The courthouse doors groaned open.

  Cold night air swept inside, carrying ash, smoke, and the distant rattle of gunfire. Cassian stepped out first, flanked by the two Inquisitors whose silhouettes still shimmered faintly with divine residue. I followed, boots crunching on the marble steps as the doors shut behind us like a tomb.

  The street beyond was empty.

  No carriages. No pedestrians. Not even a stray rat.

  Just silence - heavy, unnatural, suffocating. The stillness before a storm that had already begun somewhere else.

  In the distance, plumes of smoke twisted up into the night sky. The thunder of rifles rolled across the city like distant waves.

  Cassian walked with hands behind his back, his cloak catching the orange glow.

  "The purges have begun," he said calmly, voice distorted beneath his mask.

  I kept pace beside him.

  "What's going to happen to their families?" I asked quietly.

  Cassian didn't slow his stride.

  "Everyone above the age of sixteen will be executed."

  I stopped without meaning to. Just one step behind him, but enough for him to glance back.

  Sixteen.

  The irony didn't escape me.

  My jaw tightened. I forced my legs to move again.

  "Why that age?"

  "Because anyone younger can still be saved from their rotting, treacherous blood." His tone remained clinical, revealing nothing. "Re-educated by the Church. Or taken in by the Inquisition. Their noble identities erased."

  "And those older?"

  "They've already formed principles," Cassian said. "And they will not forget this night."

  A pause - brief, but heavy.

  "They would become the next generation of rebels. I'm sparing the Empire the future bloodshed they'd cause."

  "That's…" I searched for the right word. "Cruel."

  "It's necessary. Preventing a larger war with bloodshed is always cruel."

  We walked on.

  A squad of imperial soldiers sprinted across an adjacent street, rifles raised. Behind them, smoke billowed from a burning estate.

  I exhaled slowly, glancing behind us, my eyes suspicious. "I see smoke from the Outer Rim too."

  Cassian nodded. "Rebellious elements of the working class are being handled. Only their leaders. We want to set an example, not ignite the revolution already brewing."

  "How many?"

  "Ten executed," he replied. "Another hundred imprisoned. Just enough to make an example to anyone with similar sympathies."

  I clenched my jaw. "We made a deal with Halrigg. This wasn't supposed to happen."

  Cassian chuckled softly. "That only applies if both ends of the deal are held up - Halrigg intended to bomb the Nobility District. Kill nobles, their children, their spouses. Force the Outer Rim to choose sides in a bloodbath. Very cunning for someone of lowborn heritage."

  I eyed Cassian's back. "Do you have proof of this?"

  "You can see it later. I assure you it's credible."

  Suddenly, he glanced to an alley beside us - then stopped abruptly.

  "Speak of the devil."

  A faint mist peeled apart, revealing an Inquisitor emerging with a kneel like a blade unfolding.

  "Report," Cassian said, tone authoritative.

  "Sir," the Inquisitor said, head bowed. "Out of the ten targets assigned to my team, only seven were eliminated."

  Cassian didn't stop, only probing further.

  "And Halrigg?"

  "We believe he fled the city. Most likely the same night of the Eastern Republic's assassination attempt on the traitors. He and two others were… extracted. We think the Republic smuggled them out, using that night as a distraction."

  Cassian exhaled sharply through his nose. "Dismissed."

  The Inquisitor vanished into mist.

  Cassian's face couldn't be seen, but I could tell he was frustrated. "That man is going to be trouble later. Mark my words."

  I said nothing.

  Halrigg's eyes flashed in my memory - unyielding, stubborn, burning with a conviction that wouldn't break even under torture.

  He won't go quietly.

  We continued walking until the street opened into a wide plaza where the Nobility District gate stood tall - iron, gilded, reinforced by the tall and imposing stone walls separating the classes.

  Cassian stopped.

  "This is where we part," he said. "What you see beyond these gates will not be pleasant. I want you to look anyway."

  He turned to me, expression unreadable from behind his mask.

  "Not for pleasure. Not to desensitize yourself. A man who kills without feeling is a danger to everyone."

  He gestured toward the burning district.

  "But you must understand the price. The Empire's price. My price. And now, yours too."

  I nodded once.

  Cassian stepped back. "Then go."

  I approached the gate, the faint sound of wind behind me marking the disappearance of Cassian and the two other Inquisitors.

  At the gate, imperial soldiers and city guards faced each other across twenty meters of cobblestone - rifles raised, hands trembling, voices rising into chaos.

  The city guards outnumbered them. Sixty men in leather and steel, their formation loose, desperate. Their weapons shook in their grips, faces pale beneath helmets.

