A blood-red sunset stretched across the horizon, its dying light spilling over the land below.
At its center stood a massive citadel.
Unyielding and ancient—
as though time itself had tried, and failed, to erode it.
Its halls gleamed like gilded stone, vast murals etched into the walls—depicting gods and demons locked in endless war.
Frozen in violence.
Eternal.
"Truly… man builds," Li Mu murmured.
He and the cloaked woman stepped deeper within, until—
A gate came into view.
Colossal, as if carved from the mountain itself.
Forged in heat beyond imagining.
Bound in chains.
Like a beast forced into silence.
Its presence pressed heavily against the air.
Li Mu's gaze lingered.
"I wonder…" he said softly,
"is it meant to keep others out…"
A pause.
"…or to keep something in?"
Thud!
The cloaked woman dropped to one knee. Her presence sharpened—precise and absolute.
"I greet the Clan Leader," she said.
"I seek the guidance of the elders."
"I have brought the Young Master."
A low hum answered.
"Very good."
The chains fell—one by one.
Dust rose as the gate began to open.
Slowly.
A deep groan echoed outward.
Fog poured forth—thick and shifting, as though alive.
Elsewhere—deep within the darkest corners
Solemnity seeped into the air.
Quietly, voices rose.
"He has been summoned."
"He could become a problem."
A pause.
"He must not live past the coming fortnight."
A sudden chill filled the chamber.
The windows burst open.
Light flooded in—
yet carried no warmth.
Three figures sat around a circular table.
Robed like priests.
Still as statues.
Each held a string of prayer beads.
Heads bowed.
Chanting echoed through the hall—low, rhythmic, unending.
Beyond them, dozens knelt in silence.
Faces tilted skyward.
Eyes empty.
Devoid of will.
The chants deepened.
Something unseen stirred.
Inscriptions along the walls began to glow—faint at first, then brighter.
The scent of iron filled the air.
Thick. Suffocating.
Blindfolds covered their eyes.
All but one.
He saw.
—or rather, what remained of him did.
His eyes were gone.
Hollow sockets wept blood… and something darker.
Miasma curled from the void.
Yet within that darkness—
A faint flame flickered.
Unyielding.
"The prophecy must not be allowed to pass," he rasped.
"The glory of the Everlight Church must not be desecrated."
"Man slaughters… and judgment descends," another murmured.
A pause.
"But why…"
"…do the heavens turn a blind eye to this calamity?"
Silence followed.
Heavy. Absolute.
Yet within it—
Whispers moved.
Through stone.
Through breath.
Through thought.
Judgment descends.
Man slaughters.
And God—
is fading.