Chapter 35 · The Unmasking

"Get away from him!" Vesper's voice cracked, her blade whistling through the air. She didn't even look at the carnage behind her—the crushed skull, the shattered armor of the Inquisitor. She only saw Lucian, standing tall for the first time in years, surrounded by a swirling, oily void that seemed to eat the light of the room.

Lucian didn't move. He didn't even blink. He just watched her, his eyes no longer human, glowing with a cold, predatory violet hue. The black wings, vast and jagged like torn obsidian, pulsed slowly, sending ripples of terror through the remaining soldiers.

"Vesper," he said. His voice wasn't the fragile whisper she'd grown used to. It was deep, resonant, and carried the weight of a thousand screams. "Put the knife down."

"What the hell are you?" she spat, her boots skidding on the blood-slicked floor. She stepped back, the tip of her blade trembling. "You were a cripple. You were... you were Lucian. Who is this? What did you let into your head?"

Lucian took a step forward. The mechanical spine in his back hissed, steam venting from the ports Silas had installed.