Heavenfall King: The Prison God Who Returned

Chapter 5: The Price of Defiance

Darkness swallowed the hallway. Not the absence of light, but something heavier, thicker, as if the shadows themselves had weight. The shattered bulbs sparked once, twice, then died completely.

Tania’s breath hitched. “Mark…” she whispered.

“I’m here,” he said immediately, stepping back until he felt her against him. “Don’t move.” The woman in white didn’t advance. She didn’t need to.

“You feel it, don’t you?” her voice drifted through the dark, calm and almost kind. “The pressure. The difference.”

Mark did feel it. This wasn’t like Zhou Wen. This wasn’t like the observer under the overpass. This presence was sharp. Focused. Purpose-built.

“Who are you?” Mark asked.

A faint glow bloomed in the darkness, golden, soft, outlining the woman’s face. Her eyes gleamed like molten metal.

“My designation is Aurelian Executor Seven,” she said. “But you may call me Iris.”

“Executioner,” Mark repeated. “So Heaven finally chose violence.”

Iris smiled. “You misunderstand. Violence was always the language. You were simply late to hear it.”

Behind her, the two shadowed figures shifted. Mark’s senses flared. Not human. Not entirely.

“Tania,” Mark murmured, “close your eyes.”

“I won’t,” she whispered back.

He didn’t argue. Iris took a step forward. The floor creaked under her foot.

“You killed an authorized asset,” she said. “You disrupted three monitored bloodlines. You exposed celestial pressure to an unregistered mortal.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “If you’re here to lecture me, you’re wasting time.”

“I’m here,” Iris replied, “to remove the variable.”

Her gaze slid to Tania. “And the anchor.”

The air exploded. One of the shadowed figures lunged, too fast for a normal eye to track. Mark moved.

He pivoted, pulling Tania aside as his other hand struck out. His fingers met something solid, bone, reinforced, vibrating with energy.

The impact echoed like metal hitting stone. The figure skidded back, crashing into the wall. Cracks spiderwebbed outward.

Iris’s smile faded. “Oh,” she said softly. “You really were taught properly.”

The second figure attacked from the left. Mark didn’t turn. He stepped backward, elbow snapping up. There was a sharp crack, and a howl. The figure reeled, clutching its face. But it didn’t fall. It laughed. A wrong sound. Too many tones layered together.

“Mark!” Tania cried.

He grabbed her wrist. “Inside. Now.” Their apartment door was still open.

Mark shoved her through, spun, and slammed it shut just as something heavy struck from the outside. The door buckled but held.

For now. Iris’s voice came through the wood, amused. “You can’t hide her.”

Mark backed away slowly, positioning himself between the door and Tania. “Tania,” he said quietly, “no matter what happens, don’t open that door.”

Her voice trembled. “What are they?”

“Collectors,” Mark replied. “And I’m overdue.”

The door creaked. Then stilled. Silence. Too sudden. Mark didn’t relax. Instead, he closed his eyes. And reached inward. Deep. To the place his master had forbidden him to touch without cause. His heartbeat slowed. The world sharpened.

He could feel everything, the building’s bones, the hum of electricity, the shallow breathing on the other side of the door.

So you finally stopped pretending, a voice murmured in his mind. Mark’s eyes snapped open. “Master?” he whispered.

An echo, the voice corrected. A scar you carry. The door exploded inward. Wood splintered. Hinges screamed.

Mark moved into the breach. His palm struck the first shadowed figure’s chest, not lightly this time. The air compressed.

There was a sound like a drum being struck underwater. The figure froze. Then collapsed inward, body folding as if its skeleton had liquefied.

It didn’t scream. It just… stopped. The second figure hesitated. That was its mistake. Mark crossed the distance in a single step and struck twice, once to the throat, once to the spine.

The figure fell, twitching. Iris stood alone now, framed by the ruined doorway, golden eyes bright with something like admiration.

“You killed a sanctified enforcer,” she said.

“Yes,” Mark replied.

“That carries consequences.”

“So does threatening my wife.”

Iris stepped inside, unconcerned with the bodies at her feet. “Do you know why anchors exist?” Mark said nothing. 

“They stabilize anomalies,” she continued. “They keep monsters from becoming disasters.”

Her gaze flicked to Tania. “Without her, you’d already be lost.”

Mark’s voice dropped. “You won’t touch her.”

Iris tilted her head. “You don’t get to decide that anymore.”

She raised her hand. The room warped. Gravity twisted sideways. Mark felt his feet lift from the floor as invisible force crushed in from all directions. His bones creaked. His lungs burned.

Tania screamed his name. Mark forced his eyes open. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. 

“So this is it?” he rasped. “Heaven’s justice?”

Iris’s expression hardened. “Heaven’s correction.”

The pressure intensified. Mark’s vision darkened. And then, It vanished. Iris staggered. Her hand dropped.

“What?” she hissed.

The air pulsed once, violently. A symbol burned into existence between them, jagged, incomplete, furious. Iris’s eyes widened.

“No,” she whispered. “That’s not possible.”

Mark felt it too. Not control. Not mastery. Refusal. A laugh echoed through the room, old, dry, amused. Still defiant, the voice said. Good.

Iris stepped back slowly. “Your master… he branded you.”

Mark clenched his fists as the pressure fully released. “You said he was missing.”

“He is,” Iris said. “But his will remains.”

She stared at Mark with something new now. Caution. “This changes things,” she said quietly.

“Leave,” Mark replied. “Now.”

Iris hesitated. Then she smiled again, thin, dangerous. “This isn’t over,” she said. “You’ve crossed a threshold tonight.”

She glanced once more at Tania. “Enjoy the illusion of safety while it lasts.”

Then she turned, and vanished, dissolving into light that faded like embers. The apartment fell silent.

Mark swayed. Tania rushed forward, catching him as his knees buckled. “Mark! You’re bleeding!”

“I’m fine,” he lied.

He wasn’t.

Something inside him burned, hot, unstable, awake. He looked down at his hands. Faint lines glowed beneath his skin, pulsing slowly.

Tania stared at them, fear and awe mixing in her eyes. “What’s happening to you?”

Mark didn’t answer. Because somewhere far above the city, alarms were sounding. And a voice, cold, vast, unmistakably divine, spoke into the void

“Mark Lane has rejected correction.” Another voice replied, amused.

“Then escalate.”

Mark closed his eyes. Outside, the sky began to change.