The journey to Peru was a blur of cold skies and long silences. For Maxwell, each passing mile felt heavier, as though the whispers of the shards grew stronger the closer they drew to the next one. By the time their plane touched down in Lima, his storm-gray eyes had darkened, rimmed faintly with crimson that no sleep could wash away.
From the capital, they travelled by rickety bus into the mountains, where villages clung to cliffsides and mist swallowed the peaks. The air was thin, cold, and laced with incense from shrines that dotted the roads. Anthony carried the Codex pressed to his chest, his lips moving in constant prayer. Gabby's cloak concealed her wings, but her presence drew wary stares from villagers they passed — as though they sensed a divine spark but could not name it.
Finally, they reached the ruins of the monastery. It sat perched on a jagged ridge, stone walls half-collapsed, its once-proud towers blackened by fire. Crosses had been defiled, turned upside down, and the great bell lay shattered in the courtyard. Silence hung heavy, broken only by the wind.
Anthony's breath clouded in the cold as he whispered, "This place was holy once. Pilgrims came from across the world to seek miracles here."
Gabby's eyes scanned the ruins. "Now it is a wound. Samael has seeded corruption into its heart."
Maxwell gripped his sword, its runes faintly glowing. "Then let's tear it out."
They passed through the broken gates into the courtyard. The ground was littered with bones — monks, pilgrims, innocents. Some were arranged in circles, their skulls stacked into grotesque patterns. At the center, a fountain once filled with holy water now bubbled black ichor.
Anthony gagged at the stench, clutching his crucifix. "God have mercy…"
Gabby drew her sword, golden light piercing the mist. "Be ready. This place will not let go of its shard easily."
As if summoned by her words, a low chant rose from within the monastery walls. Voices — guttural, hollow, many layered as one. Figures emerged from the shadows, cloaked in rotting robes. Their faces were hidden by hoods, but their hands were skeletal, their fingers elongated into claws.
"The monks," Anthony breathed. His eyes shone with sorrow. "They never left."
Maxwell set his stance, his blade singing as it left the sheath. "No… they were left behind."
The monks moved as one, their chant shaking the stones beneath their feet. From the black fountain, a shard rose, pulsing crimson. Its glow lit their hollow eyes.
The air tightened. The fight began.
Maxwell lunged first, his sword cleaving through the nearest monk. The body crumbled to dust, but black smoke poured from the remains, coiling into the others and strengthening their chant.
Gabby met the next wave, her wings flaring as she cut arcs of holy fire. Each stroke burned through robes and bone, scattering ashes across the courtyard. Yet for every monk she felled, more staggered from the monastery halls, endless in their numbers.
Anthony stood at the fountain, chanting prayers over the shard. The Codex burned in his hands, its script blazing with gold. But the shard resisted, its crimson light striking back in pulses that rattled the earth.
Maxwell fought his way toward the fountain, the whispers in his head now a deafening chorus. Take it. Claim it. You are its rightful heir.
He staggered, nearly dropping his sword as a vision struck him — his father, radiant and broken, chained in darkness. The seraph's eyes burned with sorrow. Help me, my son… free me…
Maxwell fell to his knees, his blade trembling. His heart ached. His breath caught. "Father…"
The shard pulsed brighter, feeding the illusion, drawing him closer. His hand stretched toward it despite himself.
Gabby saw it, her wings flashing wide as she cut down three monks in a single strike. She shouted across the courtyard, her voice like thunder. "Maxwell! Do not yield!"
Her words pierced the haze, but the whispers clawed deeper. She lies. They all lie. Only I will give you what you've lost.
Maxwell's hand hovered over the shard. His storm-gray eyes burned crimson. His mother's voice faintly whispered in the back of his mind — You are stronger than they know.
With a roar, Maxwell seized his sword and drove it through the shard.
Light exploded, blinding and fierce. The monks screamed as their bodies disintegrated, their chant breaking into wails of torment. The black fountain shattered, ichor boiling away into smoke. The courtyard shook, stones cracking beneath their feet.
When the light faded, silence fell. The shard was gone. Only dust remained.
Maxwell collapsed against the fountain's broken edge, gasping for breath, sweat pouring down his face. His hands trembled violently, his veins glowing faint red before dimming.
Anthony hurried to his side, relief and worry warring in his eyes. "You resisted again. Praise God… but Maxwell, each shard leaves its mark on you."
Gabby knelt beside him, her gaze steady, unwavering. "And yet he endures. The shards want him, but he denies them. That is strength Samael cannot stand."
Maxwell's jaw clenched. His storm-gray eyes flickered silver again, the crimson fading. "Then let's keep making him angry."
Gabby's lips curved faintly into the ghost of a smile. But deep in her eyes lingered a shadow — fear of the war still to come.
For Samael had felt the shard break. And in the Abyss, chains rattled louder.