The revolver felt heavy in my hand.

  I kept it leveled at the Bishop’s chest.

  Smoke drifted between us, curling from the burning trees. My pulse still thundered from the fight, but slowly - breath by breath - it began to steady. The wind brushed past, carrying the crackle of fire and the faint hiss of rain melting against the mud. Each sound pressed itself into focus until the noise inside my head finally went quiet.

  I glanced at Arthur's unconscious body for a second, noting the slow movement from his chest.

  As long as there's light, he should be fine. He's at the eighth seal, so something as little as that shouldn't kill him.

  When I confirmed Arthur's well being, my breathing finally evened as I found the Bishop watching me - patient, amused, like a cat waiting to see if the mouse would run or bare its teeth.

  Then he clapped. Lightly. Once. Twice.

  “Well done,” he said with a smile. “If a chorus of shadows started calling my name, I’d be unnerved too.”

  I didn’t lower the gun. “So you were controlling them.”

  “Guiding,” he corrected gently. “Children need guidance. But at the end, I had to cut the strings. They were starting to… lose themselves.”

  His tone was almost mournful, though the grin never quite left his face.

  I opened my mouth, but he raised a gloved finger. “Before questions, child-” his voice softened, almost kind. "-I think it’s time you let off a little steam. You’ve had a long day.”

  He drew his sword, slow and deliberate, the black steel whispering as it left the sheath.

  “With what little time I have left, indulge me. Let’s dance.”

  I slid the revolver back into my coat and drew my sword in return, its blade catching the dying light.

  “If that’s what you want,” I said, settling into stance, “but I’ll want answers after.”

  He smiled - fatherly, almost proud. “You’ll have them.”

  We began to circle each other, the mud sucking at our boots. The Bishop’s posture was loose, fluid. Mine was tight, grounded. He was a head taller, his reach longer, his stance relaxed enough to make me uneasy.

  He tilted his head. “You’re a reactionary fighter,” he observed. “Counter-focused. Efficient, but defensive. You wait for the world to make a move before you decide who you are.”

  His sword twitched forward, light and precise, testing me. “I'm usually a defensive fighter myself. But for now, I guess I'll make my own rythem.”

  Then he attacked.

  No power, no magic - just steel and motion. The clash rang sharp through the clearing. Sparks scattered as I parried, felt the weight behind each blow. He was faster, smoother, but not pressing for the kill. Every strike ended just short of lethal, turning instead into correction.

  “Good,” he said after deflecting my thrust. “But don’t over-commit on your right foot. See? You’d die there.”

  Another swing, faster this time. I ducked under, caught his wrist, kicked him back. He laughed.

  We traded blows like that for what felt like minutes, his eyes gleaming brighter with each exchange. He wasn’t fighting to win. He was studying me - mirroring my rhythm, playing along the edge of it like a musician toying with a melody.

  When I finally backed off, lungs burning, I found him smiling again.

  “Why are you being so friendly all of a sudden?” I asked, panting.

  “Friendly?” He chuckled. “My boy, I’m being honest.”

  He rolled his shoulders, as if shaking off dust. “You and I are family, after all. The True Prophet declared all Angels the protected sons and daughters of the True Believers.”

  Family. The word stuck like a splinter.

  “I don’t even know you,” I said coldly. “Nor have I ever met this true prophet of yours.”

  His grin softened, eyes turning distant. “I guess not. But one day, I hope you will.”

  Before I could ask what he meant, his expression shifted. A twitch crossed his cheek. The light in his eye dimmed for an instant.

  “Ah,” he murmured. “Time’s short. The well-trained hounds of your False Prophet have been alerted.”

  He twirled the blade once. Black mist - thick as oil - wrapped around it, hardening into a translucent layer like molten glass. The air rippled around him, the temperature dropping.

  “Now,” he said, voice bright again, “would be a very good time for you to use those eyes of yours.”

  The world changed in an instant.

  Killing intent crashed into me like a wave. Instinct flared - I let my eyes ignite. The familiar burn seared behind them as reality split open.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  And then I saw it-

  dozens of faint silhouettes, before-images of the Bishop’s blade, all aimed to kill me in the seconds yet to come.

  My body moved before thought could catch up.

  Steel flashed.

  Pain tore across my arm, my ribs, my cheek. Cuts bloomed before I’d even seen him move. I stumbled back through the mud, barely keeping upright.

  The Bishop’s laughter rolled through the rain, wild and delighted.

  “There we go! Much better, Damian. Don’t hold back now.”

  His next strike came faster - shadows splitting like the petals of a black flower.

  The Bishop didn’t stop.

  His blade came from every angle, every strike a blur that forced me backward step by step through the mud. I could barely parry - each clash sent jolts up my arms, my muscles screaming, breath hitching between deflections. His movements were effortless, like he was merely stretching after a long rest.

  Another strike glanced off my shoulder, searing pain blooming across my back. I stumbled, catching myself on one knee. My lungs burned, my vision swam, but my sword stayed raised. Somehow.

  The Bishop slowed, lowering his own weapon as he began to circle me like a vulture. The rain hissed between us, steam rising where drops met flame and shadow.

  “Do you see it now?” he asked quietly. His voice had lost its mockery. It sounded almost… sincere. “Do you understand how powerless you are? How easily your life can be taken from you?”

  I spat blood into the mud and met his gaze. “I already knew that.”

  He smiled faintly, almost proud. “Good. Then let me ask - what would you do for power, Damian? How far would you go to make sure you’re never this helpless again? To what extent would the end justify the means?”