  But the imperial soldiers - only forty - stood like statues carved from iron. Their uniforms pristine despite the smoke. Their rifles steady. Eyes forward. Not one of them flinched. Not one looked away. They moved as a single organism, born from discipline and fanaticism.

  "You have no authority here!" one of the city guards shouted, voice cracking.

  "This district falls under city jurisdiction!"

  "Stand aside!"

  "You stand aside!"

  At the center of the chaos stood a man in immaculate imperial uniform - coat black, trim silver, medals glinting under firelight. Severe jaw. Cold eyes. A voice like a blade.

  A commissar. Someone who enforced the authority of the Crown amongst the ranks of the Imperial Army - usually those most fanatical in their loyalty.

  With a black peaked cap on his head bearing the symbol of the Empire, and eyes that betrayed nothing but resolution, it was hard to mistake him for anything else.

  "By order of the Inquisition," he thundered, "the Lord-Regent has sanctioned the execution of all treasonous houses within Morren."

  The city guards erupted into outrage.

  "You have no right-"

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  "Those are citizens-"

  "We both know the Regent was forced to agree to it, there's no way he would-!"

  The commissar lifted a hand.

  "Then I will ask once," he said calmly. "Are you standing in defense of traitors?"

  Every imperial rifle pivoted toward the city guards in perfect synchronization.

  The street froze.

  The city guards hesitated - outnumbering them, but outmatched in every other way. Their sergeant's hand shook on his rifle. Sweat beaded his brow. He looked at his men, then at the imperials, then back again.

  No one moved.

  No one breathed.

  I stepped into view.

  The commissar turned - and instantly fell to his knees.

  "Sir!" he barked, slamming a fist over his heart. "All forces - kneel!"

  The imperial soldiers dropped in unison, a wave of black and silver crashing to the stone.

  The city guards hesitated - until I raised a hand.

  "Stop," I said quietly.

  Their weapons clattered to the ground.

  The commissar kept his head bowed. "Sir. These men are not following the orders sent out by the Lord Regent. I even explained the situation, but they refused to listen."

  I nodded. "The confusion here is understandable. These men aren't traitors. Their insubordination is forgiven. Avoid unnecessary bloodshed. The only blood that runs tonight will be the blood of the treacherous, not the misguided."

  A wave of relief broke across the city soldiers like a tremor.

  The commissar bellowed without hesitation or protest, "You heard him! Stand down!"

  Weapons were lowered. A hundred eyes watched me with a mixture of fear and reverence.

  I walked through the gates.

  Behind me, the whispers began - soft, trembling, awed.

  "Inquisitor…"

  "So it's true…"

  "He saved us…"

  I didn't look back.

  Ahead, the burning noble estates awaited.

  ---

  Gunshots echoed somewhere deep in the district - sharp, distant cracks threading through the smoke-soaked night. I walked alone down the empty street, the flames behind me casting long, skeletal shadows.

  The silence between gunfire wasn't silence at all. It was heavy. It pressed against the inside of my skull, filling every step with the awareness that a city was dying tonight.

  Morbid didn't begin to describe it.

  But I kept telling myself the same thing, over and over.

  This is the path you chose. This is the cost. Don't be a coward now.

  I turned a corner.

  A mansion loomed ahead - gates wide open, soldiers swarming the courtyard. Two bodies slumped against the iron bars, sacks tied over their heads, hands bound behind them. A man and a woman. Husband and wife, maybe. Bullet holes leaked slow rivulets of crimson down their necks.

  My stomach tightened.

  Then the blood beneath them moved.

  It spread across the cobblestones, darkening from red to black - thick, viscous, wrong. The liquid crawled toward me like living oil.

  I blinked hard. Shook my head.

  When I opened my eyes, it was just blood again. Normal. Still.

  Whatever drug I was fed...My divinity isn't violently out of my control anymore but the hallucinations won't end. I better ask the Regent or Mary to look at me after this.

  I forced myself to breathe, looking back at the bodies.

  The Regent was right. They weren't innocent - none of them were. They would've handed military files to the Republic. Killed thousands. Tens of thousands even.

  This is the consequence of their choices.

  I shook off the guilt. I had no reason to feel guilty.

  If they'd been innocent, I wouldn't have been able to stand here at all.

  But they were guilty. They were well aware their actions would hurt the people of this city. They were merciless, so why would they be given mercy in return?

  As much as I wanted it to, the thought didn't help.

  I walked closer to the mansion just as a group of soldiers marched out - four prisoners in tow. Three women. One man. Heads covered. Hands tied.

