Chapter 15 · Ripping the Soul

"Get your hands off me, you filth!"

Inquisitor Valerius didn't scream. He shrieked. His astral form was pinned hard against the obsidian floor of the nightmare realm, his white robes stained black by the bleeding ink of the void.

I leaned over him, my fingers digging into his ethereal shoulders. In this place, I wasn't the broken man in the wheelchair. I was the Sovereign. I could feel his soul vibrating—not with power, but with a frantic, jagged terror.

"Filth?" I whispered, my voice echoing like a landslide. "You're the one shaking, Valerius. Where's that divine confidence now?"

"This... this is an abomination!" he spat, his eyes darting around the swirling darkness of the rift. "You are a glitch in the order! A mistake!"

I grinned, and I knew it wasn't a human expression. My teeth felt too sharp, my smile too wide. I didn't just want answers; I wanted to feel his ego shatter. I pressed my palm flat against his chest, right where his heart would be if he were still breathing in the waking world.

"I'm not a mistake," I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous hum. "I'm the consequence.