In the Cathedral's belly, where echoes birth monsters and silence feeds on memory, Asher Blackwood hears the chant. And somewhere, deep inside, a part of him remembers the words.
The chant began low.
"—taeda esh na voru… taeda esh na voru…"
It wasn't loud. It wasn't clear. But it gnawed at Asher's ears like teeth scraping bone, relentless and cold. He tried to block it out, focusing on the ground beneath his boots—cracked marble veins running like spiderwebs, slick with grime and old blood.
Around them, the Cathedral breathed.
Not literally—but almost. Every flicker of their flashlights seemed to stir the air, coaxing whispers out of the shadows. The smell of rusted chains mixed with something bitter—old incense laced with the unmistakable reek of rot.
"This place feels wronger by the second," Renna muttered, her sidearm up, eyes hard and sharp as diamonds. "You hear it? Same pattern as before. A chant… but it's fragmented."
Asher's fingers tightened around his mask, the cracked porcelain still warm from earlier. His head throbbed in time with the pulse of the Cathedral itself. "Yeah. I hear it." His voice was hoarse. "And I've heard it before."
He swept his light across the scorched walls. Symbols—twisted runes and distorted techno-script—flared for a second, like ghosts caught mid-scream, before fading again. Each flicker made something deep inside him recoil.
"Renna…" His breath hitched, sweat dripping into his eyes. "These symbols—they're from the succubus incidents. The club. The mansion. Even the damn docks." His stomach twisted. "It's all… the same rite."
Renna's jaw set tight, her focus razor-sharp. "The resonance ritual," she said under her breath. "Every 'incident' was a test run. Pieces of a puzzle. And now? We're staring at the full picture."
Asher took a shaky breath, eyes locked on the massive stained-glass window overhead. Its panes, already splintered and sagging, began to weep light—pale and viscous, like liquid moonlight bleeding down the Cathedral's ribs.
In that swirling glow, dark shapes writhed and danced: a serpent strangling a city; a mask, half-shattered and burning; and a woman's face, flickering between divine beauty and monstrous horror.
"The Chant of the Forgotten…" Asher whispered, voice barely audible. His throat burned. "That's what this is. A city-wide binding ritual. They're turning Arkwick itself into the damn circle."
Renna didn't answer. She was staring ahead, frozen.
The Watchers had arrived.
No masks this time.
They emerged from the gloom like nightmares made flesh—tall, gaunt, their faces half-melted, half-beautiful. Saints and demons fused together, eyes like shattered mirrors reflecting a thousand warped images: riots; rituals; lust; agony. A distorted kaleidoscope of Arkwick's sins.
One of them stepped forward, its smile stretching too wide, too wrong. "We remember you, Asher Blackwood. Do you… remember us?"
Asher's heart slammed against his ribs, cold sweat trickling down his spine. His fists clenched. "More than I want to," he said, voice cracking. "But less than I need."
The Cathedral seemed to shudder, stone groaning as if breathing in. The stained glass cracked again, and the glowing liquid rained down faster now, pooling on the floor like veins of molten silver.
Renna raised her weapon, fingers tight. "Don't hesitate," she muttered. "We don't have time for their mind games."
Suddenly, the lead Watcher moved—too fast.
The gunshot rang out, clean and sharp. Renna's aim was true, her bullet flying straight for the Watcher's eye.
But it dissolved mid-air.
As if reality itself refused to let it land.
The chant swelled.
"TAEDA ESH NA VORU…"
The words vibrated through Asher's skull, tearing into his thoughts. His knees buckled. He saw—
—Lilith's grin, wicked and knowing.—The succubus victims, faces twisted in fear and pleading.—The detective twins, one laughing, one sobbing.—Silas's voice, dark and cold: "The price, Blackwood. You never asked about the price."
Asher hit the ground hard, hands gripping his head. His breathing was ragged, fast, panicked.
Not this time, he thought. Not this damn time.
The mask on his belt—the fractured porcelain tethered to his soul—glowed.
Blue-black flames curled around his fingers, licking up his arms, searing without burning.
"ASHE—" Renna's voice snapped through the noise. "Focus! You spiral now, and we're dead!"
He looked up at her, vision blurred but locking onto her face, her strength. Her anchor.
Renna. His partner. His friend.
His breath hitched, but his eyes sharpened.
He stood.
The Watchers moved as one, chanting louder. Their bodies began to melt, reshaping like wax figures left in a furnace. The Cathedral's walls pulsed like veins, stained glass shattering in slow motion, raining down splinters of light.
Renna's voice was tight with panic. "If they finish that chant, the resonance is complete! City-wide. We're talking full-blown psychic collapse—mass possession, physical corruption—hell, maybe worse!"
Asher's jaw tightened, his eyes burning with blue flame. "All of it," he said grimly. "But if I twist their chant… if I use counter-resonance… I can flip it. Collapse the whole ritual."
Renna's voice cracked. "At what price?"
He met her gaze, and there was no fear left—just resolve. "Me. I become the binding point. I take it all."
Renna grabbed his arm, her fingers digging in hard. "No. No, Asher. That's suicide."
He smiled, bitter and raw. "Maybe. But I'm done being their pawn. Time to be their damn lock."
The Watchers shrieked in unison. The stained glass above finally shattered, flooding the room with blinding, searing light. The Cathedral groaned, its walls rippling like muscle, the entire structure alive.
Asher stepped forward, flames roaring around his hands, mask glowing like a second sun. His voice—ragged but defiant—sliced through the chant like a blade.
"I am the forgotten. I am the flame that remembers."
He raised his arms, the blue-black fire flaring high.
"You want a chant?" he roared. "HERE'S MINE— I AM THE GODDAMN LOCK YOU CAN'T PICK."
The clash hit like a thundercrack.
The Watchers' chant—ancient, viral, primal—smashed into Asher's counter-resonance, jagged and human. Sparks of energy lit the Cathedral, tearing at the walls, shaking the foundation.
Above, the city felt it.
Neon lights stuttered and died.Pedestrians paused, eyes glazing, before snapping back, dazed but alive.Succubi lurking in alleys hissed, clutching their heads as their marks burned away.Demons hiding in shadows growled as their grip weakened.And in the sky, just for a heartbeat, the clouds twisted into the shape of a massive, watching eye.
Asher's body trembled, cracks spidering across his skin as if reality itself was trying to tear him apart. Renna screamed his name, torn between running to him and finishing the job alone—as the Cathedral's walls began to fold inward, threatening to crush them both.
[End of Chapter 45]
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Preview for Next Chapter:Chapter 46 – "The Unseen Covenant"As the Cathedral becomes ground zero for Arkwick's unraveling, every major player—ally and enemy—descends to stake their claim. It's time for Asher Blackwood to pay the ultimate price, and for the truth about the city's ancient curse to finally come to light.