The storm hadn't passed—only moved higher. The crimson clouds hung low over Eyris, their edges crackling with silent lightning. The city's great spire still pulsed, but slower now, as if the heart of the world itself had skipped a beat.
Deep below the surface, in the collapsed tunnels of Sector Nine, Arin Vale awoke to the smell of ash and metal.
His ears rang. His veins burned.
The sigil on his arm glowed faintly—dim but alive. He flexed his fingers and winced. The ring's voice, silent for hours, returned in a whisper.
> "Corruption stabilized. Power retention: sixty-seven percent."
He sat up slowly. The tunnel ceiling above him was cracked open, letting streaks of filtered daylight spill through. Rubble surrounded him—twisted steel, shattered stone, and a body lying a few feet away.
Lya Serin.
The Blood Warden captain.
Her armor was fractured along the chestplate, her halberd broken in two beside her. Her pulse was faint but steady.
Arin stared for a long moment. The voice in his head urged him to finish it—she was a threat, a hunter, a reminder of everything he'd escaped.
But something in him resisted.
He pressed a hand against his temple and growled, "Shut up."
The voice went silent.
He crawled over to Lya, checked her pulse, then tore a strip of cloth from his coat and bound a deep wound along her side. Her eyes flickered open just as he was tightening the knot.
"You…" she rasped. "You could've run."
"I thought about it," Arin muttered. "But then I realized you'd chase me anyway."
A faint, humorless smile crossed her lips. "You're not wrong."
---
Hours later, as the rain eased above ground, the pair emerged from the wreckage into the ruins of the district. Smoke curled around them from collapsed infrastructure. Distant alarms echoed—the Wardens would come soon.
Lya leaned against a fallen beam, catching her breath. "That thing in the tunnels… the Blood Spawn… that shouldn't exist anymore."
Arin looked out toward the blood-red skyline. "Then someone's bringing them back."
Lya's expression hardened. "Only one faction has the knowledge to do that—the High Council remnants."
He glanced at her. "You mean the same people who marked me for execution?"
Her silence was answer enough.
---
They walked until the sun began to die, casting long golden rays over the blackened streets. Neither spoke much. The silence between them was heavy—two soldiers from opposite ends of a broken system.
At last, they reached an abandoned tram station. Lya motioned for him to stop.
"This'll do for the night," she said. "You're still bleeding."
"I've had worse," he said, brushing past.
Her hand shot out, grabbing his arm. The moment her fingers touched the sigil, her eyes widened. "Your corruption rate—it's not rising."
He turned sharply. "What?"
"No one holds stable levels past sixty percent," she whispered. "They either lose control or… become something else."
"Guess I'm special," he said flatly, pulling away.
But the truth gnawed at him. Even he didn't understand why the corruption hadn't consumed him completely. Each time he came close to breaking, something—someone—pulled him back.
---
Far above, in the glass halls of the Council Spire, the remaining Blood Wardens convened.
The chamber was circular, illuminated by veins of crimson light that pulsed through the marble floor. At the center, a massive holographic sigil flickered—Arin's face projected in spectral red.
"Subject: Arin Vale," droned the attendant machine. "Status: Uncontained. Corruption stabilized at sixty-seven percent. Last recorded coordinates: Sector Nine."
A tall figure stepped forward—Commander Dareth Vohl, Lya's superior. His armor gleamed obsidian, his expression unreadable. "Stabilized?" he repeated. "That's impossible."
"Unless the corruption evolved," said a second voice—Inquisitor Kael, the Council's genetic overseer. "The Revenant strain we once feared may have adapted. If so, he's no longer human."
Dareth turned toward him. "Or he's the key."
Silence rippled through the room.
"If Arin Vale can harness corruption without succumbing to it," Dareth continued, "then he's proof the old Pacts can be perfected. Imagine an army of controlled Bloodborn—no berserks, no casualties."
Kael frowned. "And who will control them? You?"
"I don't need to," Dareth said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "They'll obey the ring."
---
Back in the tram station, Arin sat by a broken window, staring at the faint red gleam of his ring.
"You ever wonder," he said quietly, "what it's like to be free of all this?"
Lya looked up from where she was repairing her weapon. "Free of what? The system?"
He shook his head. "The blood. The whispers. The way it makes you want to kill, even when you know you shouldn't."
Lya's hands froze. Her eyes softened, just slightly. "Every Warden hears them. Some louder than others."
"Do you?" he asked.
She looked away. "I learned to silence mine a long time ago."
A moment of silence passed before she added, "You can't keep burning yourself to fight it, Arin. That corruption will eat you alive."
He chuckled bitterly. "You think I haven't tried to stop it?"
The glow of the ring pulsed faintly in answer, as if mocking him.
Then—without warning—the air around them trembled. Both turned sharply as a series of red symbols burned into the walls, forming a circle around the station.
Lya's eyes widened. "Containment sigils."
Arin stood instantly, hand on his weapon. "Wardens?"
The air shimmered—and six armored figures phased into existence, their armor crackling with plasma light. Each bore the insignia of the Council.
"By order of the High Warden," one of them barked, "Arin Vale is to be detained. Captain Serin, you are to stand down."
Lya's face went pale. "Dareth…"
The voice that answered came through the comms, smooth and cold.
> "You've done well, Captain. Now step aside."
Arin looked at her, betrayal flickering in his eyes. "You set me up?"
She shook her head fiercely. "No—I didn't know—"
The lead Warden raised his weapon. "Final warning."
Arin's pulse thundered. The sigil on his arm flared red-hot. The voice in his mind returned, louder than ever.
> "They'll cage you. They'll use you. You know what to do."
"Arin, don't—" Lya started.
Too late.
He moved in a blur. The sigil exploded with crimson light, sending shockwaves through the air. The nearest Warden flew backward, armor fracturing. Plasma bolts cut through the smoke—Arin dodged, struck, twisted. Every motion was too fast, too brutal. His power wasn't just blood anymore—it was rage given form.
Lya drew her weapon but didn't aim at him. Instead, she turned on her own team, shouting, "Cease fire! He's not your enemy!"
But the Council's orders were absolute.
As the last of the sigils cracked under the force of Arin's power, the Wardens fell silent—either dead or unconscious. The air smelled of iron and ozone.
Arin stood amidst the wreckage, chest heaving, eyes glowing faintly red. The rain outside began again, washing blood from the cracked floor.
Lya stared at him, trembling. "You could've killed me too."
He met her gaze. "If I wanted to, I would've."
Before she could respond, the ring flickered again—this time, projecting a faint image into the air. Dareth's face appeared, cold and expressionless.
> "You're stronger than I expected, Arin Vale. Good. Keep running. The world needs monsters like you to wake the gods."
The transmission cut out.
Arin's expression darkened. "He's playing a bigger game."
Lya gripped her weapon tighter. "Then we'll end it."
He turned toward her. "We?"
She met his eyes steadily. "You saved my life twice. I don't owe the Council anything anymore."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "You sure about this?"
"Not even a little," she said, holstering her halberd. "But if we're going to survive what's coming, I'd rather have the devil I know."
Outside, thunder rolled again. The spire in the distance pulsed once more—stronger, brighter—like a heart awakening.
And somewhere deep beneath it, something ancient stirred.