An archway led them out of the suffocating fog of the Scourgeyard and into the harsh, bright reality of a fortress at war.

  They stood now at the edge of the Emberhold, the military district of the Bastion.

  It was a complex grid of barracks, armouries, and drill yards, built from black basalt and reinforced with bands of red iron. The hot air smelled like a slaughterhouse that had caught fire: burning pitch, scalded flesh, sulphur, and the sickly sweet rot of the Divine Accelerant, the volatile fuel granted by the corrupted gods.

  [ZONE: THE EMBERHOLD] [THREAT: MILITIA / ARCANE SIEGE ARTILLERY]

  But for Elias, the environment wasn't the problem, well not the largest problem, THAT was the UnbrokenChain.

  The psychic link between the squad, established by the Rite of Binding, felt lopsided, uneven, It was like driving a car with a flat tyre; the balance was gone, pulling everything to the side.

  He could feel Veyra's calm, rooted deep like an old sinewy oak, a slow and steady pulse. He could feel Cindersnarl's simple, aggressive heat, a furnace waiting for a door to open. He could feel Solari's sorrow, a cold draught in the back of his mind that tasted of memory.

  But where Thorne's crackling, fiery presence used to be, there was a void, a dead spot in the network, a silence that was louder than the distant hammers, a snuffed candle wick.

  She was physically present, walking beside him, her boots scuffing the stone, but spiritually, she was offline. The brand on her palm acted like a dam, holding back the torrent of mana that usually defined her.

  [PARTY STATUS UPDATE] [MEMBER: THORNE] [STATE: MANA-SEVERED]

  [COMBAT ROLE: COMPROMISED]

  "Form up," Elias said, his voice sounding harsh and distorted through the grille on his faceplate. "Same formation as before, but close the gaps. We don't have the range we used to."

  Thorne flinched, a small twitch of her shoulders that Elias noticed. Instinctively, she reached back for her staff, then stopped. Her hand hovered over her shoulder for a second, fingers twitching as they sought the familiar weight, before dropping to her belt.

  She gripped the cold iron casing of an Alchemical Grenade, her knuckles white.

  "I can still throw," she rasped, her voice rough, stripped of its usual sarcastic bite. It sounded like she'd been screaming for hours.

  "I know," Elias said, keeping his tone professional to stop her spiralling. "Save them for groups of enemies. We don't have infinite ammo. And stay off the front line. If they rush us, you fall back."

  "I'm not a liability, Elias."

  "I didn't say you were. I'm saying we change the playbook."

  Elias looked ahead. The main thoroughfare was blocked by heavy barricades, sharpened iron stakes wrapped in wire and bone.

  Behind them, squads of Flamebound Sentinels patrolled with clockwork precision. But they weren't alone.

  Bolted to the barricades were massive, squat iron gargoyles; Hell-Mouths. These crude, heavy mortars had maws open wide. Crews of zealots laboured behind them, ladling glowing, molten sludge from open cauldrons into the throats of the squat cannons.

  [ENEMY: ARTILLERY CREW] [WEAPON: HELL-MOUTH MORTAR] [THREAT: MAGMA BOMBARDMENT]

  "They're feeding them," Veyra hissed, revulsion in her voice. "That fuel... it screams when they pour it."

  "It's the run-off from the Maw," Elias said grimly. "Dirty power. Unstable."

  "Then let's spark it," Thorne said, her eyes hard.

  Moving out from the shadows, the reaction was instantaneous. A Sentinel on the watchtower blew a horn, a deep, brassy note that blanketed the courtyard.

  "Defilers! The Fourth Ward is breached! Feed the guns!"

  The crew manning the nearest Hell-Mouth shouted a prayer. One of them slammed a heavy lever. Runes etched into the iron gargoyle flared blindingly bright.

  CRUMP!

  A glob of superheated, semi-solid magma arced through the air, trailing black smoke and a sound like tearing canvas.

  "Incoming!" Elias yelled.

  "Oaken!"

  The massive Leshei scout didn't flinch. He stepped in front of the group, planting his stone feet, and raised his rock-arm like a shield.

  BOOM.

  The magma-shot hit Oaken's arm. The explosion was deafening. Liquid fire sprayed everywhere, hissing against the wet stone.

  Oaken grunted, sliding back a foot, digging a furrow in the cobbles. His stone skin was scorched black, but unbroken.

  "The stone holds," Oaken rumbled.

  "Counter-attack!" Elias roared.

  The squad surged forward.

