The marsh exploded with motion. Mud churned beneath their boots as the cloaked hunters advanced, their masks gleaming faintly in the crimson haze that still lingered over the broken shrine. Each step was measured, precise, not the reckless rush of beasts but the disciplined rhythm of killers who had hunted creatures far more monstrous than Lucien and Liora. Charms dangling from their belts clinked softly, glowing faintly with protective runes that pushed back the residue of the shattered shard.
Lucien's body screamed in protest, still weak from breaking the Second Verse, but Requiem surged in his grip, eager, trembling, almost alive. The sword wanted blood—it didn't care whose. Crimson light dripped from its runes like molten fire, and in Lucien's head the whispering voice returned, smug and hungry: They come to cage you. Break them. Bleed them. Prove you are the hymn's chosen.
The leader of the hunters moved first. His mask, carved into a leering skull with streaks of red down its jaw, tilted as he raised his weapon—a curved blade of black steel etched with sigils Lucien couldn't read. He struck without warning, the air splitting with a hiss. Lucien barely brought Requiem up in time, sparks erupting as steel met steel. The impact rattled his bones, forcing him back a step into the sucking mud.
The hunter pressed forward, his strikes fast and relentless, each blow testing Lucien's defenses. Lucien parried clumsily at first, his body lagging behind his instincts. Every movement dragged like he was underwater, every breath scraping his lungs raw. The hunter's blade nicked his shoulder, slicing through leather and flesh alike, and pain flared hot.
Requiem shuddered in his hand, furious. The runes along its edge flared brighter, almost blinding. Stop holding back! the voice roared inside his head. You broke the Verse, yet you still crawl like an insect? Let me show you what it means to be more than human.
Lucien grit his teeth and shoved the thought aside. If he gave in, if he surrendered too deeply, he would not come back. He could not let the hymn own him. With a roar, he forced his body forward, twisting past the next strike and slashing at the hunter's chest. The crimson glow from Requiem's blade cut through the charms, searing them into useless ash. The hunter staggered, his mask cracking as the blow glanced across his armor.
"Lucien!" Liora's shout cut through the chaos.
He turned just in time to see two hunters rushing her from opposite sides, their blades curved like scythes. She spun, steel flashing in the mist, parrying one strike and driving her knee into the second attacker's stomach. Mud splashed as they fell back, but more came from the fog. At least ten surrounded them now, silent and unyielding.
Liora fought like a storm, her blade cutting arcs of silver in the dim light. But Lucien could see it—she was outnumbered, her strength burning too quickly. If they dragged this on, they would be crushed beneath sheer numbers.
The leader lunged at Lucien again, faster this time, his blade thrusting straight for Lucien's heart. Lucien twisted, feeling the steel graze his ribs as he brought Requiem down in a savage arc. The crimson light roared, splitting the mist as his blade carved through the hunter's side. Blood sprayed, dark against the crimson fog, and the hunter dropped to one knee, clutching the wound.
The voice inside Lucien purred. Yes. More. Break them all. Add their screams to the hymn.
Lucien staggered, panting, his eyes burning red as the hunger clawed at his mind. He could feel it now, stronger than ever—the hymn wasn't silenced, only redirected. Through him. Every heartbeat carried its echo, every swing of his blade answered its rhythm. He was becoming the song, piece by piece, and if he lost control for even a breath, the blade would take him whole.
A charm clattered against his boot. Lucien looked down—another hunter had flung it, a rune-inscribed talisman that pulsed with light. The ground erupted, chains of spectral energy snaking upward and wrapping around his arms and legs. Pain seared through him as the bindings tightened, burning his skin with holy fire. Requiem shrieked in fury, its light flickering wildly as if choking against the chains.
The leader laughed bitterly, clutching his bleeding side. "The Choir knew your kind would rise again. That sword… it's cursed. You think it obeys you, boy? No. You're its host. Nothing more."
The other hunters surged forward, closing the circle. Their blades gleamed with the same runes as the chains, each swing aimed not to kill but to cripple. Lucien struggled, muscles straining, but the spectral bindings bit deeper, eating into his strength.
