Chapter 7: Into the Maw of the Hierarchy

The twisted figure of the Eviscerator stood framed in the doorway, a monstrosity of flesh fused with intricate machinery. Its glowing green eyes locked onto Eryas and the Relic on the table. The air itself seemed to ripple with its presence, the eldritch energy radiating from it oppressive and suffocating.

Veyra didn't wait. With a fluid motion, she hurled one of her daggers at the creature's head. The blade struck true, but it barely scratched the surface, embedding itself in the metallic plating of its face.

"Typical," she muttered, already moving as the Eviscerator lunged toward her.

Eryas stayed rooted for a moment, the whispers in his mind now deafening. They hissed warnings and strategies, offering power if he'd only embrace the Relic fully.

He ignored them—for now. Instead, he reached for his revolver, firing two precise shots at the creature's exposed joints. The bullets sparked against metal, and the Eviscerator faltered just long enough for Veyra to dart in and slash at its exposed flesh.

"You're taking your time!" she shouted, her tone equal parts sarcasm and desperation.

Eryas didn't reply. He could feel the shadows coiling around him, restless and eager. With a deep breath, he allowed a sliver of their power to flow through him. The tendrils erupted from his arm, slamming into the Eviscerator and pinning it against the far wall.

But the creature didn't stay down. It roared, its mechanical limbs snapping free of the shadows as its runes flared with blinding light.

The Fracture Within

The Eviscerator's strength wasn't natural; it was fueled by the same energy as the Relic. Eryas could feel it resonating, tugging at the artifact in his hand, as if trying to merge with it.

"You feel it, don't you?" the whispers hissed. "It's a vessel, just like you. A failed one. You can unmake it."

"Shut up," Eryas growled, though he wasn't sure if he was speaking to the voices or the Eviscerator.

The creature charged again, its claws tearing through the air. Eryas ducked, the tips grazing his shoulder, and countered with a surge of shadows that wrapped around the abomination's legs. It stumbled, giving Veyra an opening to leap onto its back and drive a dagger into what remained of its spine.

The Eviscerator howled, its movements growing erratic. Sparks erupted from its mechanical components as it flailed, slamming into the walls and sending debris flying.

"We can't keep this up!" Veyra shouted, clinging to the thrashing creature.

Eryas's grip tightened on the Relic. He didn't want to use it—not fully—but the whispers wouldn't stop. They promised power, control, an end to the chaos.

With a snarl, he raised the artifact and allowed its energy to flow through him.

Unleashing the Relic

The room dimmed as the Relic's power surged, shadows spreading like ink across every surface. The Eviscerator froze mid-strike, its green eyes flickering as if the artifact's energy overwhelmed it.

Eryas felt the darkness envelop him, the whispers merging into a singular, commanding voice. "Unmake it. Take what is yours."

The shadows lashed out, piercing the Eviscerator's body and tearing it apart from within. Its runes shattered, and the eldritch glow in its eyes extinguished. With a final, guttural scream, the creature collapsed, its remains crumbling into ash and twisted metal.

As the shadows receded, the room fell silent.

Veyra climbed to her feet, breathing heavily. She shot Eryas a wary glance. "That wasn't just you, was it?"

Eryas didn't answer. The Relic was still in his hand, its surface shifting as if alive. He could feel its power coursing through him, a cold, alien presence that seemed to settle deeper into his being.

The Cost of Power

They left the safehouse before reinforcements could arrive, navigating the labyrinthine streets of the Fringe District. The air was thick with smoke, the distant hum of Hierarchy patrols growing louder.

Eryas walked in silence, his thoughts consumed by the Relic and the growing unease within him. The whispers were quieter now, but they were no less insidious. They didn't just speak to him; they felt like they were becoming part of him.

"You can't keep doing that," Veyra said, breaking the silence.

"Doing what?"

"Whatever that was back there," she said, gesturing vaguely. "That power. It's...wrong. It's not just the Hierarchy that's going to notice you. Things like that leave scars, Draegon. On the world. On you."

Eryas stopped walking, turning to face her. "Do you think I have a choice? If I don't use it, we die. If I don't fight, we lose. And if we lose, this world stays under their boot forever."

Veyra crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "Just don't lose yourself in the process."

The Maw's Summons

Their conversation was cut short by a low rumble that seemed to shake the very ground beneath them. Eryas looked up, his heart sinking as he saw the sky darken unnaturally.

The Relic in his hand pulsed violently, and the whispers returned, more urgent than ever.

"Something's coming," Veyra said, her voice barely above a whisper.

From the direction of the Obsidian Spire, a massive tear appeared in the sky. It wasn't a natural storm but a rift, a jagged wound in reality that bled an eerie green light. From within, shapes began to emerge—massive, formless entities that writhed and pulsed as though they were alive.

Eryas felt the Relic resonate with the rift, as if drawn to it. The whispers grew louder, forming words he couldn't ignore:

"The Maw opens. The first Herald descends. You cannot run."

"What is that?" Veyra asked, her voice laced with fear.

Eryas didn't answer. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the rift as a colossal figure began to take shape, its silhouette an amalgamation of limbs and writhing tendrils. Its very presence seemed to drain the colour from the world, leaving everything cold and lifeless.

And then it spoke, its voice resonating in their minds:

"Bearer of the Relic. Come. The Veil has chosen you."

The First Herald

Eryas took a step back, his instincts screaming at him to run. But the Relic pulsed again, its whispers cutting through his fear.

"You are bound to this. There is no escape. Face it, or be consumed."

Veyra grabbed his arm. "Eryas, we need to leave. Now."

But he didn't move. His gaze remained fixed on the Herald as it descended, its tendrils reaching out to the city below. Everywhere they touched, buildings crumbled, and the people within were reduced to ash.

He knew there was no running from this. The Relic had brought him here, and it wouldn't let him leave until the Herald was dealt with.

"Go," he said, pulling free of Veyra's grip.

"What?"

"Go!" he shouted. "This is my fight."

Veyra hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Don't get yourself killed, Draegon."

As she disappeared into the shadows, Eryas turned to face the Herald, his shadows coiling around him like armor.

The whispers grew louder, their voices merging into a single, commanding tone.

"Prove yourself, Vessel. Prove you are worthy of the Veil."

And then the battle began.