  Briar and Veyra moved in sync. Briar loosed a volley of moss-arrows at the artillery crews, blinding them with rapid fungal growth. Veyra slammed her staff down, calling roots from the cracks in the pavement to bind the wheels of the barricade.

  "Thorne! The cauldron!"

  Thorne sprinted forward, staying low behind Elias. She pulled a clay flask from her pouch, bit off the wax seal, and spat it out.

  She wound up and threw the flask with her good arm, sending it on a desperate, flat trajectory.

  SMASH.

  The flask hit the cauldron of fuel feeding the mortar.

  CRACK-WHOOSH.

  The volatile accelerant ignited instantly. The cauldron exploded, engulfing the Hell-Mouth and its crew in a ball of violet fire.

  "Breach clear!" Elias shouted. They had passed the line of cannon, which, unable to turn to meet them, might as well have been statues.

  He charged the remaining infantry.

  A squad of Incinerators advanced. These heavy infantrymen carried bulky brass urns strapped to their backs, connected to long iron siphons. They worked hand-pumps frantically.

  HISS.

  They unleashed streams of liquid fire; crude, terrifying flamethrowers that relied on rune-sparks at the nozzle to ignite the spray.

  "Don't let them spray!"

  Elias activated [Bullwark]. His stamina bar locked. He sprinted through the edge of flame, his Aether-Balm coating hissing as it evaporated the heat.

  He slammed into the lead Incinerator.

  CRUNCH.

  The soldier flew backward. The brass urn on his back hit the pavement and ruptured.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Elias drew Dawnfall. He switched to Justice Stance. The red blade blurred as he cut through the disoriented line, Cindersnarl at his hip tearing weapons from hands and tendons from limbs.

  Within seconds, the checkpoint was a ruin of scrap metal and burning oil.

  They pushed past the barricade, heading toward the inner wall, but their path was blocked by a sealed twin iron door.

  "We need a way around!," Elias said.

  Solari drifted toward a heavy iron door set into the base of a nearby tower. "There," she whispered. "The heat is intense inside. It's a forge."

  Elias kicked the door open.

  They all rushed in, their weapons raised ready for a deadly fight, and stopped dead.

  This was no forge, this was a ritual chamber.

  The room was vast, lined with racks of empty Sentinel armour. In the centre, on stone slabs, lay men and women. They were stripped, their skin marked with complex geometrical scars.

  Priest-Smiths; Order artificers in blood-stained leather aprons, were working on them intently. They held heavy iron tongs, gripping plates of armour that glowed cherry-red from the coals.

  They were forging it directly onto skin.

  They pressed the hot steel directly onto the recruits' flesh. The magic of the Dirty Divine Power fused the metal to the bodies instantly. The recruits didn't scream; their chanting becoming a cresendo of pain, eyes rolled back in drug-induced ecstasy.

  [LORE: THE FLAMEBOUND] The Sentinels are not wearing armour. They literally become the armour. The Order believes pain clarifies purpose.

  Elias felt bile rise in his throat. The smell of cooking meat was overpowering.

  "They're making them," Veyra whispered, her voice trembling with horror. "They are grafting iron to bone."

  "It's efficient," Thorne said, her voice devoid of emotion. She was clutching a [Blast-Pot] so hard her knuckles were white. "No fear. No retreat. If you run, the armour cooks you. I heard stories in the Cloister… I didn't think they were literal."

  One of the recruits on the slab looked up, young, his eyes wide. The drugs were fading, terror setting in. A Smith was holding a glowing breastplate over his exposed chest.

  "Help," the recruit mouthed.

  Elias didn't hesitate.

  "Clear the room," he ordered. "No mercy for the butchers."

  The squad moved with cold fury. Cindersnarl overturned the tables of tools. Briar pinned the Smiths to the walls with arrows. Elias cut through them with efficient, brutal strokes.

  When the Smiths were dead, Elias stood over the recruit. The boy was shaking. His breastplate lay on the floor, cooling.

  "You're safe," Elias said, reaching out to cut the straps holding him down.

  "Kill me," the boy whispered. "Please. The fire is already inside."

  Elias looked at the boy's chest. The runes were already glowing beneath his skin. The binding had started. Without the armour to stabilise it, the magic was consuming his organs.

  Elias looked at Solari. "Can you…?"

  Solari shook her head, her light dim with sorrow. "The soul is woven into the spell. To unravel it is to unravel him."

  Elias closed his eyes. Mercy first.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered.

  He ended it quickly, with a single thrust to the heart.

  The room was silent. Thorne walked to the back wall. Barrels were stacked there, munitions for the Hell-Mouths: [Divine Accelerant].