  One of the women clutched a baby to her chest, sobbing, begging - voice cracking beneath the weight of the night.

  "Please - please, not my child, not my baby - spare her at least-!"

  A soldier gently - almost tenderly - took the infant from her shaking arms that didn't fight back. The mother's voice hollowed out. She didn't scream anymore. She didn't fight. She just… wilted.

  One of the other women, hearing her silenced, broke.

  She ran, stumbling blindly with her wrists bound, crashing straight into me. Her bag slipped off her head.

  And I saw her.

  Blue eyes. Auburn hair. Young - too young. Face streaked with tears. She looked at me like I was salvation.

  Then her head snapped forward, her face hitting the ground as fast as it rose.

  A gunshot split the night.

  A commissar strode up and fired twice into her skull. Point-blank. Bone and blood misted the pavement.

  The world fractured.

  Whispers erupted in my ears - a thousand voices layered over one another, screaming, laughing, crying, all at once. The cobblestones beneath her body turned black, blood pooling into shapes that writhed like living things.

  I stiffened, breath catching.

  The two bodies at the gate - I glanced toward them.

  They were standing.

  Heads still covered. Arms still bound. But upright. Swaying. As though waiting.

  I blinked - they were slumped again. Dead. Unmoving.

  "Filthy scum," the commissar spat, holstering his pistol. "Daring to touch an Inquisitor with her profane hands."

  Then he bowed, saluting in sincerity.

  "I sincerely apologize, sir. I'll make sure to discipline my men accordingly for their failure."

  I didn't look at him.

  The whispers wouldn't stop. The black blood spread wider, crawling up the walls, seeping between stones.

  "Was she above the age of sixteen?" I asked, voice hollow.

  He blinked. Puzzled. "She… looked it to me. I'd have to confirm on the list. Would you like me to do that, sir?"

  I couldn't think.

  Not even when three children - small, trembling - were led out next. Their eyes covered with white cloth. Crying. Calling for parents who would never answer.

  The soldiers tried to soothe them, but the wailing only grew sharper.

  I swallowed the bile rising in my throat.

  "Dismissed."

  The commissar bowed and returned to the mansion, barking orders.

  I walked lightly into a narrow alley where no one could see me.

  My hands found a storefront window. I braced myself against the glass, staring at my reflection.

  The mask stared back. Black and grey. Featureless. Inhuman.

  I tore it off.

  And immediately doubled over, retching. Choking. Dropping to my knees on damp stone.

  My breaths came too fast, too shallow.

  Her face wouldn't leave my mind. Her eyes. Her voice.

  The whispers grew louder - screaming now, clawing at the inside of my skull. The shadows beneath me twisted, alive, writhing.

  "Shut up." I hissed at nothing, pressing my hands to my temples.

  It didn't stop.

  So I slammed my forehead against the brick. Hard.

  Once. Twice.

  Blood rolled down my temple. Warm.

  I wiped it away with trembling fingers.

  You can't be a coward. Not now. Not ever.

  The dead aren't faceless. You know that better than anyone. But this is the price. This is the weight. Think of the lives you're saving - not the ones already gone.

  I looked back at the window.

  My reflection stared back.

  And beneath me, the blood moved.

  Black liquid pooled across the cobblestones, circling my boots. It climbed - slow, deliberate - crawling up my legs, my torso, my neck. Cold. Heavy. Suffocating.

  I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

  The darkness gathered at my face.

  In the reflection, I watched it happen.

  The black oil surged toward my right eye - and the iris twisted violently. Symbols erupted across it, chaotic and incomprehensible. Runes spiraled inward like a vortex consuming itself. Sigils overlapped, bleeding into shapes that hurt to perceive. Eldritch geometries that shouldn't exist.

  The blackness poured into my eye like ink into water.

  And then-

  -the reflection changed.

  Not mine anymore.

  Mary's.

  She stood in a hallway high above the streets, hands pressed against a cathedral window. Below, the city burned.

  People were shot. Families chased and cut down. Children screaming, dragged away from corpses. Blood pooled in the streets, reflecting firelight like a lake of embers.

  Mary's breath hitched.

  Servants and ecclesiarchal priests crowded behind her, voices trembling, pleading.

  "Your Highness, please-"

  "You mustn't see this-"

  "Come away from the window-"

  She shoved past them, stumbling forward, eyes locked on the carnage below.

  "…but why…?" she whispered, voice cracking. "Uncle would never… never…"

  Her hands trembled against the glass.

  "What happened to Damian…?"

  A paladin stepped forward, gentle but firm. "Your Highness. You must rest."

