The dagger's edge gleamed against the girl's throat, its obsidian surface drinking in the torchlight. Kael's fingers trembled around the hilt, not from hesitation but from the storm of stolen emotions churning beneath his skin. The golden energy pulsed through his veins like liquid fire, whispering promises of power with every heartbeat.
Lilith's claws pressed deeper into his shoulders, drawing beads of blood that trickled down his back in warm trails. "The Court watches," she murmured, her breath hot against his ear. "Don't disappoint them now."
The seven specters of the Hollow Court drifted closer, their misty forms shimmering with anticipation. Behind them, the obsidian throne wept threads of liquid gold that slithered across the uneven stone floor, drawn to Kael like serpents to a charmer's flute.
Kael's gaze dropped to the girl—Maren, her name surfaced from the fragments of her stolen memories. Her wide, glassy eyes held no tears left to shed, only a hollow resignation that made his stomach twist. Her fingers clutched a crude wooden bird carving against her chest, the edges worn smooth from constant handling.
"Please," she whispered, the word barely audible. Not for mercy. For an ending.
The golden energy in Kael's chest surged in response, its hunger a living thing gnawing at his ribs. The throne's whispers grew louder, drowning out all else:
She's already empty. You'd be doing her a kindness.
Kael's arm tensed, the dagger pressing just enough to draw a single bead of blood—
CRACK!
The chamber doors exploded inward in a shower of splintered wood and stone. Through the smoke marched twelve Celestial Inquisitors, their silverite armor gleaming beneath blood-red cloaks. At their head stood High Inquisitor Vareth, his gilded mask of the Weeping Saint reflecting the torchlight in fractured patterns. The relic embedded in his throat pulsed with each word:
"Kael Ardent. By the grace of the Sevenfold Divinity, you will surrender this heresy."
Lilith's tail lashed against Kael's calf, the barbed tip drawing blood. "Listen to him preach mercy while his boots drip with children's blood."
The specters surged forward with unearthly shrieks that made the very air vibrate. The Inquisitors raised their blessed weapons, the sigils along their blades flaring to life with white-hot radiance.
Chaos erupted.
Kael stood frozen as the battle unfolded before him:
A specter engulfed two Inquisitors, their armor crumpling inward with sickening crunches as their life essence drained away. One man managed half a scream before his body collapsed like an empty wineskin.
Lilith moved like liquid shadow between the soldiers, her claws finding the gaps between armor plates with deadly precision. She danced through their ranks, leaving trails of black blood in her wake—each wound festering instantly with dark energy.
High Inquisitor Vareth's spear flashed, its blessed steel piercing a specter's nebulous core. The entity let out a wail that shook dust from the ceiling as holy fire consumed it from within.
The golden energy within Kael thrummed in response to each death, each burst of fear and pain. It was hungry—so terribly, insatiably hungry.
Maren's fingers brushed his wrist, her touch feather-light.
Her memories flooded into him unbidden:
The weight of her father's knife in her small hands as she carved her first bird from a scrap of driftwood. The way the wood grain resisted before yielding to her clumsy strokes.
Her sister's delighted laughter when presented with the gift, how she'd cradled it like precious treasure despite its rough form.
The thunder of Inquisitor boots on their cottage steps. The splintering of the door. Her father's last words—"Take care of her"—before they dragged him away to the salt mines.
Kael staggered under the weight of her stolen past. The throne's whispers grew frantic, desperate:
She's nothing! Feed!
Vareth's spear descended toward Lilith's exposed back, its tip glowing with holy fire.
Kael moved without thought.
Golden tendrils exploded from his palms, lancing through the chamber to connect with:
1. The dying specter's lingering rage—hot as a forge and twice as bright.
2. Three Inquisitors' battle fervor—sharp as vinegar, burning his throat.
3. The ancient stone beneath his feet—patient and heavy with forgotten memories.
Power detonated through his nervous system, setting every nerve ending alight. Time itself seemed to stretch and warp:
He could see individual dust motes hanging motionless in the air, each one a tiny world unto itself.