  "Elias," she said. "If we leave this place standing, they'll just make more."

  "Burn it," Elias said.

  Thorne didn't use a spell. She spilt a barrel of the volatile liquid and struck a simple flint against steel.

  She watched the spark catch.

  "Burn," she whispered vehemently....

  They retreated to the courtyard.

  WHOOM.

  A dull explosion rocked the tower. Windows blew out, and smoke billowed from the vents. At last, the foundry was gone.

  They moved to exit the tower, but the way back was blocked by debris. The only path forward was a narrow service corridor lined with the tattered banners of fallen regiments.

  It was tight, claustrophobic.

  "Ambush territory," Veyra warned.

  As if on cue, the doors at the far end burst open and a heavily armed squad of Inquisitors spilled in.

  Five of them.

  Thewas little room for stealth, so they drew serrated blades and charged.

  "No room for grenades!" Thorne shouted. "We'll blow ourselves up!"

  "Then we brawl!" Elias yelled.

  The corridor became a meat grinder. There was no room for fancy swordplay. Elias used his shield and shoulder, bashing the first Inquisitor into the wall. He couldn't swing Dawnfall effectively, so he used the pommel, the guard, the gauntlet.

  Cindersnarl struggled to manoeuvre in the close quarters. He snapped at ankles, tripping the enemies.

  Thorne was in the thick of it. An Inquisitor lunged at her, leaving her no room to retreat. She headbutted him, then bit his hand, fighting dirty with knees and elbows, driving her dagger into soft spots.

  It was messy, brutal, and unheroic. But it worked.

  Elias grabbed an Inquisitor by the throat and slammed him into a stone pillar. The man crumpled, he back broken.

  Veyra wielded her staff like a spear, cracking bones with precise, short strikes.

  When the final Inquisitor fell, the stone of the hallway was slick with steaming blood.

  Elias leaned against the wall, wiping gore from his visor. Thorne was panting, a cut on her cheek bled freely.

  "I miss fireballs," she wheezed. "This... this is exhausting."

  "It’s effective," Elias said. "You're still standing."

  To reach the inner gate, they had to cross a narrow avenue lined with statues.

  It was a grotesque parade. The statues depicted martyrs, men and women wreathed in carved flames, their faces twisted in ecstatic agony. They were made of a porous, red stone that seemed to sweat oil.

  "Caution," Solari warned.

  [HAZARD: MARTYR STATUES] [TYPE: VOLATILE TRAP]

  "Don't touch them," Solari said. "They are hollow, filled with Divine Accelerant. If they sense the vibration of a heretic’s heart, the runes ignite the oil inside."

  "A minefield," Elias said. "And the path is narrow. We can't go around."

  "I can grow a bridge," Veyra offered.

  "No," Elias said. "If one goes, they all go. Chain reaction. We'd be caught in the middle."

  He looked at Thorne.

  "You said you wanted to burn them all."

  Thorne looked at the avenue. She licked her lips, calculating the distance. "You want me to light the fuse?"

  "I want you to clear the path. Hitting the centre one should trigger the rest. I trust you."

  Thorne pulled a heavy iron sphere from her pouch, a [Blast-Pot]. She weighed it in her hand, adjusted her stance to compensate for the injury, using her whole body to aim.

  She stepped forward and hurled it.

  The iron ball sailed through the air, heavy and clumsy.

  Clink.

  It hit the shoulder of the central statue.

  CRACK.

  The stone shattered, and a spark ignited the oil inside.

  BOOM.

  Liquid fire sprayed out. The shockwave triggered the statues next to it.

  WHOOSH. WHOOSH. WHOOSH.

  A domino effect of fire ripped through the avenue. Statues exploded in sequence, geysers of holy flame shooting into the sky. The heat was intense, even at this distance, washing over Elias’s Star-Steel plate.

  When the smoke cleared, the avenue was a blackened ruin. The statues were gravel.

  "Cleared," Thorne said, rubbing her shoulder with a grim smile. "Every last one of them."

  Looming ahead of them as they passed the inner gate was the entrance to the Cathedral Plaza.

  Blocking the way was a massive portcullis, and standing in front of it was the Warden of the Emberhold:

  Captain Valerius.

  He was a giant, encased in armour that made Elias’s plate look light. He carried a tower shield that was literally a slab of fortress wall, reinforced with gold. His weapon was a Flail of Scourges—three heavy iron balls on chains, each burning with a different colour of fire.

