They approached at dawn.
The manor sat on the hill like a corpse—once grand, now rotting. Not physically, but spiritually. The walls were intact but felt wrong. Windows like empty eyes. Door like a mouth that had forgotten how to close.
The cold hit them ten feet from the entrance. Not winter cold—spiritual cold. The kind that seeped into bones and made movement difficult.
Raphaël led them to the door. Knocked.
It opened immediately.
Darius stood there—twenty-two years old, handsome in a bloodless way. His skin was pale. Too pale. Almost translucent. His movements were slow, deliberate, like watching someone underwater.
"Master Raphaël," he said. His voice was flat. Emotionless. "Father said you might come. Please. Enter."
They entered.
The manor's interior was worse. Everything was in its place—perfectly organized—but covered in dust. Food sat on tables, uneaten, slowly rotting. Fires burned in hearths but gave no warmth.
And the weight. The crushing, suffocating weight of absolute apathy.
Matthias waited in the sitting room. Younger—nineteen—but with the same bloodless appearance. The same dulled eyes. The same aura of absolute exhaustion.
"Welcome," he said without inflection. "You're here about the nest."
"We cleared the Class 4s," Raphaël said. His hand on his sword, but not drawing. "But you already knew that."
"Of course." Darius settled into a chair with the grace of a corpse arranging itself. "We created them. Fed them. Sent them to soften the town. Make everyone... receptive."
"To what?" Elias demanded.
"To rest." Matthias smiled. It was horrifying—lips moving, but no life behind the expression. "To stopping. To understanding that effort is futile. That struggle is pointless. That peace comes through surrender."
Raphaël's jaw tightened. "You're bearers. Authority of Sloth."
"We are enlightened," Darius corrected. "We've been freed from the tyranny of ambition. Of striving. Of that endless, exhausting need to matter."
"You're killing your own town," Elias said.
"No." Matthias shook his head slowly. "We're saving them. From disappointment. From failure. From the crushing weight of unfulfilled potential." His dull eyes fixed on Raphaël. "Tell me, false knight—how many years did you struggle? How many times did you prove yourself, only to be denied? Wouldn't rest have been kinder?"
Raphaël's hand tightened on his sword.
"We know your story," Darius continued. "The Authority told us. Your father ran. You spent seventeen years trying to erase that stain. And for what? The state still sees you as the coward's son. All that effort. All that pain. For nothing."
"It wasn't for nothing," Raphaël said quietly.
"No?" Matthias leaned forward. "Then what was it for? A blade that the world doesn't recognize? A title that no one respects? You're a knight in name only. A pretense. A lie you tell yourself to keep going."
Elias saw it—the words landing like physical blows. Raphaël's face didn't change, but something behind his eyes flickered. That old doubt. That ancient exhaustion.
"Stop," Elias said sharply. "That's the demon talking. Not you."
"Is it?" Darius smiled that horrible smile. "Or are we simply saying what everyone's too kind to admit? That effort is wasted. That honor is a fairy tale. That the only true peace comes from accepting futility."
The weight in the room intensified. Crushing. Suffocating.
Serra swayed. One of the other disciples dropped to his knees. Even Raphaël looked strained, like every breath took effort.
But Elias pushed back. Golden fire flickering around his fists. "You're wrong. And I'm going to prove it."
"How?" Matthias asked, genuinely curious. "By fighting us? Killing us? Proving that violence solves problems?" He shook his head slowly. "Even if you win, you lose. Because you'll have become the thing you claim to fight. Killers. Executioners. Proof that might makes right."
"We're not here to kill you," Raphaël said. His voice strained but steady. "We're here to separate you from the demon. Give you a chance to live."
Both brothers laughed. It was a horrible sound—mechanical, joyless.
"Separate us?" Darius stood slowly. "We are the pact. The demon is us. We chose this. Welcomed it. We were tired of trying. Tired of failing. Tired of caring. The Authority offered peace. We accepted."
"Then we'll break the pact," Elias said.
"You're an Ascended." Matthias stood as well. "Not Saint. You can't seal the Authority. You can only kill us. And if you kill us..." His smile widened. "The Authority goes free. Finds new bearers. And nothing changes."
Raphaël drew his sword.
The Sanctus-forged blade ignited with golden light. But different than Elias's fire or Dante's silver light. This was sharper. Crystalline. Light that cut rather than burned.
"I can't seal the Authority," Raphaël said. "But I can sever the connection. Separate you from it. Give you a chance to die clean rather than corrupted."
"And if we refuse?" Darius asked.
"Then I do what I must." Raphaël's voice was steady now. "Because I'm not my father. I don't run when things get hard. Even when the choice is impossible. Even when there's no good option. I choose. And I choose to fight."
The brothers moved.
***
They were fast.
No—not fast. That was the wrong word.
They were inevitable.
Darius moved slowly—so slowly Elias could track every muscle shift, every weight transfer. But when his hand reached for Serra, the distance collapsed. Like space itself bent to accommodate his leisurely pace.
