Path of the Forsaken Sigil

Chapter 5

Thirty guards, dressed in iron-plated armor and carrying enchanted spears, began to close in. They were the "Iron Guard," the elite soldiers of the clan. 

Each of them had a minor spirit bound to their weapons, making their spears glow with various elemental lights.

"Stay back," Bruce warned.

The guards didn't stop. They saw a nineteen-year-old boy. They didn't understand the power they were facing.

Bruce felt a pulse of heat from his branded shoulder. The "Brand of the Void" was still there, but it felt different now. 

It wasn't a seal anymore; it was a doorway. He realized that the Seraph wasn't just a pet he had summoned. It was an extension of his own will.

Suddenly, Bruce felt a new sensation. It was like he could feel the weight of every shadow in the courtyard. 

The shadow of the stage, the shadow of the pillars, even the shadows cast by the guards themselves.

“Dominion,” a voice whispered in his mind. It was the Seraph’s voice. “Everything the light touches belongs to the sun. But everything the shadow touches... belongs to you.”

Bruce didn't swing his sword. He didn't move his arms. He simply looked at the guards and thought one word: “Hold.”

In an instant, the shadows on the ground changed. They didn't stay flat. They rose up like thick, black liquid. 

The shadows of the guards’ own bodies turned into oily chains that wrapped around their ankles and waists.

"What is this?" a guard yelled, struggling to move. "My own shadow is pulling me down!"

The more the guards fought, the tighter the shadow-chains became. Within seconds, all thirty soldiers were pinned to the stone floor, their spears clattering into the mud. They were frozen, held in place by the very darkness they cast.

Bruce walked toward the edge of the stage. He moved slowly, with a grace he had never possessed before. The Seraph followed him, its six wings creating a terrifying canopy over his head.

He walked past the groaning guards. He walked past the weeping crowd. He stopped right in front of Lady Hestia.

For nineteen years, Bruce had looked at the ground when this woman spoke. He had kept his head bowed, his eyes cast down in shame. Now, for the first time, he looked her directly in the face.

He was taller than her. He was stronger than her. And he was far, far more dangerous.

"You want the artifact, Hestia?" Bruce asked. He leaned in close. He could smell the expensive perfume she wore—the scent of roses and old wood. 

He could also smell her fear. It was a sharp, metallic scent that made the Seraph’s wings twitch with excitement.

"I... I am the Matriarch," Hestia stammered, her voice losing its strength. She tried to lift her staff, but Bruce reached out and grabbed it.

The moment his hand touched the silver wood, the ashen fire from his skin bled into the staff. The silver metal turned black and crumbled into fine sand in Hestia’s hands.

The crowd gasped. That staff was a relic passed down for four generations. It was gone in a heartbeat.

"You are a coward," Bruce said. "You hide behind your name and your walls. You stole my mother’s life and you tried to steal mine. You called me garbage."

Bruce leaned even closer, his eyes glowing with that terrifying silver light. "Tell me where my mother is. Right now. Or I will turn this entire plaza into a graveyard."

Hestia’s face went from pale to white. She looked around at the Elders, but they were all cowering behind the stone pillars. She was alone.

"I... I don't know where she is!" Hestia lied, her voice shaking. "She fled! She took the Secret of the Cinders and vanished!"

Bruce didn't speak. He just looked at the Ashen Seraph. The angel raised its sword—the Blade of Lost Tears. The smoke-blade began to hum, a sound that made everyone’s teeth ache.

"Wait! Wait!" Hestia screamed. She fell back, tripping over the hem of her expensive robes. She scrambled away from him like an animal. "You are a monster! You are a heretic! You are not a human!"

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, crystal vial filled with golden liquid. It was the "Light-Signal," a desperate measure used only when the city was under attack by a high-level demon.

"Don't do it," Bruce warned, his voice turning cold.

Hestia didn't listen. Fear had turned into madness. She smashed the vial against the stone floor.

A pillar of pure, blinding gold light shot into the sky, clashing with the violet clouds. It was a beacon that could be seen for fifty miles in every direction. It was a signal to the most feared organization in the world.

"HE IS HERE!" Hestia screamed at the sky, her voice full of a hysterical triumph. "THE FORBIDDEN ONE IS HERE! COME AND PURGE THE DARKNESS!"

She turned to Bruce, a wicked smile on her face. "You think you've won, bastard? You think that beast makes you a god? You have just signed your death warrant. The Inquisitors of the Light do not negotiate. They do not show mercy. They will burn you, they will burn your angel, and they will burn the memory of your mother until nothing but smoke remains!"

In the distance, the sounds of heavy, rhythmic drums began to echo through the hills. 

Boom. Boom. Boom. It was the sound of the Inquisitors' march. The "Order of the Solar Flame" was coming. They were the hunters of the forbidden, and they had never lost a battle.

Bruce looked at the horizon, then back at Hestia. He felt a moment of doubt, a flicker of the old fear. But then, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

He looked up. It was the Seraph. The creature wasn't afraid. It looked at the golden light in the sky as if it were a challenge.

“Let them come, Master,” the voice whispered. “The light has hidden the truth for too long. It is time for the world to see what lies in the ashes.”

Bruce gripped the hilt of his smoke-blade. He looked at Hestia one last time. "You should have killed me when you had the chance, Matriarch. Because now, not even your gods can save you."

At that moment, the gates of the plaza burst open. A dozen figures dressed in white and gold armor, riding horses made of pure light, charged into the courtyard. At their head was a man with a scarred face and a flaming sword.

The High Inquisitor had arrived. And his eyes were locked directly on Bruce’s soul.