  My arm trembled under the sword’s weight. “I'd need more context.”

  The Bishop tilted his head. “I’m offering you power. Free of charge.” His grin widened, all teeth and madness. “A little taste of what awaits you, beloved child of the Veil.”

  I steadied my breathing. “No thanks. I’d rather not take a deal with the devil.”

  That earned a soft laugh. “How did I know you’d say that?” He sighed, shaking his head. “You really have inherited the arrogance of those you so faithfully serve.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “Still, I apologize for what comes next. But it’s a necessary step to awaken it.”

  My grip tightened. “What are you-”

  He vanished.

  By the time my mind caught up, he was already in front of me.

  A black blur. A crack in space.

  I raised my sword on instinct - too slow.

  His blade hit mine with impossible force. The impact tore the weapon from my hand, sending it spinning into the dark.

  Before I could reach for my revolver, his other hand closed around my throat.

  The pressure was instant - iron wrapped in shadow. My feet left the ground, boots kicking helplessly against the air. His grip was cold, and it burned at the same time, like frost made of fire.

  My vision blurred. My fingers scrabbled at his wrist. I tried to reach for my gun, but it slipped from my grasp and clattered into the mud below.

  The Bishop’s voice was quiet - almost tender. “Don’t fight it, Damian. You’ve been resisting yourself for too long.”

  The sound came next.

  Whispers.

  Soft at first.

  Then louder.

  Damy.

  My pulse spiked. The name echoed in my skull, childlike voices, overlapping, clawing at the edges of my thoughts.

  Damy. Damy. Damy...

  The world around me started to fracture - the trees warping, the sky collapsing into black streaks. The Bishop’s single green eye burned through it all like a lantern in the dark.

  I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

  The voices grew louder now.

  They weren't speaking.

  They were screaming.

  DAMIAN!

  Pain surged through my head, a stabbing rhythm that made the world flicker between moments - like I was seeing a thousand memories at once, every one bleeding into the next.

  Finally, the world fell into black and silence.

  The voices stopped, and the sensation on my throat disappeared.

  A single voice broke through, quiet and absolute, echoing from somewhere deep within the dark.

  The Empire must survive… or everyone will die.

  ---

  Warmth.

  That was the first thing I noticed.

  Not the pain, not the cold, not even the echo of the Bishop’s hand at my throat - just warmth. It pressed around me, weightless, like I was floating in water that knew my name.

  I tried to breathe and realized I didn’t need to. My lungs didn’t burn. My body didn’t ache. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t bleeding, or shaking, or afraid.

  It felt… peaceful.

  Like I’d finally gone home to somewhere I’d never been.

  Then something tapped my cheek.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Soft, rhythmic.

  I groaned and swatted at it weakly. The touch disappeared.

  Then it came back.

  My brow furrowed. “What…”

  I opened my eyes - and froze.

  A face hovered inches from mine.

  Charlotte.

  Her red eyes glowed faintly in the water between us, her hair drifting like strands of ink in a current. Behind her, light shimmered - warm, gold, shaped like a distant sun barely breaking through the blue.

  She smiled, gentle but tired, and her hand brushed my face. “Hello, Damian.”

  My mouth opened, and then I realized I wasn't breathing. Or drowning. Or anything at all. Just... existing in blue.

  I blinked. “Oh. So I can talk here.”

  Her thumb traced my jaw. “Seems no matter how hard I try, you still manage to find trouble.”

  I managed a small smirk. “Yeah, well… I can’t really be blamed for this one.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes but the corner of her mouth curved. “You always say that.”

  Silence passed between us, weightless but heavy all the same. Her expression softened, and for a moment I thought I saw worry flicker behind her calm.

  Then she spoke quietly. “I’m not enough to stop them.”

  Something cold threaded through the warmth around us. “Who?”

  Her eyes darkened slightly. “You weren’t the only one he... no, it tried to latch onto. You were just the only one who survived it.”

  I felt a chill crawl up my spine even though there was no cold. My mind flashed back to the man in my dreams. The one who seemed to repeat the same words endlessly - like the remnants of a dying whisper.

  “Do you know who he is?”

  “Not yet,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “But I’m starting to understand. Whatever he is… it’s old, Damian. Older than the heretics, older than the Empire and maybe even older than me. And his power is as enigmatic as it is powerful.”

  Her gaze dropped, the light behind her dimming slightly. “And now… you have to pay the price for that power. The same price everyone pays.”

  I frowned. “What price?”

  Before she could answer, I felt it - fingers brushing my shoulder from behind. Gentle. Curious. Then more of them. Dozens. Soft hands, faint and rising from the blue below, wrapping around my arms, my chest, my legs.

  A black miasma flowed from their arms. It didn't feel chaotic, nor did it feel dangerous. It just... was.

  They weren’t hurting me. Just pulling.

  Charlotte let go of my face, watching with something like anxiety in her eyes.

  “I’ll explain next time you fall asleep,” she said softly.

  “Charlotte - wait, what are-”

  The hands tightened, drawing me backward, down. The light above began to fade.

  I could hear them now. Voices. Small. Familiar. Whispering my name.

  Damian… Damian…

  Charlotte’s lips moved one last time. Her voice was almost a whisper. “Good luck. And remember-”

  Her red eyes glowed one last time, bright as embers.

  “Don’t lose yourself.”

  A black hand slid over my face, covering my eyes.

  And the world fell away.