  She let them guide her - numb, hollow, barely aware of her own feet moving. The paladins escorted her to her chambers, their armor clinking softly in the silence.

  When she crossed the threshold, they bowed once and closed the door behind her.

  The lock clicked.

  Footsteps retreated down the hall, leaving her alone.

  Mary stood in the center of her room, staring at nothing.

  Then her legs gave out.

  She collapsed beside her bed, curling into herself, arms wrapped tight around her knees. Her eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down her face.

  She kept repeating the same words, over and over:

  "This is a dream… it has to be… Uncle would never… Damian is fine… It's all just a bad dream…"

  But even as she spoke, her divinity erupted.

  Golden light exploded outward in waves, shattering furniture, tearing curtains, cracking the mirror. Glass floated weightlessly in the air, suspended in divine power she couldn't control. The bed overturned. The desk splintered. The walls groaned under pressure.

  And she didn't notice. Didn't see. Just cried, folded in on herself like a child trying to disappear.

  Then-

  A glow flickered.

  At the center of the wreckage stood a figure of radiant gold.

  A woman.

  She looked almost exactly like Mary - the same face, the same hair, the same eyes. But older. Taller. Wrong.

  And behind her, wings unfurled. Vast, luminous, white as untouched snow. Not solid, but translucent - like light given form, shimmering faintly with divine energy.

  An angel.

  Mary lifted her head, breath catching.

  The golden woman smiled - soft, tender, maternal.

  "This would be quite the awful dream, wouldn't it?" she whispered, voice like honey laced with venom.

  Mary's eyes widened. She tried to speak, but no sound came.

  The angel knelt slowly, wings folding around her like a shroud. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Mary's face with delicate fingers.

  "You're weak," the angel said softly. " You couldn't help your uncle. You couldn't protect Damian. You couldn't even save your own mother."

  Mary flinched, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

  "All those people outside," the angel continued, voice dripping with false sympathy. "Dying. Suffering. And you… hiding in here. Powerless."

  "I-" Mary's voice cracked. "I didn't-"

  "You didn't do anything," the angel finished. "Because you couldn't."

  Mary's breath hitched, shoulders shaking.

  The angel's expression softened, shifting from cruel to comforting in an instant. She cupped Mary's face in both hands, thumbs brushing away tears.

  "But it doesn't have to be this way," she whispered. "All of this pain… all of this sorrow… it can end."

  Mary looked up, eyes red and desperate.

  "How…?"

  "With power, sweetheart." The angel smiled, radiant and serene. "With power, you could have saved your mother. With power, you could have stopped this bloodshed. With power, you could protect Damian."

  Mary's breath stuttered. "I… I don't…"

  "Shh," the angel cooed, pulling Mary into her arms. "It's all right. You don't have to be weak anymore."

  Mary collapsed against her, sobbing into the angel's shoulder. The golden woman stroked her hair gently, humming a lullaby - soft, soothing, hypnotic.

  "That's it," she murmured. "Let it all out. Soon, you won't hurt anymore. Soon, there will be no sorrow. No fear. Only happiness."

  Mary's breathing slowed, her sobs quieting.

  The angel tilted Mary's chin up gently, meeting her eyes.

  "All you have to do," she whispered, "is give yourself to me."

  Mary's lips parted.

  "I…"

  "Say yes, sweetheart. Say yes, and I'll take all the pain away."

  Mary's eyes fluttered, exhaustion and grief weighing her down.

  "…yes…"

  The angel smiled - wide, triumphant.

  And then she struck.

  Her mouth found Mary's neck, teeth sinking deep into flesh.

  Mary's eyes snapped open, wide with shock. She gasped, body going rigid.

  Blood trickled down her collarbone, staining her white dress crimson.

  The angel's wings shuddered - and the white luminescence bled away, replaced by black. Feathers darkened like ink spreading through water, until they were pitch, void, wrong.

  Mary's vision dimmed. Her body went limp, collapsing into the angel's arms.

  The golden woman cradled her gently, still stroking her hair as Mary's eyes started to close.

  "There, there," she cooed, voice soft and tender. "Sleep now, my sweet child. When you wake, you'll be perfect."

  The last thing Mary saw, was her eyes, more golden than ever before, reflected in the broken mirror.

  Than the vision collapsed.

  I gasped, thrown back into my own body as I finally saw my reflection again. My knees hit the cobblestones hard, breath ragged, sweat cold on my skin.

  My right eye burned, throbbing with residual pain.

  "Shit-Mary-!"

  I shoved the mask over my face and ran.