The Crucible's Fury

The Aetherium core seared my palms, its molten surface writhing like a living thing. Behind us, the Inquisitors' boots thundered closer, their flamethrowers hissing as blue fire licked at the cathedral's ancient stone. Lira sprinted ahead, shouting for me to follow, but the core's hum had become a scream in my skull—a primal, keening wail.

*"Shape it,"* the Sentinel's voice whispered, distant but urgent. *"Before it consumes you."*

"How?!" I hissed through gritted teeth.

The core flared, its liquid shadow surging up my arm like a serpent. Metal coalesced around my hand and wrist—a gauntlet of jagged obsidian plates, its surface etched with glowing violet veins. Clawed fingers, a spiked guard over my knuckles, and at its center, the core pulsed like a heart, fused to my flesh.

Lira skidded to a halt, her mechanical eye widening. "Jace—!"

The Inquisitors rounded the corner, their leader bellowing, "*Burn them!*"

I raised the gauntlet on instinct.

The world dissolved into light.

---

**Chapter 8b: The Inferno**

Aetherium energy erupted from the gauntlet in a shockwave of violet fire. The blast tore through the Inquisitors, their armor vaporizing, their flamethrowers detonating in chain reactions of blue flame. Stone melted. Air crackled. The cathedral's walls groaned as the catacombs collapsed, burying screams beneath tons of rubble.

Lira tackled me, her body shielding mine as the ceiling caved in. Heat seared my skin. Smoke choked my lungs. The gauntlet's light dimmed, its weight dragging my arm to the ground like an anchor.

Through the haze, I glimpsed Marcus—his robes aflame, his face a mask of fury—before a pillar crashed between us, swallowing him in dust and debris.

"Lira…" I choked, my vision blurring. "Did he…?"

"Don't know," she coughed, hauling me upright. "We need to—"

The gauntlet pulsed.

A second wave of energy ripped through me, white-hot and ravenous. My knees buckled. The last thing I heard was Lira's scream.

Then—

*Darkness.*

Silence.

Cold stone against my cheek.

Distant echoes of shouts.

The gauntlet's weight, heavy as a corpse.

A voice, warped and watery: "*Jace…!*"

Blackness.