  [BOSS: CAPTAIN VALERIUS] [LOOT: RITUAL GLYPH FRAGMENT (4/5)]

  "You have made a mess of my drill yard," Valerius boomed, his voice deep and resonant.

  "We're here for the key," Elias said. "Hand it over."

  "The key is salvation," Valerius replied, before slamming his shield down. A shockwave of golden light rippled out. "And I am the wall."

  He charged.

  He bulldozed forward, his shield held in front of him, creating a moving wall of force.

  "Scatter!"

  Elias rolled left as Valerius smashed through a stack of crates where Elias had been standing, pulverising them.

  "Oaken! Stop him!"

  Oaken charged, lowering his shoulder. Stone met steel.

  CRUNCH.

  The impact shook the ground. Oaken was thrown backwards, sliding across the cobbles, his stone arm cracking under the force. He groaned, struggling to rise, shards of his own living rock dusting the ground.

  "He’s unstoppable!" Oaken wheezed, shaking his damaged limb. "He hits harder than the mountain."

  Valerius swung the flail. The three balls swung in a wide, lethal arc—Violet (Void), Orange (Magma), and White (Holy).

  "Back!" Elias yelled.

  The flail smashed the pavement, sending up a spray of molten rock and void energy.

  “He’s braced, break the guard!” Elias yelled. "We have to break his stance!"

  Elias charged, switching to Justice Stance. He swung at the shield with a two-handed overhead smash.

  CLANG.

  The Star-Steel bit into the gold rim, but the shield didn't give. It was too thick, too heavily enchanted. Valerius laughed, a hollow sound echoing from inside his helm, and bashed Elias with the shield boss.

  WHAM.

  Elias flew backwards, landing hard. His vision swam.

  "The strap!" Solari’s voice cut through the ringing in his ears. She was hovering high above the fray, safe from the flail but spotting the angles. "The shield is held by leather straps on the arm! They are old! Cut the leather, drop the wall!"

  "I can't get behind him!" Elias shouted, scrambling up.

  "Thorne! Fire!"

  Thorne pulled a flask of [Liquid Flame], a sticky, tar-like concoction. Sheaimed it at Valerius; changing her stance last minute, she threw it at the shield.

  SPLASH.

  The pot shattered against the gold-reinforced slab. The thick, black gel coated the viewing slit and the front of the shield.

  The rune-spark ignited it.

  ROAR.

  A wall of fire erupted on the face of the shield, sucking the oxygen out of the air. It blinded Valerius with thick, oily smoke. The heat was intense, cooking the metal.

  Valerius stumbled, roaring, trying to shake the sticky fire off his shield. He lowered his guard, flailing blindly to keep them back.

  "He's blind!" Elias yelled. "Cindersnarl! The leg! Soften it!"

  The warg dove in low, not biting immediately, but clamping its jaws around the greave protecting Valerius's knee and surged. The magma in Cindersnarl’s veins flared white-hot.

  The metal of the greave hissed, glowing cherry-red, then orange.

  CRUNCH.

  Cindersnarl bit through the softened steel, sinking its teeth into the joint.

  Valerius roared, his leg buckling under the pain and the heat. He dropped to one knee, exposing an opening. Elias sprinted, jumped off Valerius’s buckling knee, and drove Dawnfall down behind the burning shield, aiming where Solari had pointed—the thick leather strap holding the massive slab to the captain’s arm.

  SLICE.

  The leather parted, and the massive shield fell forward with a ground-shaking thud, detached from its master.

  "Now he’s exposed!" Elias yelled.

  Enraged and smoking, Valerius swung the flail wildly with his free hand, desperate to crush anything near him.

  "Finish it!"

  Elias triggered Mercy Stance, stepping inside the flail’s arc and trusting his armour to absorb the glancing blow of the chain. He placed his hand on Valerius’s chest plate.

  [SAPROOT CLEANSING: PURGE]

  Green light flooded the captain’s armour. The fire died, and Valerius froze, his armour becoming a tomb before he collapsed.

  [TARGET NEUTRALISED]

  Elias knelt by the body and ripped the Ritual Glyph Fragment from the captain’s belt.

  "Four," Elias said, standing up. He looked over at Oaken, who was leaning against a wall, nursing his cracked arm. "You okay, big guy?"

  "I am stone," Oaken grunted, though his voice was tight. "Stone cracks, it does not bleed. I will hold."

  Elias looked at the massive double doors of the cathedral ahead.

  "One left," Elias said. "The Archives. The Cleansing Veil."

  "The basement," Solari whispered, drifting down to join them. "Where they keep the lies."

  "Let’s go rewrite history," Elias said.