Chapter 15 – The Blade of JudgmentThe chamber was silent, the air thick with

The Blade of Judgment

The chamber was silent, the air thick with dust and the scent of something ancient, something untouched by time. The glow from Eleanor's mark slowly faded as she lowered her wrist, her breath uneven.

At the center of the room, resting upon a stone pedestal, was a weapon unlike any she had ever seen. A dagger—its blade black as obsidian, its hilt adorned with symbols matching the ones on the monastery's walls. It pulsed with a strange energy, as if it were alive.

Gabriel stepped forward, his expression reverent. "The Blade of Judgment," he whispered. "Forged in the fires of the first war against the Fallen."

Victor's eyes narrowed. "And it can kill Lucian?"

Gabriel nodded. "Not just kill him—unmake him. This weapon severs the soul from the body, erasing any trace of its existence."

Eleanor swallowed hard. This was it. The only way to end Lucian's reign.

She reached out, her fingers trembling, and wrapped them around the hilt.

The moment she touched the blade, a surge of power tore through her.

A vision struck her like lightning.

The Vision of the Past

She stood in a battlefield drenched in blood. Screams echoed in the air. A man in dark robes, eyes burning with gold, stood at the center of it all.

Lucian.

But not as she knew him. He was younger, his face unmarked by time. And in his hand—the same dagger she now held.

She watched as he drove the blade into the heart of a warrior clad in silver. The man let out a strangled cry, his body convulsing before turning to ash.

Lucian dropped the dagger, his golden eyes wide, horrified.

"This power…" he whispered. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Then the vision shifted—

Lucian stood before a council of robed figures. "The blade is cursed," he told them. "No one should wield it."

But they did not listen.

And so, he stole it. He ran. He became the monster they feared.

Eleanor gasped as she was pulled back into the present. The dagger burned in her grip, as if rejecting her touch.

Gabriel steadied her. "What did you see?"

She looked up at him, her heart pounding.

"Lucian wasn't always the monster we know," she whispered. "He tried to stop this."

Maria scoffed. "And yet here we are, with him killing people for sport."

Victor crossed his arms. "Whatever he was before doesn't change what he is now."

Eleanor gritted her teeth. They were right. Whatever humanity Lucian once had—it was long gone.

And now, it was her responsibility to finish what he had started.

She tightened her grip on the blade.

"We end this."

The Marked Ones

They left the chamber, the dagger hidden beneath Eleanor's cloak. As they ascended the monastery stairs, an eerie silence settled over them.

Then—a scream.

Eleanor's blood ran cold.

They rushed into the monastery hall to find one of the monks collapsed on the floor. A crescent-shaped burn marked his wrist. His body twitched violently, as if something was clawing at his soul.

Gabriel knelt beside him. "Lucian's influence is spreading."

The monk's eyes snapped open—but they were golden.

Eleanor stumbled back.

He let out a guttural laugh, his lips twisting into a smile that wasn't his own.

Lucian's voice came through him.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Victor drew his sword. "Get out of him."

Lucian tilted his head, mock amusement in his stolen expression. "Oh, Victor. Always so eager for a fight."

Eleanor stepped forward. "We have the blade, Lucian."

For the first time, his expression darkened.

"Do you?" he murmured. Then his golden eyes flicked to her wrist. "You still bear my mark, Eleanor. That dagger may be strong, but you… you belong to me."

She clenched her fists. "Not for long."

Lucian smiled. "We'll see."

Then, the monk collapsed, unconscious. Lucian's presence was gone.

But his message was clear.

He was coming.

The Final Choice

That night, as they prepared for what was to come, Eleanor found herself staring at the dagger.

The weight of it was unbearable.

If she used it, Lucian would be erased. No redemption, no second chances.

But if she hesitated… more people would die.

A cold wind drifted through the monastery.

Eleanor tightened her grip.

There was no turning back now.

To Be Continued…