The night was starless. A shroud of industrial haze hung over the noble district, catching the crystal glow of the palaces below— a perfect veil for murder.
Blood sprayed, warm and sticky, across Lucian's leather gloves. He twisted his dagger, snapping the Silver Jackal's neck with a satisfying crack. The corpse slumped wordlessly, glassy eyes fixed on the splendor it had been assigned to protect.
No time for remorse. No room for small victories. Lucian moved like a vengeful ghost—hatred woven into every precise, lethal step. The Elder's map burned in his mind: every patrol route, every blind spot, every gap between guard rotations. He exploited them with the patience of a hunter who had stalked this prey for years, not hours.
Another Jackal dropped, throat opened by a silent slash. A third fell, a blade punched clean through his chest. They were supposed to be elite guard dogs—proud and deadly. Tonight they were lambs before a starving wolf.
A pale blue notification flickered in the corner of Lucian's vision, cold and clinical:
[Soul Essence siphoned. Abyssal Energy slightly stabilized.][Progress toward next Shadow Evolution: +0.3 %]
Gem's voice slid into his thoughts, sweet as honeyed poison. "See, Lucian? Their deaths feed you. Every soul you harvest is a sip of wine for our power. They make you stronger."
"I'm doing this for me, not for you," Lucian hissed, his breath forming a thin mist in the chill air.
"Oh, darling," Gem chuckled inside his skull. "We are one. Your hatred is my hunger; your vengeance, my feast. Never forget that."
He shut the entity out and refocused. His gaze swept the manicured lawn toward the main palace. Lord Cadogan was inside—that boot‑licking lapdog of Valerius, a man who had laughed while Lucian's clan burned.
A light flared on an upstairs balcony. A figure stepped out, swirling a glass of wine the color of fresh blood. Cadogan. Silver hair gleamed under the lamps. His face was calm, arrogant—as if he were surveying his private garden, not a battlefield dripping with corpses.
He lifted the glass in a mocking salute. A trap. He'd been waiting.
"Has Aurelius's stray dog crawled back to its master, scavenging scraps?" Cadogan's voice boomed, amplified by some artifact. "Tell me, boy—how does the mud taste after you've known the sky?"
Rage flared in Lucian's gut, hot and savage. He stepped from the shadows, dagger dripping fresh blood onto perfect grass.
"I didn't come for your scraps, Cadogan," he rasped. "I'm here to paint this lovely lawn with noble blood—starting with yours."
Cadogan laughed, dry and scornful, the sound scraping Lucian's soul like a rusty nail.
"Pitiful bravery from a dying insect. Who do you think you are? A broken Heir? A monster born of failure? You're nothing, Lucian—a faint echo of a dead name."
"The last thing you'll hear will be the name Aurelius," Lucian promised, silver eyes igniting with an inhuman light.
"My heart?" Cadogan sipped his wine. "You won't even touch the hem of my cloak. Your little girl, Elara—she must be devastated, sacrificing everything just to watch her hero die."
Elara's name struck like a match tossed onto powder.
Lucian's world narrowed to that balcony. Abyssal energy surged, answering his fury. Don't say her name with that filthy mouth! he roared, lunging forward.
Cadogan merely snapped his fingers. A dozen Silver Jackals melted from the garden's shadows, forming a flawless combat ring—spears leveled, swords raised. These were his elite—Heir Hunters.
"Kill him," Cadogan said, bored, turning back inside. "And tidy the mess before dawn."
The balcony doors closed. Lucian faced twelve trained killers alone. Their captain, a giant with a scarred face, stepped forward.
"Fallen Heir. By order of Lord Cadogan and the Dome's law, you are to be executed for treason and murder. Resist and your death will be slower."
Lucian laughed—hoarse, almost mad. "My death? Pray for your own. I don't offer mercy."
He exploded into motion.
What followed was a hellish symphony of clashing steel and rending flesh. The Jackals moved as one: spears stabbing, swords slashing, a perfect machine of death.
Lucian was something else—wild, unpredictable. Abyssal energy wrapped his arms, hardening into black claws that shredded plate like foil. He ducked a blade that merely nicked his shoulder, then buried his dagger through an armor seam.
[Warning: Abyssal Energy unstable. Physical vessel degradation at 15 %.]
"More!" Gem shrieked in delight. "Break them! Drink their souls! Show them the true power of a Heir who embraces the dark!"
Lucian seized a spear shaft, yanking its wielder forward as a human shield against a comrade's blade. Blood spattered his face when the sword plunged into friendly ribs. He shoved the corpse aside, raking an Abyssal claw across the swordsman's throat.
Four down. Eight to go.
Doubt crept into their once‑cold eyes. The monster before them was not the Heir they'd trained to kill; he was a nightmare.
"Wolf formation!" the captain barked. "Surround and crush him! No air!"
They closed in, a tightening wall of steel. No exits.
Lucian drew a ragged breath. Muscles screamed, skull throbbed, system alerts blaring.
[Critical Warning: Mental integrity declining. High risk of loss of control.]
"Let me in, Lucian," Gem coaxed, velvet and terrible. "I'll finish this. I'll grind their bones to dust."
"No," he growled. "My vengeance. Not yours."
He gathered every roiling strand of Abyssal power into a single point. Frost kissed the air; the lawn fissured beneath his feet as shadows spiraled like a vortex.
"You want to destroy me?" He raised his head, silver eyes blazing. "You don't know destruction."
He roared—a sound halfway between a man's fury and a creature's shriek—and unleashed it. A wave of darkness blasted out, hurling the Jackals like rag dolls. Armor crumpled, bones cracked; disciplined shouts turned to screams.
Lucian sagged to one knee, gasping. The strike had emptied almost everything. Most Jackals lay broken and moaning. Only the captain rose, shaky, sword still raised.
"Y‑you… monster…" he coughed, blood dribbling.
"I am retribution," Lucian corrected, forcing himself upright.
He took a step—and the ground convulsed. Not a tremor, but a deep, planetary shudder. A hidden iron gate at the palace's foundation blew off its hinges.
From the yawning dark crawled a colossal creature: twelve feet tall, plated in black chitin and bulging muscle, studded with countless compound eyes.
The Warden.
Its appearance alone would have frozen Lucian—yet horror struck deeper: in that horrific face, amid the insect eyes, burned a pair of silver eyes identical to his. The eyes of a Heir.
The monster ignored the wounded Jackals. It stared at Lucian—at the lingering Abyss around him.
And then the impossible: its jagged mouth twisted into a razor‑filled grin. Recognition. Anticipation.
Cadogan's voice drifted from the balcony, giddy and cruel.
"See, Fallen Heir? You thought your shadow power was special? You're a pale imitation of my masterpiece. Now, show him true despair, my pet."
The Warden roared—an earth‑splitting bellow—and charged.