Chapter 6 – The Inquisitors Unleashed

The Emperor's Judgement

Within the grand halls of Solvador's Imperial Citadel, torches flickered against towering marble pillars, their flames unnaturally still. The air itself felt suffocated beneath the weight of an unseen force—the Emperor's wrath.

Lucian Ardentis stood at the head of a vast war chamber, his golden cloak pooling around his throne. He did not speak.

He did not need to.

Before him, a kneeling council of warlords, nobles, and commanders awaited his decree, none daring to meet his gaze.

The silence stretched—until the doors groaned open.

A cold gust swept through the chamber as six figures entered.

They did not walk. They glided, their movements soundless, their presence eclipsing even the high lords of the empire.

The High Inquisitors.

The empire's final executioners.

Each one a nightmare cloaked in flesh.

Lucian's eyes flickered across them. They were the undisputed apex of imperial authority, second only to him. Even nobles of the highest rank feared their approach.

But tonight, they were not here for politics.

Tonight, they had only one purpose.

To hunt the Forsaken One.

Lucian raised a single hand.

"Find him." His voice was absolute, resonating through the chamber like the toll of a death knell. "Remind him that exile was mercy."

A pause.

Then—the Inquisitors vanished.

A ripple of dark energy followed, a silent promise that before the next dawn—blood would stain the streets of Solvador.

---

The Rift Hungers

Far beyond mortal comprehension, in a void where even the gods dared not tread, the Rift shuddered.

A presence was waking.

It had no name. No form. No single mind.

It was many.

It was eternal.

And it had felt something missing—a fragment of itself, a piece that should have remained lost.

The Forsaken One.

The shadows in the void writhed, whispering in tongues that had long since been erased from mortal history.

A ripple spread outward.

A call.

And something—**something ancient—**began to answer.

---

The Chase Begins

Kieran moved like a ghost through the lower districts of Solvador, slipping through ruined alleys and shattered rooftops.

He could still feel them.

The Inquisitors were coming.

Unlike the assassins he had faced before, these were not mere hunters.

They were executioners of the highest order. Each one wielded an authority that surpassed even kings, their blades tempered in the blood of thousands.

And they had only one law.

No one escapes the Inquisition.

Kieran exhaled, shadows coiling around his form. His battle with Veydris had pushed him, forced him to acknowledge something that clawed at the edge of his mind—

He was still incomplete.

His power had returned, but not in full. There were pieces missing, fragments lost in the void of the Rift.

And now—he was being hunted before he could reclaim them.

No.

He smirked.

They think they're hunting me.

Let's see how long that illusion lasts.

He stepped into the shadows—and disappeared.

---

The Inquisitors Arrive

The city held its breath.

The Inquisitors moved like wraiths, their presence erasing sound itself. Wherever they passed, the air grew colder, the streets emptying before fear could even take root.

At the center of the formation, Vaelros the Pale Hand raised a single, gloved palm. The air around him shimmered, then split apart, revealing thousands of fragmented possibilities.

A Diviner.

He did not see the present.

He saw every possible future.

And in each one, a single truth remained constant.

The Forsaken One was waiting.

Vaelros's lips curled.

"Scatter."

The Inquisitors vanished.

The hunt had begun.

---

Ambush in the Void

In an abandoned chapel on the outskirts of Solvador, Kieran stood alone.

The shattered glass windows trembled as a breeze rolled in, the once-holy grounds now swallowed by vines and time.

He closed his eyes.

They were here.

One by one, the Inquisitors materialized in the chamber, stepping forth from the void like reapers emerging from the abyss.

Six of them.

Each radiating an imposing pressure, their very existence warping the space around them.

Vaelros stepped forward.

"The Emperor has given you a final mercy."

His voice was smooth, patient. Unhurried.

"Come with us now. Kneel before him. And you may yet receive a swift death."

Kieran chuckled.

"You're all making the same mistake." He lifted his hand—and the shadows surged.

Vaelros barely moved.

He simply flicked two fingers.

And the entire chapel collapsed.

---

The Forsaken King vs. The Six Executioners

A maelstrom of force erupted, sending debris skyward as Kieran and the Inquisitors clashed.

The first strike came from nowhere. A blade of pure abyss cut toward Kieran's throat—blocked at the last second.

A second strike. A whip of ethereal fire lashed out—dodged.

A third—he parried, countering with a void-infused strike.

The shadows twisted around them, entire fragments of reality shattering under the sheer weight of their battle.

But Kieran grinned.

They were strong.

But they had made one crucial mistake.

They had entered his domain.

The darkness around him rippled, deepened—and then, with a single whisper, it came alive.

Vaelros's eyes widened as the walls of reality folded inward—and the Inquisitors realized too late—

They weren't in Solvador anymore.

They were in his shadow.

---

The Emperor's Unfinished War

Back in the Imperial Palace, Lucian watched the stars.

His golden eyes burned beneath the night sky, his grip tightening around his sword.

For the first time in twenty years, the balance of the world was shifting.

The Forsaken Sovereign was rising.

And the war he had left unfinished was about to begin anew.

Lucian exhaled.

The gods had made their decree.

The Rift had begun to stir.

The world would soon understand why Kieran Ardyn was feared.

But before that—

Lucian unsheathed his sword. The golden flames roared to life.

—he would kill him himself.