THE OBSERVATION POST
The observation post was a requisitioned merchant building with a clear view of the Royal Hospital's main entrance and western wing. Guard-disciples manned spyglasses mounted on tripods, taking notes in rotation.
Aldric moved to the window, but he didn't need the spyglass. His eyes began to glow—faint at first, then brighter, the deep brown becoming molten blue.
Spiritual vision.
When someone is choose by Sanctus, he becomes aware of the spiritual realm. Some of them can see the demons, others can sense them. That is all until you become Transcendent, for those who reach it. At that level, Aldric could perceive not just demons, but the spiritual realm overlaid on the physical world from a distance. What normal eyes saw as empty space, he saw teeming with invisible realities.
The old man stood motionless for nearly a minute, his luminous gaze fixed on the hospital. Then he spoke, his voice distant, analytical:
"I see him. Third floor, east wing corridor. The host is... maintaining a perimeter patrol. Methodical. He moves with purpose."
"And the entity?" Dante asked quietly.
"Class 3 Authority. Attached to the host like a second shadow—no, more like a parasite coiled around his spine and skull." Aldric's glowing eyes narrowed. "I can see the inscription. The name is written on his spiritual forehead."
He paused, and when he spoke again, there was a weight to the words:
"Moros. The Stillness. From the Sloth Domain."
Thorne quickly made a note. "Power assessment?"
"Strong. Power level nine out of ten for a Class 3. This is no minor Authority." Aldric's voice remained steady, but Elias heard the underlying concern. "And I can see something else—the pact bonds are... fractured. Incomplete. There are breaks in the spiritual chains. Places where the host's will is fighting through."
"What does that mean?" Raphaël asked.
Aldric's eyes slowly returned to normal, the blue glow fading. He looked exhausted. "It means Greystone is still resisting. After three days of full possession—three days of Moros having dominance—there are still moments where the man's consciousness breaks through. I saw it just now. For five seconds, the host stopped moving. His head tilted as if listening to something. His lips moved—I couldn't read the words, but his body language changed completely. Less predatory. More... human."
He turned to face them. "Then the chains reasserted. Moros regained control. But those five seconds? That was Harold Greystone fighting his way to the surface."
Thorne consulted his notes. "The doctors trapped inside have reported similar observations. Dr. Seraphina—she's barricaded with patients in the oncology ward—sent word through an escaped orderly two days ago. She said Greystone has appeared at their barricade three times. Each time, for a few seconds, he seems himself. He warns her to run. Tells her he's sorry. Then his tone change again and he attacks. She's been documenting every encounter."
"How is she sending reports?" Kaël asked.
"Survivors who escaped the first day," Thorne explained. "We've had six people make it out through gaps in the demon's patrol pattern. Each brought information. Dr. Seraphina writes notes and gives them to anyone she thinks has a chance of running. We piece together what's happening inside from their accounts."
"She's still alive because Moros wants her alive," Aldric said grimly. "Class 3 Authorities from the Sloth domain feed on despair, hopelessness, the slow erosion of will. A quick kill gives them nothing. But trapping people, letting them starve slowly, watching them lose hope day by day—that sustains them."
Aldric leaned forward slightly. "Tell me about this physician."
"Seraphina. First name only—she never gives her family name. Arrived in Eldhaven six months ago from the continent AQUALYTHE. Medical exchange program. She's been working in the oncology ward since arrival. Best oncologist we've seen, honestly. Patients who were given weeks to live are walking out healthy."
Raphaël frowned. "That sounds like—"
"An Aspect," Aldric finished. "Healing type. Almost certainly Ascended if she's achieving those results."
"She is," Thorne confirmed. "We only found out during the initial demon outbreak. She manifested her Aspect to protect patients. Reinforcement type—healing wounds, curing diseases. But..." He hesitated.
"But she can't fight," Dante said quietly.
"Exactly. Her Aspect has no offensive capabilities. When the Class 3 possessed Greystone and began attacking, she barricaded the oncology ward. She's been holding the line for three days now—keeping patients alive, maintaining the barrier. But she can't eliminate the threat."
Aldric's expression darkened. "Three days. She's been awake for three days straight keeping those people alive."
"We've tried to extract her. She refuses. Says she won't abandon terminal patients to a demon." Thorne's voice carried genuine respect.
