The Herald did not breathe. It was a construct of solid, polished gold, its face a blank, featureless plate that reflected Matthew's own tattered reflection. As it unrolled the divine scroll, the air in the maintenance tunnel began to crystallize. Frost, white and jagged, crept along the iron pipes.
"By the authority of the Tenth Choir," the Herald's voice rang out, sounding like a thousand glass bells shattering at once. "The Null known as Matthew is hereby redacted from the Book of Life. All who stand with the Void shall share its erasure."
"Andre, how's that broadcast coming?" Matthew shouted, his voice vibrating with a dual-tone growl. He stepped forward, his boots crunching through the new-formed ice.
"Sixty percent!" Andre yelled from behind the mana-vats, his fingers blurred as he rerouted the ancient plumbing of the Academy's soul. "Just give me two more minutes, Matt! If he hits the vats, the whole school goes dark before the truth gets out!"
The Herald moved. It didn't run; it simply ceased to be at the end of the hall and reappeared ten feet in front of Matthew. It raised a hand, and a spear of solid, condensed light materialized in its palm.
Thrum.
The spear hissed through the air. Matthew didn't dodge. He couldn't risk the spear hitting the mana-vats behind him. He raised his translucent hand, the violet fire erupting from his palm like a solar flare.
When the light met the void, the tunnel screamed. The explosion of energy sent a shockwave that buckled the iron doors. Matthew was thrown back, his heels digging grooves into the stone floor, but he stayed upright. The golden ring in his eyes flared, spinning with a violent, hungry speed.
"Andrew! Shield!" Matthew barked.
Andrew didn't hesitate. He slammed his heavy shield into the ground, bracing it with his shoulder. "Lyra, give him an opening!"
Lyra was already moving. She blurred past Matthew, her sword wreathed in the violet-white flames Matthew had inadvertently shared with her. She didn't strike the Herald's armor; she struck the air around it, severing the mana-threads that kept the construct tethered to the Architects.
"He's fast!" Lyra yelled, skidding back as the Herald swung its light-spear in a wide, lethal arc that carved a deep line into the stone walls. "It's like fighting a ghost made of suns!"
Matthew felt the "Hollow Saint" energy inside him reaching a boiling point. The divine lead he had swallowed was no longer a weight—it was a battery. He realized he couldn't win this fight by playing by the Herald's rules. He had to break the logic of the room.
"Andre! Now!"
"Eighty percent! Almost there!"
Matthew lunged. He didn't use a weapon. He threw himself at the Herald, his hands reaching for the construct's featureless face. The Herald raised its spear to impale him, but Matthew didn't flinch.
Squelch.
The spear of light pierced Matthew's shoulder, but there was no blood. Only a spray of violet sparks. Matthew's hand closed over the Herald's golden mask.
"You said I'm redacted?" Matthew whispered, his eyes boring into the gold plate. "Let's see if your God can read what's left."
Matthew unleashed the Void. He didn't push the energy out; he pulled the Herald in. The gold armor began to groan, the metal warping and melting as it was dragged into the vacuum of Matthew's core. The Herald's blank faceplate began to crack, a terrifying, silent scream echoing through the psychic link.
"BROADCAST IS LIVE!" Andre screamed, slamming his fist onto the master override.
At that exact moment, every scrying mirror in the Academy—from the Dean's office to the youngest student's dormitory—flared with a blinding violet light. The image of the Herald being slowly devoured by a teenage boy in a tattered coat flickered into existence across the entire Citadel.
The Herald let out one final, discordant chime before its form collapsed entirely, turning into a pile of dull, leaden dust at Matthew's feet.
Matthew stood trembling, the spear of light in his shoulder flickering out. He looked at his hand; the violet fire was receding, leaving behind a cold, numb sensation.
"We did it," Andre panted, looking at his monitors. "The signal is looping. They're seeing everything—the West Yard, Alistair, the Herald... the whole lie is being broadcast on every channel."
But there was no cheer from the group. From the ceiling above, they heard the sound of a thousand students screaming in confusion and terror. And then, a much deeper, more ominous sound.
The sound of the Academy's foundation shifting.
A heavy, mechanical voice boomed through the internal speakers, overriding Andre's broadcast. It wasn't the Dean. It was the Citadel's automated defense system.
"Protocol: Scorched Earth. Primary students are to report to the Labyrinth for Final Practical Examination. All exits are sealed. The trial begins at dawn."
"The Labyrinth?" Lyra's voice was barely a whisper. "That's... that's a death sentence. Nobody goes into the Labyrinth until their third year."
Matthew looked up at the ceiling, his violet eyes narrowing. He could feel the Dean's presence now, cold and desperate.
"He's not trying to teach them," Matthew said, his voice hard as iron. "He's trying to bury the witnesses."