The earth shuddered as if the world itself were crying out in pain. The Warden—Cadogan's towering bio‑engineered monster—charged forward, each chitin‑plated foot turning the once‑manicured lawn into a slurry of mud. The gardens were gone; only a killing field remained.
Air split in front of Lucian, pushed aside by the creature's raw power. His exhausted muscles screamed, begging him to give up. Instinct—honed in exile and tempered by hatred—took control instead.
He dived away a heartbeat before a massive claw smashed down where he'd been, the shockwave rattling his teeth. The ground cracked, leaving a shallow crater strewn with stone and dirt.
"Do you see, ruined heir?" Cadogan's voice floated from the balcony, thick with sadistic delight. "That is true evolution—no parlor‑trick shadow magic you peddle as salvation."
Lucian ignored him, eyes locked on the monster. The Warden paused, countless compound eyes whirring as it searched for its prey. Deep in that horrific face, a pair of silver eyes—once familiar—glowed with a cold, inhuman light.
"This is what an Heir can become," Cadogan crowed, his words a lash. "When you cast off mercy, doubt, everything human—only limitless power remains."
A hot spark of anger fueled Lucian. He darted in—more to probe than strike—raking his Abyssal claws across the creature's leg armor.
SKREEEKKK!
Sparks flared but left barely a scratch, the faint line healing at once. A chill notification flickered across Lucian's vision:
Damage dealt: 0.02 %Target's chitin armor is self‑repairing.Attack ineffective.
"We can't break through," Gem murmured inside his mind, a blend of awe and fear. "It devours pure energy. A walking fortress."
"Then I'll find a crack," Lucian growled, dodging another swipe that would have cleaved him in two.
The Warden was slow, yet every move landed with the weight of a collapsing tower. Lucian danced through an earthquake—each step a wager between life and death.
"You don't understand, fool." Cadogan laughed, sipping wine as if watching theater. "There is no crack. I built it. I took a failed Heir—broken, like you—and rebuilt him from the bones out."
The words hit harder than any blow: a failed Heir—just like him.
"I refined his evolution, purged every human frailty—emotion, memory, loyalty," Cadogan declared, proud. "All that's left is obedience and strength. This is what House Aurelius should be!"
The Warden roared again, closer now. The stink of death and burned ozone clogged the air. Lucian rolled beneath its spined tail as it shattered a marble fountain to dust.
Warning: Abyssal energy at 9 %.Vessel integrity is dropping. Stamina critical.
"Let me in," Gem coaxed, voice silken and urgent. "I can crack that shell. We'll drink his soul together—think how sweet it will taste."
"No." Lucian's answer was a raw whisper as he staggered to one knee. "This is my vengeance. I won't become your beast."
"You already are, darling," Gem purred. "Blood‑soaked, hunting by night—how are you different from him?"
Lucian glanced at the Warden. The creature cocked its head—as if curious—something ancient within it recognizing the fading Abyss around Lucian.
Cadogan saw the hesitation. "You begin to grasp it. Stare into your dark reflection. Keep to this pitiful path, and that fate awaits you."
"I will never be your slave!" Lucian rasped.
"Of course not," Cadogan sneered. "You'll be a corpse. Untidy now, but at least easier to stack."
Fueled by the insult, Lucian gathered the last scrap of strength, not for a killing blow but for a desperate gambit. He hurled a dagger at one of the creature's countless eyes.
The throw was perfect. Steel sank deep; thick green ichor sprayed.
The Warden shrieked—an unearthly, genuine cry of pain. It reeled, claws flailing wildly.
Lucian sprinted for the palace wall, hoping to use the architecture to gain height—
Cadogan had planned for it. "Your little tricks end here, boy." He snapped his fingers. Stone pillars around the garden flared with icy‑blue runes. An invisible field hummed alive; Lucian hit it like iron and was thrown back.
System alert: High‑energy containment field detected. Escape impossible.
Trapped. The Warden, wound already regenerating, turned on him. The dagger was crushed by the muscle knitting closed.
Cold despair settled over Lucian. He had fought, killed, crawled out of hell only to die here for his enemy's amusement. Elara's name flashed—another failure.
"It's over, Lucian," Gem whispered, now almost gentle. "You fought well. Let me take the reins. I'll show them true horror."
"Leave…" Lucian breathed.
The Warden's shadow swallowed him. A claw rose for the killing stroke, ready to pulp flesh and bone.
On the balcony, Cadogan raised his glass in a final toast. "Farewell, remnant of Aurelius. History will forget you."
As the claw began to fall, Lucian closed his eyes—not in surrender but to focus every last drop of hatred. If he must die, he would die defiant.
Then the impossible happened.
Amid the monster's triumphal roar, another voice echoed—distorted, ragged, dragged from a tormented soul. Not words, more an echo of muscle memory, a fragment of buried training:
"…Strike… Shadow… Claw…"
Lucian froze. His heart skipped. That phrase wasn't random; it was the name of an advanced sword technique—taught only to Aurelius' heirs of promise.
He opened his eyes, staring into the silver ones trapped inside that horrific face.
The falling claw—this wasn't a mindless blow. There was form within it: a deliberate arc, a pattern he'd drilled a thousand times with his uncle, General Cassian Aurelius.
The general's reported dead body was never found during the coup.
"Impossible…" Lucian whispered, a horror colder than death crawling up his spine. He no longer saw Cadogan's creation.
He saw a living tomb for his clan's hero.
Cadogan's cruel laughter rang hollow. The claw hovered inches from Lucian's face, carrying the wind of death. And in the monster's silver eyes, for an instant, Lucian swore he saw tortured recognition—before madness swallowed it.