His fingers touched her shoulder.
Serra's eyes rolled back. She collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.
"She's alive," Matthias said from across the room. He hadn't moved. Just standing there, hands in pockets, smiling that horrible smile. "Just resting. She'll wake in a few days. Maybe. If she remembers why to wake."
Elias moved.
Charge wasn't the right tactic—Dante had taught him that. Against stronger opponents, you didn't rush in. You probed. Tested. Found weaknesses.
He threw a jab—quick, economical—at Darius's face.
His fist connected. Should have snapped the man's head back. Should have at minimum made him react.
Instead, it felt like punching a mountain.
Darius's head moved maybe an inch. His smile didn't fade. The weight around him intensified—like an invisible barrier, crushing down.
Elias's arm went numb. Not from impact. From cold. Spiritual cold that seeped through his golden fire like water through cracks.
He jerked back, shook feeling into his hand. Okay. Direct attacks won't work.
"You can't hurt us," Darius said conversationally. "Not really. The Authority protects its own. We are the Authority now. Flesh and spirit, merged. Inseparable."
"Nothing is inseparable," Raphaël said.
His sword moved.
Not a slash. A cut. But not cutting flesh—cutting space.
The blade traced a pattern in the air. Geometric. Precise. Lines of golden light that hung suspended for a heartbeat before—
SNAP.
Something tore.
Darius screamed.
For the first time, emotion in his voice. Raw. Pained.
"What—what did you—" He stumbled back, hands clutching his chest. Not physically wounded. But something deeper. "What did you do?!"
"I'm severing the connection," Raphaël said. His voice was steady. Focused. The voice of a man who'd found his purpose. "Finding where you end and it begins. And cutting."
He moved again.
Slash—vertical.
Slash—horizontal.
Thrust—diagonal.
Each movement left trails of golden light. The patterns they formed were beautiful. Complex. Like watching someone draw equations in the air with pure will.
And wherever the patterns appeared, Darius flinched. Like invisible wounds opening. Not bleeding—but fraying. The connection between his spirit and the demon's, slowly unraveling.
Matthias moved.
One moment standing across the room. The next—there. Right in front of Raphaël. That same slow-motion inevitability. His fist swinging in a lazy arc toward Raphaël's face.
Raphaël couldn't dodge. The weight was too strong. The spiritual pressure too thick.
So he did something crazy instead.
He stepped into it.
Met the punch with his armored shoulder—his Aspect's crystalline boundary manifesting just in time—and used the impact to spin. Raphaël turned the hit into rotation, his blade coming around in a devastating arc aimed at Matthias's exposed side—
CLANG.
Matthias's other hand caught the blade. Bare-handed. The Sanctus-forged steel stopped cold against his palm.
"Nice try, false knight." Matthias's grip tightened. Frost formed on the blade. "But we're stronger than you. Faster than you. Better than—"
"RAPHAËL, DOWN!"
Raphaël dropped. Didn't question. Just collapsed into a crouch.
Elias's compressed fire sphere shot over his head—WHOOSH—and slammed into Matthias's chest at point-blank range.
BOOOOM.
The explosion sent Matthias flying backwards. He hit the wall hard enough to crack stone. Slumped.
Elias landed beside Raphaël, helped him up. "You okay?"
"Creative use of fire," Raphaël observed. His tone was actually amused. "Though a warning would have been—"
"Behind you!"
They scattered.
Darius's hand swept through the space they'd occupied, moving with that horrible slow grace. Where his fingers passed, the air itself seemed to grey. Color draining. Life draining.
"That's what would happen if he touched you," Elias said, circling. "Seen it now. Not letting it happen."
"Agreed." Raphaël circled opposite. They were flanking Darius now. Basic tactic, but effective. "Elias—I need time. The severance takes precision. Can you keep them occupied?"
"How long?"
"Sixty seconds. Maybe ninety."
Elias looked at the two bearers. Matthias was standing up now, brushing dust off his shirt like this was mildly inconvenient. Darius stood between them, still smiling that emotionless smile.
Ninety seconds. Against two Class 3 bearers who can end me with a touch.
Elias's mind flashed back to Gregor. The Merchand. Class 3 Authority of Greed, power maybe 3 out of 10. And when Gregor had gotten serious, Elias had been outmatched. Completely. He'd barely survived, and that was against a weaker Class 3 bearer who was alone.
These two?
[THREAT ASSESSMENT]
DARIUS CORVUS
Rank: Bearer of Class 3 Authority (Sloth)
Power Level: 5/10
Bearer Capacity: Primary (receives 20-40% of Authority's power)
Threat Level: EXTREME
MATTHIAS CORVUS
Rank: Bearer of Class 3 Authority (Sloth)
Power Level: 5/10
Bearer Capacity: Secondary (receives 20-40% of Authority's power)
Threat Level: EXTREME
COMBINED THREAT: FATAL