"Power level assessment of the demon?" Aldric asked.
Thorne pulled out a second report. "Our analysts estimate nine out of ten. It's toying with us. The Capital Guard attempted entry twice. First squad—eight men, two Awakened—wiped out in minutes. Second attempt—twelve men, three Awakened, one Ascended. The Ascended managed to wound the host before the demon's time dilation caught him. He aged forty years in thirty seconds. Died of heart failure."
Silence around the table.
Raphaël swore quietly. "Nine out of ten. That's—"
"That's why I'm here," Aldric said calmly. "Class 3 at power level nine. Most Saints would struggle a bit but still win. A lone Ascended—even a skilled one—has no chance. Dr. Seraphina is doing everything right by staying defensive."
He moved back to the strategy table, pulling out the confidential file he'd been examining earlier.
"Captain Thorne. Where did you get this?"
Thorne looked uncomfortable. "After the possession was confirmed, we investigated Greystone's background. We found his aunt—she raised him after his parents died when he was twenty. She... she told us things."
Aldric opened the file. Inside was a drawing. Young Greystone—maybe five years old—with people that seemed to be his parents. A normal family drawing. Except...
"An obscur being," Thorne breathed.
There was just behind the family, a massive, strange, shadow that took the form of a silhouette.
"Pact bearers," Aldric said coldly.
"Yes" Thorne said frankly. "They were very willing servants of a demon. According to the aunt, Greystone's parents were part of a cult. They worshipped something they called The Stillness. And when Harold was born..." He stopped, jaw tight. "They performed a ritual. Devoted him to their master. Promised him to the demon before he could even speak."
Horror settled over the room like a shroud.
"His parents died when he was twenty," Thorne continued. "The aunt called it an accident. But the timing is suspicious. Harold was finally old enough to question his upbringing. To reject what his parents believed. Perhaps they tried to force the demon upon him and it killed them instead. Or perhaps..." He shook his head. "We will never know. What matters is this: Harold Greystone spent forty years trying to be nothing like his parents. Forty years building a life as a healer, helping people, being good."
"And then six months ago, the demon came to collect," Raphaël finished.
"Exactly." Thorne confirmed as Aldric was closing the file.
"This was not a willing pact. This was a man fighting against a fate his parents inflicted upon him before he had any choice. Every document here proves it. The Church visits. The healers. The letter to me. Even now, three days into full possession, witnesses report inconsistent behavior because he's still fighting."
He paused, then said something that changed the entire mission:
"This is not a demon hunt. This is a rescue mission."
Elias felt his throat tighten.
"Our enemy is Moros—a Class 3 Authority at power level nine. Our objective is to free all the people he hold captives, including Harold Greystone—an innocent man trapped in his own body." Aldric's voice hardened with determination. "I have a technique. Separation Protocol. It takes decades to learn, costs enormous spiritual energy, and has a low success rate even under optimal conditions. But if Greystone is still fighting, still resisting after three days..."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"Then yes. We can try to save him."
"But you need to understand something." His tone turned grave. "The Separation Protocol requires dual combat. Physical and spiritual, simultaneously. Half of you will engage Moros's host body—you must keep Greystone alive but immobilized. If he dies before I complete the separation, Moros will simply find a new host within days and all of this will have been for nothing."
He pointed at Elias. "Kane. You and I will fight the spiritual battle. While the others restrain the host, we will enter spiritual vision and combat Moros directly. We must sever the pact bonds and seal the demon before the host's body gives out."
Elias swallowed. "I understand."
"Do you?" Aldric's gaze was piercing. "Spiritual combat at this level will push you beyond anything you've experienced. You're a disciple—you can perceive the spiritual realm and fight within it, but you've never faced a Class 3 Authority in pure spiritual battle at this level. If Moros counterattacks and you break concentration, you could die. Your body will be defenseless while your consciousness is in the spiritual realm. That's why you need the team."
He spread his hands over the evidence.
"This is what investigation does. It changes who we think our enemy is. It changes how we fight. And it changes what victory looks like." He met Elias's eyes specifically. "Remember this, Kane. Power wins battles. But understanding wins wars."
Elias nodded, unable to speak.
Aldric turned to the blueprints.
"Now. Let us plan how to save a man who has been fighting alone for six months. He has earned our help. Let us not fail him."