Walls That Bleed

Chapter 7: Walls That Bleed

The Citadel loomed against the night sky, a fortress of black stone and iron gates. Crespo led Alden to the eastern wall, where the shadows were deepest. In the darkness, Alden could make out strange discolorations on the stone—rivulets of frozen blood that seemed to weep from the Citadel itself.

"Security's weakest here," Crespo whispered, removing climbing hooks from his pack. "The commander's quarters are on the far side. The guards won't expect anyone foolish enough to scale this section."

Alden glanced at the wall skeptically. "Because it's bleeding?"

"Because it's where we dispose of Hollowed specimens," Crespo replied flatly. "No one lingers here willingly."

The hooks bit into the stone with dull thuds. Crespo went first, ascending with practiced efficiency. Alden followed, his body protesting every movement. Halfway up, his glass-transformed hand cracked along a fissure line when he gripped a hook too tightly. Pain shot through his arm, but he bit his tongue to stay silent.

Below, the ground seemed to pulse with shadows that didn't match the moon's position. The Eclipse's influence was strong here.

At the top, Crespo pulled him onto a narrow walkway. "Corbin's lab holds answers," he said, checking for patrols. "He's been researching the Veil for years."

The Citadel hummed with energy that made Alden's teeth vibrate. Black Chord. Massive quantities of it, somewhere beneath them. The sensation grew stronger as they descended an interior staircase, passing unlit corridors and locked chambers.

"Why help me?" Alden asked as they paused at a junction.

Crespo's eyes remained fixed ahead. "Because you created this nightmare. It's only right you help end it."

---

Liora pressed herself against the alley wall, watching the Citadel gates from the shadows. The Silentstorm had dissipated, but its effects lingered—sounds remained muffled, distant. Perfect conditions for Artificer patrols to catch unwary citizens.

A group of black-armored men marched past, dragging something behind them. A Hollowed, its limbs twisted backward, skin glistening with unnatural moisture. The creature's eyes met Liora's for a brief, terrible moment. Recognition flickered there—human awareness trapped in a mutated form.

Her crystallized fingers twitched involuntarily. The Grey Chord in her system hummed beneath her skin, reacting to the Hollowed's proximity. Each dose erased memories but enhanced her immunity to Rotstorm effects. A necessary sacrifice.

What memories had she already lost? Sometimes, in quiet moments, gaps revealed themselves—faces without names, conversations without context. But her medical knowledge remained intact, the procedures and diagnoses still crisp in her mind.

The patrol disappeared around a corner, taking the Hollowed with them. Liora checked the street before darting to her next position. Alden and Crespo had two hours before she would execute the contingency plan. Until then, she would map the Citadel's exterior defenses and note patrol patterns.

A child's cry echoed from somewhere nearby. Liora hesitated, torn between her mission and her healer's instinct. The sound came again—plaintive, desperate.

Against better judgment, she moved toward it, finding a small figure huddled in a recessed doorway. A girl, no more than seven, with tangled hair and hollow eyes. When she looked up, Liora's breath caught. A Shroudmark spiraled across the child's forehead, pulsing faintly.

"The doctors hurt them," the child whispered. "They put needles in their eyes to see the Eclipse."

Liora knelt, medical training overriding caution. "Who hurt who? Are you injured?"

The girl pointed toward the Citadel. "The singing people. The Choir." Her eyes suddenly rolled back, revealing only whites. "They sing what the Eclipse tells them. They sing what's coming."

The child's voice changed, deepening unnaturally. "The alchemist will shatter like his brother before him."

---

Corbin Ashcroft's laboratory reeked of decay and chemicals. Hollowed corpses lay dissected on tables, their chest cavities splayed open to reveal crystallized organs. Instruments gleamed under harsh lights—scalpels, bone saws, extraction needles arranged with obsessive precision.

Alden and Crespo entered silently, finding the chief alchemist hunched over a workbench. Corbin's hands trembled as he filled a syringe with Black Chord, the dark liquid swirling with flecks of silver.

"We should wait," Crespo whispered, but Alden stepped forward.

