"You can't kill a god. But you can make it bleed. And sometimes, that's enough to unmake a world."
The wind that swept through the Grand Academy the morning after the Sanctum Hollow incident was not natural.
It stank of burnt magic, of ozone and sulfur, and of something older—like a tomb being opened after too many centuries of silence.
No announcement had been made.
No official briefing.
But everyone knew something had happened.
The sealed tunnels beneath the academy grounds—thought to be myth, forbidden in all curriculum—had reopened.
And the Inquisitor Commander, Serenya Indura, had vanished into them... and returned.
Changed.
🕯️ Morning – Reformed Inquisition Barracks
Serenya sat alone on a bench of white marble, stripped of armor, blood crusted on her gloves. Her twin blades leaned against the wall beside her, untouched since the Hollow.
She hadn't spoken in hours.
Not even when Mother Wound entered.
Not even when The Listener stood silently beside her.
Not even when one of the younger inquisitors asked if she'd been cursed.
They wouldn't understand.
Because they hadn't seen the truth.
Not as Kael had shown her.
She'd fought the Hollow. Fought the ghosts. Fought him.
But the worst fight was the one still happening in her head.
And in it… she was losing.
"Indura."
The voice that spoke was not mortal.
The walls trembled as Archbishop Eloran stepped into view. He had not walked the grounds in over a decade. He was meant to be in eternal sleep.
A myth. A dead man.
But he lived.
And he reeked of divine light that no longer belonged to gods.
"You failed," he said simply.
"I found him."
"And you didn't kill him."
"He isn't what you said."
"You mean he didn't scream?" Eloran's voice turned sharp. "Didn't beg? Didn't fall to his knees like a monster unmasked?"
Serenya stood slowly.
"He didn't kneel. Because he doesn't need to anymore."
Eloran's eyes narrowed. "So you doubt."
"I doubt everything now."
"Then we'll burn that doubt out."
Before she could react, the archbishop's hand flared with blinding light.
And he struck her across the face.
Pain seared down her cheek. Not just flesh—but soul. A holy wound. One that marked her for surveillance and disobedience.
The symbol of the Flame of Discipline now seared into her skin.
She didn't cry out.
Didn't flinch.
But she met his gaze—and whispered, "You're afraid of him too."
Eloran said nothing.
But his silence was an answer.
🔥 Meanwhile — Kael's Domain
The Tomb Gate was no longer just a sanctuary.
It had become a fortress.
The new King's Brand he carved into the ground days ago had spread like roots—threading through hidden passages, abandoned storage vaults, even the bottom levels of the academy's divine archives.
He didn't just own the dark now.
He commanded it.
"She'll be watched now," Kael said, standing before a mirror filled not with his reflection—but hers.
Varnak adjusted the scrying rune behind him.
"The mark on her cheek—it burns with godlight. She's being punished."
"Which means she's not entirely lost."
"She's still loyal to something."
Kael's eyes narrowed.
"She was always loyal. Just not to herself."
He placed his hand on the mirror—and the image warped.
It shifted… into Eloran.
Kael's expression darkened.
"He's still alive."
"He never died," Varnak whispered. "The Inquisition fed him souls. Kept him buried beneath their chapel. Their god made him a weapon."
Kael clenched his jaw.
"Then it's time to return the favor."
He turned, sweeping his cloak behind him like a flame.
"We strike at midnight."
🌙 That Night — Infiltration
The Grand Academy's western chapel was an ornate lie. Sculpted with alabaster and stained glass, it looked like the sort of place where prayers were whispered into sunlight.
But beneath the prayer stones and incense corridors lay a darker heart.
And Kael found it easily.
He moved through shadow and silence with his own name written in fear upon the wind.
When a guard passed, he didn't kill him.
He made him sleep.
When a relic flared in alarm, he rewrote its rune with his Fire That Remembers, channeling his pain into a loop of confusion.
He descended seventy-seven steps into the crypts.
And there… he found Eloran's tomb.
But the archbishop was already waiting.
Not asleep.
Not caught unaware.
He stood at the altar—alone.
His robes were gold stitched with screams, and his eyes glowed like dying stars.
"I knew you'd come," Eloran said, his voice like bells breaking.
"I came to return what you left in me," Kael replied. "A wound."
"You think you can wound me now?"
Kael raised his hand.
"No."
"Then what?"
"I can make you remember."
He slammed his palm against the center altar.
And the King's Brand ignited beneath Eloran's feet.
The chamber exploded.
Ash and memory surged from the walls.
And Kael unleashed it all.
Fire That Remembers — Spell Release: "Ash of the Unblessed"
A storm of soul-scarring fire tore through the crypt, howling with the voices of every life the Inquisition had claimed.
Eloran screamed—not in pain.
But in recognition.
He saw them again. Every child. Every mother. Every old priest who refused to kneel and instead burned.
"You can't show me this!" he shrieked.
"You lived it," Kael said. "You thrived on it."
"They were sacrifices!"
"They were mine."
Eloran fell to one knee.
Not defeated.
But reeling.
Kael didn't wait.
He moved forward and drew something from his cloak—a relic made of glass, bone, and divine salt.
The Mirror of the Last Lie.
Forged in the Hollow.
Fed by his Tier II dominion.
He pressed it against Eloran's chest.
"Look," Kael whispered. "And see yourself."
The mirror cracked.
And Eloran saw not a saint. Not a savior.
But a monster in god's robes.
A butcher.
A liar.
A man who called murder prophecy.
He screamed.
And Kael let him fall.
🌑 Escape
Kael didn't kill Eloran.
He didn't need to.
The archbishop's scream echoed up the crypt steps, through the chapel, through the academy.
And every inquisitor heard it.
Every priest.
Every student.
Even Aeyla.
Even Serenya.
They heard Eloran scream like a man dying inside his own faith.
Kael walked back through the shadows of the academy, the mask now gone from his face.
He didn't need to hide anymore.
They would come for him.
They would try.
But tonight?
The first god bled.