The fraying threads along Vareth's cloak hem unraveled in perfect detail, each fiber separating with glacial slowness.
The exact moment the spear tip would pierce Lilith's spine—three heartbeats from now—played out in his mind's eye with crystalline clarity.
Kael exhaled.
Time snapped back into focus.
He caught the spear mid-thrust, golden filaments spiraling up the blessed metal. Vareth's memories flooded into him:
A first kiss stolen behind the chapel, sweet with stolen wine and youthful desperation.
The sickening crunch of a heretic's bones beneath his boot during his first purification rite.
Nights spent retching into a chamber pot after executions, his soul screaming even as his face remained the picture of pious serenity.
All of it transmuted into pure energy, feeding the ravenous golden fire in Kael's chest.
The spear shattered into a thousand glittering shards. Vareth collapsed to his knees, his mask splitting down the middle to reveal one wide, terrified eye—the other lost long ago to some forgotten battle.
Silence fell over the chamber.
The remaining Inquisitors dropped their weapons, their faces ashen. The specters pulsed with renewed vigor, their forms growing more substantial with each passing second. Lilith grinned, her needle-like teeth glinting in the torchlight.
Only Maren remained motionless, her carved bird clutched tight against her heart.
Then—
A child's laughter echoed through the chamber, high and clear and utterly out of place.
From behind the throne emerged a boy no older than ten, his skin the color of polished brass, his eyes burning like miniature suns. Vines of living shadow curled from his back, their tips blossoming into tiny screaming mouths that gibbered in languages long dead.
The Inquisitors fell to their knees as one, their voices rising in a ragged chorus: "The First Sin!"
The golden child tilted his head at Kael, his expression one of curious amusement. "Hello, brother."
Lilith dropped into a deep curtsy, her horns nearly brushing the floor. "Progenitor."
Kael's stolen energy resonated with the boy's presence, thrumming in perfect, terrible harmony. "What are you?"
"What you will become." The boy pointed a slender finger at Vareth. "Ask him how many of us they've burned. How many children they've fed to their false god."
Vareth scrambled backward, his remaining eye wild with panic. "Silence, demon!"
The boy smiled, revealing a mouthful of needle-thin teeth. "They made us hungry, then called us monsters for feasting." He extended a hand toward Kael, his palm upturned. "Your coronation awaits."
The throne's whispers became a roar that shook the very foundations of the chamber. Kael's vision swam with overlapping images:
A mountain of golden masks identical to Vareth's, each one representing a life extinguished.
The boy—so much smaller then—weeping on a bloodstained altar as white-robed priests chanted in tongues no human throat should form.
A great, slumbering hunger beneath the Celestial Church's grand cathedral, waiting patiently for its chains to break.
Lilith pressed the black dagger back into Kael's grip, her claws lingering against his skin. "Finish what you started."
Kael looked down at Maren—now staring up at him with something far worse than fear. Recognition.
He raised the dagger high—
—and plunged it into the stone floor with all his strength.
A shockwave of golden energy radiated outward, throwing all but the golden child to their knees. The throne's carvings blazed with inner fire, their silent screams transforming into a chorus of approval that vibrated through Kael's bones.
The specters' voices rose in unison: "The covenant is renewed!"
Vareth crawled toward the exit, his robes torn and bloodied. "You've doomed us all," he croaked.
The golden child laughed—a sound like shattering glass—as shadows surged forth to swallow the Inquisitors whole. "No. Just you."
Kael's body burned with alien energy. His veins glowed beneath his skin, tracing intricate luminous patterns across his flesh. Maren's last spark of hope still fluttered in his chest—a fragile, fading thing that somehow hurt more than any wound.
Lilith pressed a kiss to his shoulder, her lips cold as the grave. "Now we feast."
Far above them, deep in the world of light and order, the bells of the Celestial Church began to toll.