The forest opened without transition.
From the hill they could see the entire clearing.
It wasn't small. It wasn't improvised.
The camp sat in the center like an orderly wound.
White banners bearing the symbol of the Church fluttered tight in the wind. Tents stood aligned with military precision.
One of them—at the center—was disproportionately large.
Runes glowed across its surface, visible even from this distance.
Rhea spoke first.
"This isn't a patrol."
Brann narrowed his eyes.
"It's logistics."
Several lesser inquisitors moved cages toward the central tent.
Inside were animals.
Deer. Wolves.
Something larger covered with a tarp.
Others guarded the perimeter. Some walked in slow circles, as if measuring the terrain.
Maelis spoke quietly.
"They're experimenting."
Cael frowned.
"Like the wolves?"
No one answered.
Ilian didn't take his eyes off the central tent.
The heartbeat beneath his chest remained steady.
Too steady.
Aurora had said humans were experimenting with ancient things.
Ilian thought of the demon.
You have my heart.
The sentence returned without emotion.
Like data.
What was he?
The wind shifted slightly.
Rhea lowered the spyglass.
"We circle around. Stay out of sight. We don't need conflict."
Ilian didn't respond.
"Ilian."
"I need answers."
"Not here," Rhea said. "Not like this."
He kept staring at the camp.
"If they're transporting animals, they're testing displacement."
"And if they're testing displacement… they're trying to open something."
Maelis understood first.
"Or replicate something."
The thought hung in the air.
Ilian stepped forward.
"Don't follow me."
Brann let out a dry laugh.
"Sure."
"If something goes wrong, you fall back," Ilian added.
"That's not your decision," Rhea said.
Ilian started walking down the hill.
No hurry.
No attempt to hide.
Cael muttered,
"He's insane."
Maelis didn't take her eyes off him.
"No."
Rhea inhaled deeply.
"We follow."
Brann adjusted his shield.
Cael shook his head—but moved anyway.
No one really had a choice.
At the bottom of the hill, one of the inquisitors looked up.
He saw the silhouettes descending.
His throat tightened.
"Intruders!"
The shout cut through the camp like a blade.
Cages rattled.
Animals slammed against iron bars.
The lesser inquisitors regrouped within seconds, forming a tight line.
White seals ignited across the ground.
Lines of light began weaving together, rising like glowing ribs.
A containment field.
Maelis understood first.
"That's not to stop us."
Cael was already moving.
Three arrows left his bow within a single heartbeat.
The first entered an inquisitor's mouth and exited through the back of his neck, dragging teeth and blood with it.
The second pierced an eye socket. The eye burst outward.
The third tore through a throat. The man tried to speak—only red bubbles came out.
The lattice of light collapsed.
Brann descended like a mass of iron.
His shield crushed an inquisitor's face into the ground.
The skull gave way with a wet sound.
Rhea cut diagonally. Her blade opened robe and abdomen alike. Warm entrails slid between her boots.
The inquisitors didn't scream much.
They groaned.
Maelis raised a wall of wind that deflected a spear of light.
But the energy grazed Cael's arm.
The skin split open like it was burned from the inside.
Blackened flesh.
He didn't stop shooting.
More men poured from the tents.
They reformed their line.
Two rushed Brann.
One drove a short blade beneath his armpit.
Blood poured thick.
Brann answered with a downward strike that split clavicle and shoulder down into the chest.
The inquisitor opened like a broken door.
Ilian kept walking.
A white seal struck his torso.
Light pierced through him.
The inquisitor who cast it frowned.
"No…"
Ilian grabbed his wrist.
He didn't squeeze hard.
The wrist gave anyway.
Bone punched through skin.
The man screamed.
Another tried to take advantage of the angle.
Ilian stepped sideways.
His hand moved slightly.
The man's head twisted at an impossible angle.
His neck did not follow.
Bodies piled up.
Then the voice came.
"STOP!"
It wasn't a desperate shout.
It was a command.
The surviving inquisitors immediately pulled back, dragging the wounded and leaving the dead where they lay.
The mud of the clearing was no longer brown.
The central tent opened.
A figure stepped out.
Tall.
Massive.
White armor reinforced with black plates.
Sacred engravings crossed the metal like ritual scars.
In one hand he carried a ceremonial hammer.
Not decorative.
Used.
He stopped in front of Ilian.
He looked at the corpses.
No disgust.
Then he looked at Ilian.
"So it's you."
His voice was deep.
Clean.
"We knew it wouldn't take long before you stood before us."
"Ilian."
A pause.
"Death."
Brann spat blood.
The high inquisitor smiled faintly.
"I am Inquisitor Enoch Varz."
"Let us see whether death is stronger than our God."
The hammer slammed into the ground.
The impact wasn't physical.
It was vertical.
The air compressed.
Mutilated bodies vibrated.
Something inside the tent answered.
The heartbeat beneath Ilian's chest stopped being stable.
It wasn't fear.
It was recognition.
The hammer fell again.
Ilian didn't block.
The impact lifted him off the ground and hurled him several meters back.
Something cracked.
Ribs.
He rolled and stood before the inquisitor finished his second step.
The man didn't run.
He advanced.
Each step sank into the blood-soaked mud.
Brann fought three inquisitors at once.
Rhea held the left flank.
Cael fired with his burned arm trembling.
Maelis ran between tents, cutting ropes and releasing animals.
Deer and wolves burst free in panic.
The high inquisitor swung the hammer horizontally.
Ilian blocked with his forearm.
Mistake.
Bone snapped with a dry sound.
He didn't scream.
The second strike hit his side.
More bones broke.
His breathing turned rough.
"Your legend is smaller than expected."
Ilian spat blood.
The hammer descended again.
This time he didn't see it.
He felt it.
The rune in his eye ignited.
The world fractured for an instant.
Not a clear vision.
A repetition.
The blow.
The angle.
The trajectory.
The next second had already happened.
Ilian moved before it did.
The hammer struck empty air.
The inquisitor frowned.
The rune burned.
Ilian saw his own neck crushed.
He leaned one centimeter.
Metal grazed past.
He saw his knee destroyed.
He twisted.
The hammer struck where he no longer stood.
The inquisitor stepped back.
For the first time.
Ilian advanced.
Not fast.
Precise.
He saw the opening beneath the left plate.
He lunged.
The blade slid between the armor.
Blood poured thick.
The inquisitor grunted and slammed his head into Ilian's face.
Nose broken.
The rune burned again.
Too much.
Ilian saw a line where his heart stopped beating.
He rejected it.
And moved anyway.
The hammer fell into the mud.
Enoch dropped to his knees.
Ilian raised his sword.
Breath broken.
Ribs shattered.
One arm useless.
He hated using the rune.
But he was alive.
The blade began to fall.
"ILIAN, NO!"
The voice cut through everything.
Maelis was on her knees.
A sword rested against her throat.
A thin line of blood ran down her skin.
Behind her stood a tall, thin figure.
A dark mask with a long beak.
Like a crow.
The black robe bore no symbol.
It didn't need one.
The voice came muffled behind the mask.
"If you lower that sword…"
"She dies before your next second happens."
The rune burned.
Ilian saw fragments.
Maelis falling.
The crow disappearing.
The inquisitor rising.
The group surrounded.
Overlapping futures.
His heart pounded violently.
For the first time.
Not steady.
Feral.
The high inquisitor—still kneeling—smiled through bloody teeth.
"I told you…"
He coughed.
"Our God…"
"Doesn't fight alone."
Silence stretched tight.
Ilian's sword remained suspended above the inquisitor's neck.
The crow mask tilted slightly.
"Now, Death…"
A pause.
"Choose."