"What's that?" Evah whispered, unease threading through her voice as the faint knocks echoed again, followed by the rustle of movement all around. The air grew heavier, charged with something she couldn't name. More people. She could feel it. Not just Erion.
Without her sight, every sound seemed sharper, every shift amplified. The uncertainty only made her heart pound harder.
"Don't open your eyes," Erion's voice came—steady, firm, yet strangely gentle. "The less you know, the better."
Boots struck the floor in unison. A presence filled the warehouse like a tide rising fast. Then—shadows crossed the room, precise and disciplined.
Ten figures emerged, each clad in the sharp, teal-green uniforms of the Grand Covenant Order's Ironclad division. Their movements were synchronized, efficient—soldiers honed for the most dangerous missions.
At the forefront strode their leader, tall and broad-shouldered, his uniform heavy with insignias and polished badges. Authority radiated from him in waves, the air itself seeming to tighten under his presence. A high-ranking officer."And get these two to the headquarters hospital," Erion ordered coolly. "Don't let them out—they might know too much."
Evah's head snapped up. What the hell?
"Erion! I heard that!" she shouted, her frustration slicing through the tense air. Her eyes remained squeezed shut, but her voice shook with anger.
"You should," he shot back, his voice low, edged with steel. His gaze hardened as he looked at her, then Yuka, still slumped unconscious against the pole. "Go with them. They'll treat your wounds."
At his signal, the Ironclad leader gave a curt nod. Two soldiers moved forward, their heavy boots thudding against the floor as they untied Yuka's limp body.
Evah's breath quickened. Her distrust clawed at her chest. "How do I know you won't kill me?" she demanded, her words trembling somewhere between suspicion and fear.
Erion didn't even flinch. His reply came with a light, almost mocking lilt. "You won't."
She couldn't see his face, but she could feel it—he was grinning.
Her stomach twisted. Traitor!
She wanted to scream.
The soldiers moved swiftly. Yuka was untied, unconscious body lifted with care. One of the men offered Evah his hand.
"Please, follow my lead, Miss." His gloved grip was firm, unyielding.
She hesitated—but obeyed. What else could she do?
What if they kill me?
Fear gripped her chest, cold and unrelenting. The possibilities spiraled, darker with every thought. What if they're the bad guys?
She'd heard the stories—the rumors whispered in alleys, spoken in fear. The Order. Once the people's saviors, the heroes who toppled a corrupt government and rebuilt the justice system from its ashes. The nation had begged them to stay, begged them to become something greater than the police—an untouchable force beyond politics, beyond borders.
And so, decades ago, they had been given exactly that: absolute power.
But absolute power never stays pure. What was meant to protect had rotted. The Order became what they once destroyed—an enforcer with no leash, a perfect recipe for corruption in a world where law itself bent to their will.
Evah's stomach churned. But… not all of them are the same. They can't be. Right?
She clung to that fragile hope, because it was the only thing that kept her from breaking.
Outside, the grass crunched beneath their boots. The night air hit her face, cool and biting. Around him, the dead lay scattered, their eyes glazed and staring at nothing.
Erion stood tall at the center of it all, his shadow stretching long in the firelight of the burning warehouse.
"Check the other rooms," he ordered. "There was a laboratory."
"Yes, Major."
The commander fell into step beside him, voice low. "The lead man in the suit—he shot himself. Last words: 'Hail the All-Mother.'"
Erion's expression didn't change. He had heard such madness before.
"We found no men among the cultists," the commander added. "Every victim inside was female."
For a brief second, the mask cracked. Erion's jaw tightened. His mind conjured their faces, their screams—their silence.
If this operation had begun sooner…
But regrets had no place here.
He pushed them down.
The Order had risen once before to cleanse a rotting world. And now, even if their hands were stained, they would keep cleansing until the end.