The Citadel's underbelly burned with the scent of incense and shadow.
Lucien crouched atop a balcony of jagged stone, his aura coiling around him like liquid steel. Below, the cultists chanted again, their words feeding the black mist that writhed over the obsidian altar. The shadow creature hovered, twisting unnaturally as it drew power from the Chancellor's outstretched hands.
Tonight, patience ended.
He descended silently, the air around him bending to his will. Every step left no mark; every motion was sharper than the blade in his memory from The White.
A flick of his wrist, and the vial his scribe-pawn had prepared shattered, spilling its contents into the base of the altar. Flames of pure aura erupted in response, invisible to the cultists but deadly to the ritual. The shadow hissed, twisting violently, and the chanting faltered.
The Chancellor's head snapped toward the disturbance. His eyes narrowed. "Who—"
Lucien stepped into view, his aura flaring like a crown of frost and fire. Pale, calm, untouchable.
"You," the Chancellor breathed, voice a mix of surprise and amusement. "The boy who fell into the void. You should have died there."
"I should have," Lucien replied evenly. "But you forgot—some exceptions cannot be broken."
The shadow creature lunged, claws rending the air like black lightning. Lucien's aura snapped forward, forming blades that cut through the void-infused appendages. Sparks of corrupted energy hissed against his aura, but he did not falter.
With a step, he twisted, striking the altar itself. The black mist shattered into fragments, screaming as it dispersed into nothingness. Cultists fell back, shields useless against the invisible force of his aura.
The Chancellor moved next, drawing an aura of his own—a dark, twisting power that bent the shadows to his will. He struck, and the air itself seemed to resist Lucien's advance.
Lucien smirked.
"You're strong," he said, aura flaring, "but strength without foresight is nothing."
With a movement that blurred the eye, he closed the distance. Every strike of aura he sent was precise, calculated—not to kill immediately, but to dismantle the ritual, unweave the shadows, and expose the Chancellor's vulnerability.
The battle shook the underbelly of the Citadel. Stone cracked. Shadows screamed. And in that chaos, Lucien moved like a sovereign, untouchable, inevitable.
Finally, he stood atop the shattered altar, gaze locked on the Chancellor.
"You feed the White," Lucien said softly, aura coiling like a cage. "But it feeds me too. And now… it's your turn to fall."
The Chancellor faltered for the first time in decades, the shadow creature shrieking in pain as Lucien's aura constricted it like iron.
The White's reach had followed Lucien here. But for the first time, the predator had become the master.
And the Sole Exception had claimed the first victory outside his prison.