As we reached the depths of the castle, we stumbled upon an ancient door.
Covered in insignias, murals, and.. Blood.
The air changed before I even touched the door.
Not temperature.
Not pressure.
Something deeper.
The moment we stepped into the final descent, my chest tightened like I'd walked into deep water without realizing it. My aura reacted before my mind could catch up—light blue flickering violently, white crackles snapping like nervous lightning along my skin.
Jaki.
Not traces.
Not residue.
A flood.
It slammed into me from every direction the closer I got to the ancient door. My breath caught. My vision blurred for half a second, like the world tilted.
Too much.
Far more than the Dratonian Forest. Far more than anything I'd felt before.
My hand snapped to my sword's hilt on instinct, knuckles whitening as I forced myself to breathe. Slow. Controlled. If I panicked here, everyone behind me would feel it.
The ocean inside me stirred—violent, agitated, recoiling and surging all at once.
This was bad.
Very bad.
The door loomed ahead of us, massive and ancient, its surface layered with insignias—royal crests, holy markings, knightly seals—many of them scratched out, burned, or carved over. Murals twisted into something unrecognizable. And everywhere—
Blood.
Dried. Fresh. Smeared. Spattered.
Too much blood.
I took one step closer.
That was when Seraphyne stumbled.
She'd only moved a few paces toward me, curiosity overcoming caution, when her face drained of color. She clutched her stomach and gagged violently, barely managing to turn her head away.
"What—what the hell?!" she choked.
The others reacted instantly.
"What happened?"
"Seraphyne?"
"Rain—?"
I raised my hand sharply.
"Stop."
My voice came out harsher than I intended, but they froze. Good. One more step forward without warning and someone else might've gone down.
"There's a massive amount of jaki here," I said, forcing the words out evenly. "This place is saturated with it."
Liraeth swallowed hard, eyes unfocused as she tried to sense the distortion.
Kazen's jaw tightened.
Sir Aldred… went pale.
"This isn't just about saintesses," I continued quietly. "This ties into some jaki cult activity. Deep. Ancient."
Sir Aldred looked like he was about to be sick.
I stared at the door, my aura still flaring despite my efforts to suppress it. The sea within me wasn't calming—it was warning me.
Something ancient.
Something violent.
Something intelligent.
My fists clenched.
The Swordmaster's Commandments echoed in my head.
Do not abandon the helpless.
But another thought clawed its way up from my gut.
Can I justify bringing them into this?
This wasn't a training exercise. This wasn't even a covert mission anymore. This was a place where kingdoms vanished. Where gods' servants failed. Where blood soaked into stone so deeply it never washed away.
If I was wrong—
If I hesitated wrong—
I could get everyone killed.
My jaw tightened.
I thought of Lumiel.
Of her stiffness.
Her fractured aura.
Her smile that only showed when she wasn't being watched.
I hadn't known what to say to her in the garden.
I didn't know what to say now.
A hand landed on my shoulder.
I turned.
Varein met my eyes, calm despite the tension coiling around us. He didn't say much—never needed to.
"You know we're with you," he said quietly.
I looked past him.
Kazen gave a short nod.
Liraeth stood steady, grip tight on her weapon.
Liam straightened, serious.
Kai cracked a crooked smile.
Seraphyne wiped her mouth and squared her shoulders despite the lingering nausea.
Arion swallowed his fear and lifted his mace.
Aelira's eyes were sharp, calculating.
Kai let out a breathy chuckle. "Well… if we're going to die, we might as well make it useful."
I huffed despite myself.
"I'm not letting anyone die," I said flatly.
That wasn't a promise.
It was a decision.
I turned back to the door.
"Let's—"
I stopped.
Something clicked.
The murals. The symbols. The defaced holy seals. The patterns of blood. The layering of time.
My eyes traced the walls more carefully now.
This wasn't random.
This wasn't chaos.
This was ritual.
Piece by piece, the image formed in my mind like a slow-burning nightmare.
Not a minor demon.
Not a cult pawn.
This was high-ranking. Ancient.
My stomach twisted.
"…No," I muttered.
Anger surged—hot and sharp—cutting through the fear.
I shoved the door open.
Stone groaned. Ancient mechanisms screamed in protest as the massive door swung inward.
And hell greeted us.
The stench hit first.
Blood. Rot. Jaki so thick it felt wet in the air.
The room beyond was vast—and soaked.
Blood coated the floor in slick layers. Walls were carved with fresh and ancient jaki symbols alike, overlapping in grotesque spirals. Bones littered the ground—some old, bleached and cracked, others fresh, still dark with life stolen from them.
Kai gagged.
Liam hesitated and looked all around in horror.
Kazen drew his bow, trying to stay focused.
I scanned desperately.
"Lumiel—!"
A laugh cut through the air.
Slow. Calm.
Clapping followed.
Measured. Mocking.
"Well done," the voice said.
Talking about saintesses.
Broken crowns.
Necessary sacrifices…
My blood went cold.
The figure stepped forward from the shadows.
Clad in black. Immaculate despite the carnage.
My gaze locked onto him.
"…Apostle Zaleza," I said.
He laughed louder, applause echoing through the chamber.
"So you figured it out," he said pleasantly. "I suppose I should be flattered."
Theon hissed under his breath, eyes wide.
Zaleza removed his coat with exaggerated care.
"I suppose my identity has been revealed."
My eyes flicked to the walls behind him.
And there it was.
A massive mural—half-buried beneath blood and carved symbols.
A towering horned figure.
Wings spread wide.
Sword raised.
Azazel.
The Great Demon of War.
Sir Aldred's voice came out hoarse. "Shit…"
The doors slammed shut behind us.
The impact threw us forward. Stone cracked. Dust rained from the ceiling.
I stood first.
Slowly.
"You're not an apostle," I said coldly. "You're a demon wearing stolen authority."
Azazel smiled.
"Yes," he said pleasantly, bones cracking as his form began to shift. "I am."
His body twisted violently. Flesh restructured. Wings tore free. Horns spiraled upward. Claws lengthened, scraping stone.
"I grew bored," he continued casually. "I needed to feast. The king and queen were… disappointing."
Rage flooded me.
"You don't get to decide that," I snapped. "The law does."
Azazel laughed, voice booming now.
"I've tolerated you long enough, little blade."
I drew my sword.
My aura flared—not in fear.
In pure, unfiltered spite.
White lightning crackled violently along my blade as I raised it.
Everyone followed suit.
Weapons drawn. Formation tight.
"You picked the generation to feast on," I said quietly.
Azazel spread his wings.
And the battle began.