Liora cut down another attacker, her breathing ragged. "Lucien!" she screamed, her voice raw with desperation. She tried to cut toward him, but three hunters blocked her path, forcing her back step by step. "Fight it!"
Lucien's vision swam. The world pulsed crimson. The hymn thundered in his ears, louder than ever, drowning out even Liora's cries. He felt his body tremble, not from weakness, but from the storm rising within him. Requiem pulsed, its voice a roar that filled every corner of his skull. Do you want to die chained? Broken? A tool of the Choir? Or do you want to be free? Let me in, Lucien. Let me burn them all. Let me show them the Second Verse.
For a heartbeat, Lucien hesitated. He remembered the shard, the moment of choice, the way Liora had looked at him with unwavering trust. He remembered what it felt like to resist, to choose his will over the blade's hunger. But the hunters pressed closer, the leader raising his blade for a finishing strike, and Lucien's body screamed with the need to survive.
His lips parted. "Just… a little," he whispered.
Requiem roared.
Crimson light exploded outward, shattering the spectral chains in a burst of fire. The hunters staggered back, shielding their faces as the marsh lit up like a furnace. Lucien's body convulsed, his veins glowing faintly through his skin as Requiem poured into him, filling him with strength that wasn't his own. His eyes blazed red, his breath came in ragged snarls, and when he raised the blade again, it was no longer just Lucien holding it. It was the hymn itself.
He moved faster than he ever had, Requiem carving arcs of crimson through the mist. The first hunter's mask split in two, blood spraying as his body collapsed into the muck. The second tried to parry, but Lucien's strike shattered his weapon like brittle glass and cut him down in the same motion. The voice inside Lucien laughed, wild and triumphant. Yes! Sing, Lucien! Sing with blood and fire!
The hunters shouted in alarm, their formation breaking as Lucien tore through them like a storm. Liora froze for a breath, her eyes wide as she watched him. This wasn't Lucien fighting—it was something else. Something darker, unstoppable. The crimson glow burned too bright, his movements too sharp, too brutal. He wasn't parrying or dodging anymore. Every strike killed. Every strike fed the hymn.
"Lucien!" she shouted again, but he didn't hear.
Bodies fell, the marsh filling with the stink of blood and charred flesh where Requiem's energy seared through armor and bone. The leader fought desperately, his curved blade clashing against Lucien's again and again, but even he was faltering, his wounds slowing him. Lucien pressed forward, eyes blazing with crimson fire, his laughter ragged and not entirely his own.
The leader snarled beneath his mask. "You think you've won? You're already lost, boy. That blade owns you." He swung wildly, but Lucien caught the strike, twisting the weapon aside and plunging Requiem into the hunter's chest. The crimson light burst outward, burning through flesh and armor alike. The leader screamed once, then collapsed lifeless into the muck.
Silence followed, broken only by the hiss of steam as blood met the swamp's wet soil. The surviving hunters fled into the fog, abandoning the battle. Lucien stood over the bodies, Requiem humming with satisfaction, his chest heaving as if he had run a hundred miles. His hands shook, not with exhaustion, but with hunger. He wanted more. The blade wanted more.
"Lucien." Liora's voice cut through, low and steady.
He turned slowly. She stood a few steps away, sword in hand, her expression caught between horror and sorrow. The crimson glow from his eyes flickered as he met her gaze. For a moment, she thought she had lost him—that he was gone, consumed by the hymn. But then his breathing slowed, his shoulders sagged, and the fire dimmed.
Requiem hissed in frustration, but Lucien forced it down, forced himself back into control. His knees buckled, and he dropped into the mud, gasping. The blade's glow dimmed reluctantly, fading to a faint simmer.
Liora was at his side in an instant, crouching low, her hand gripping his arm tightly. "You almost lost yourself." Her voice trembled despite her effort to keep it firm.
Lucien laughed weakly, his throat raw. "Maybe I already did."
She shook her head fiercely. "No. You came back. That's what matters."
But Lucien wasn't so sure. The memory of the slaughter burned in his mind—the way it had felt, the intoxicating rush of strength, the ecstasy of power not his own. He had resisted before, but now… now he knew how sweet it was to let go.
And he wasn't sure he could stop himself the next time.