Corbin sensed their presence, turning slowly. His face was gaunt, cheeks hollow beneath gray-streaked hair. When he smiled, black lines spread from the corners of his mouth like cracks in porcelain.

"The prodigal returns," he said, voice rasping. "I wondered when you'd find your way back, Renshaw."

Corbin plunged the needle into his forearm without breaking eye contact. His veins bulged black beneath pale skin, spreading outward from the injection site like ink through paper. A convulsion wracked his body, but his smile remained fixed.

"The Eclipse... demands payment," he muttered. His gaze sharpened on Alden. "You reek of desperation."

Alden approached the workbench, noting the formulas scrawled across papers—calculations for Chord variations he'd never seen.

"You've progressed the research," Alden said.

"I've perfected it." Corbin's left eye was fully transformed, a glass orb that reflected Alden's own decaying face back at him. "While you peddled watered-down Chords to addicts, I discovered what the Bloodsong truly is."

"And what's that?"

"The Eclipse's blood." Corbin laughed, a harsh sound. "We're injecting ourselves with pieces of a god."

Crespo moved closer, hand on his weapon. "The Veil is weakening faster than predicted. You promised solutions, not riddles."

"There's always a solution." Corbin gestured to a steel door at the rear of the laboratory. "But some knowledge comes with a price."

The door led to a narrow staircase, descending into darkness. Corbin led them down, Black Chord lending him unnatural strength despite his deteriorating condition. At the bottom, he activated a series of brass lamps that illuminated a circular chamber.

The walls were covered in murals—intricate paintings depicting robed figures merging into a swirling vortex. The Eclipse loomed above them, a spiral of darkness consuming a city. Below, common people transformed into Hollowed creatures, their bodies warping into monstrous forms.

"The original sacrifice," Corbin explained. "When the first alchemists created the Veil to protect us from the Eclipse."

Alden approached the mural, drawn to details that seemed to shift under his gaze. "Why would they sacrifice themselves to create a barrier that's now failing?"

"Because it was never meant to be permanent." Corbin's glass eye gleamed in the lamplight. "The Veil was a delay, not a solution. They knew the Eclipse would eventually break through."

Alden's hand reached out, touching the painted surface. The moment his fingers contacted the mural, visions flooded his mind—memories not his own. Alchemists chanting as they dissolved into the Veil. Their souls becoming the barrier between worlds. The Eclipse watching, patient and ancient, as reality buckled under its presence.

When the visions cleared, Alden noticed something he'd missed before. The Eclipse in the mural had an eye—a glass eye identical to his own.

"The Veil is made of people," Alden whispered, pulling his hand away.

"And it hungers for more," Corbin replied. "The Eclipse doesn't want to destroy our world, Alden. It wants to merge with it. To become one reality instead of two."

Crespo's voice cut through the chamber. "And you're helping it."

Corbin's laugh echoed against the stone walls. "We're all helping it. Every dose of Bloodsong feeds its influence. Every Rotstorm widens the cracks." He turned to Alden. "Your brother understood. That's why he had to die."

Alden's vision tunneled, rage building like pressure behind his glass eye. "You killed Elias?"

"I saved him from what's coming." Corbin's face softened momentarily. "The same mercy I showed my own family when the truth became clear." He gestured to another part of the mural, where a female figure led what appeared to be Hollowed in a circular dance. "Serafina understands. The Eclipse offers painless transformation. Fighting only makes the change more... agonizing."

The name triggered something in Alden's memory. "Serafina. The Dissident leader?"

"My daughter," Corbin corrected. "And the Eclipse's most devoted prophet."

The chamber suddenly shuddered, dust raining from the ceiling. Somewhere above, an alarm began to wail.

Crespo drew his weapon. "We need to leave. Now."

Corbin made no move to follow as they rushed toward the stairs. "Run if you must," he called after them. "But remember—the Eclipse sees through your eyes now, Alden. Through all our eyes."

As Alden ascended the stairs, the mural's glass eye seemed to follow his movement, watching with patient hunger.