozen indifference. He opened his palm, and through his sheer Malice, the moisture in the air condensed into the shape of a jagged Įshtärį skull. He watched the frost-bone grow, then crushed it with a slow, sadistic twist of his fingers. "There is no better ending for a demon than a Saint's mercy," he said. "And our mercy is death."
Seraphine trailed behind them, her Navy eye struggling to remain still. Her mind was a battlefield of scriptures and Ashēn's whispers.
"King Somýîr quoted the Vħìnçka," she said, her voice small. "Does that mean... we are to wipe out the entire village? Even those who have not 'turned'?"
The hallway went dead silent. Zerø stopped mid-stride. A wave of intense, dry heat erupted from him, singing the tapestries on the wall. Kælthør's ice crept across the ceiling in a sharp, jagged burst.
"Saintess..." Zerø turned, his orange eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and disgust. "You are the Mirror of Purity. Why would you ask a heretic's question?"
Kælthør narrowed his eyes, the frost on his breath becoming a thick fog. "The King wants ash, Seraphine. He has always wanted ash. I thought you, of all people, understood the necessity of a clean slate."
Seraphine felt the weight of her heresy like a stone in her chest. She grabbed her head as the cognitive dissonance spiked. Every training session, every "purification" she had performed, began to scream in her ears.
A hand clapped onto each of her shoulders. On the right, a grip of killing frost; on the left, a palm of blistering heat.
"Something is wrong with you," Zerø said, his voice surprisingly soft. "It isn't every day a Saint commits a heretic thought without a reason."
"Let alone the High Saintess," Kælthør added.
A single gold tear crawled down Seraphine's cheek—the same gold that had spilled when she found Ashēn. She shook them off, her voice returning to its flat, robotic coldness. "I am fine. We have a duty to perform."
II. The Gateway to Rain
They passed through the lower servant corridors, nearly colliding with a small group. Lilac dropped to her knees immediately, her head bowed in terror. "We have tainted your holy armor with our impure presence!" she cried.
Jubus stood beside her, a smug but cautious smile on his face. Behind them, a small boy in a hooded robe watched with wide, observant eyes.
"We are simply showing the new recruit, Ashēn, the layout of the cathedral," Jubus said, his Gift of Rapport humming to soothe the tension. "Forgive the intrusion, My Lords, My Lady."
Seraphine's eyes met Ashēn's for a split second. She saw the boy's gaze drop to the gold tear on her cheek. Before she could speak, Jubus pulled the boy away into the shadows.
"Annoying gnats," Zerø muttered as they reached the outer courtyard.
Waiting for them was Ġlykøņ. He knelt on the stone, his blonde hair damp from the spray of a nearby fountain. He didn't need to ask questions; he lived on the knowledge of the map. He extended his palm, and a golden platform of light—the Ascension Gate—bloomed on the ground.
"Nǐbųn," Seraphine commanded. "The region of ceaseless rain."
They stepped onto the light and fell through the world.
III. The Carnage of Üřieľ
They emerged into a nightmare. Nǐbųn was a town of grey stone and drowning mud, currently being torn apart by a creature of white-green light.
Üřieľ was a titan of corruption. His face was covered by five white, malleable orbs that shifted like mercury, with a single, massive green eye in the center. He roared, and from his mouth, smaller balls of light rained down like landmines, sprouting obsidian spikes as they hit the earth.
"You ready?" Zerø's gauntlets growled. His skin began to smoke as his Enraged Assault activated. His teeth sharpened into predatory points, and his eyes became solid pits of flame.
"I have been waiting for this all morning," Kælthør said. His hands transformed into claws of black, glowing ice that could rend diamonds.
The two men leaped from the platform like starving wolves. Zerø was a blur of violence, his fists creating beams of pure heat that erased the limbs of any Įshtärį in his path. Kælthør fought with a crazed, rhythmic malice, freezing his victims solid before shattering them into a thousand red shards.
Seraphine hovered in the sky, her white wings beating against the heavy rain. She called Tÿkøle to her hand, the spear humming with a low, mournful light.
"They are corrupted," a voice whispered from behind her.
Seraphine spun around in the air. Cynix was hovering nearby, his wings working double-time to stay level. Ashēn sat on his back, looking down at the slaughter with a face of ancient grief.
"Why are you here?!" Seraphine hissed. "Cynix, it isn't safe—"
"I am where I need to be," Ashēn interrupted. He pointed down at Üřieľ. "Üřieľ is fueled by optimism, but the King has inverted it. He is being fed on his own despair. He is a 'Gift' that has been turned into a bomb."
Ashēn extended his palm, which glowed with the same runes found on Seraphine's spear. "You must defeat him, but do not kill him. If I can touch his chest, I can consume the corruption. He will be freed to reincarnate when the prophecy is fulfilled."
IV. The Duel of the Mirror
Seraphine dove.
Her Navy eye began to spiral. She chose the Brute Path—a massive boost in speed and strength. She became a streak of white light, zipping past Zerø and Kælthør, who were busy "purifying" the smaller Įshtärį.
Üřieľ roared, launching his mercury orbs at her. Seraphine dodged, her skin—tougher than the King's steel—shrugging off the grazing spikes. She raised Tÿkøle for a killing blow.
"STOP!"
The voice echoed inside her skull—not Ashēn's, but a distorted, weeping melody.
"I will guide you," the voice of Üřieľ whispered. "I have no control. I trust the one you carry on your shoulder. If you strike my center now, the orbs will explode and kill the villagers. Fight from a distance. Watch the spikes."
Seraphine nodded to the "demon." She leaped back, using Tÿkøle to fire a concentrated ray of light that sliced through Üřieľ's outer armor but left his core intact.
She fought with a strange, surgical grace. Over the next ten minutes, her Judgment ramped up. She saw five seconds into the future, dodging spikes before they even emerged from the mud. She dismantled Üřieľ's defenses until he lay pinned against a stone wall, his green eye fading.
Ashēn fell from the sky, Cynix catching him at the last second so he could press his palm against Üřieľ's chest. The green light was sucked into Ashēn's skin, and the titan's body dissolved into a soft, violet mist.
"Thank you, Little Mirror," the voice whispered as it vanished.
Ashēn stumbled back, laughing breathlessly as he absorbed the power. Seraphine wanted to run to him—to hold him—but she saw Zerø and Kælthør approaching, their armor drenched in black blood.
Ashēn mimicked Lilac, bowing with a cheeky smirk before Cynix scooped him up and vanished back toward the portal.
"That was AMAZING!" Zerø roared, slamming a heated gauntlet against Seraphine's shoulder in a warrior's hug.
"The Saintess has returned," Kælthør added, his face still flushed with bloodlust. "I haven't seen you move with such lethal intent in years."
Seraphine smiled—a plastic, practiced expression. "We have a duty," she lied.