Chapter:9 The sleeper's mouth !!
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The air turned to iron.
Eli stood at the threshold of the ancient cathedral, the Sleeper pulsing behind him like a heartbeat echoing through the ruined stone. Before him, Lucien stood wrapped in the corrupted markings of the Marked Ones, their forms half-shadow, half-man—twisted by something far older than the Abyss.
> "You look scared," Lucien called across the clearing, voice hollow with power not his own. "You should be."
Eli didn't flinch.
> "I'm not scared of a puppet," he said, lifting his marked hand.
"Just wondering who's got their hand up your spine."
Lucien smiled.
But his eyes—those weren't Lucien's anymore.
> "You still think you're separate from us?" he asked, stepping forward, boots crunching over dead leaves and long-dried bones.
"You opened the Sleeper's Mouth. You wear the sigil. You're not opposing the darkness, Eli… you're delivering it."
The Hollow Ones around Eli hissed and shifted uneasily.
The cathedral behind him moaned—stone straining, whispering ancient names in languages that tasted like blood.
Eli's breath fogged. The sigil on his palm was burning now, no longer a passive mark but an invitation—and someone, or something, was answering.
Suddenly, Lucien raised his arm—and the Marked Ones surged forward.
The Hollow Ones screamed.
And the forest exploded into chaos.
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The first clash was primal—bones against shadow, scream against silence.
The Hollow Ones didn't fight like soldiers. They moved in jerks and spasms, unpredictable and rabid. But the Marked Ones were precision incarnate—controlled by something beyond flesh.
Eli ducked beneath a swipe from a creature with blades instead of fingers. He countered with a burst of energy from his palm, the sigil flaring and launching the monster back into a tree, which snapped in half on impact.
> "You're learning," the Sleeper whispered inside him.
"But not fast enough."
> "Shut up," Eli growled aloud, spinning to deflect another attack.
He was getting stronger. Faster. The longer the fight dragged on, the more the sigil fed him—reactions he hadn't trained for, strength he didn't earn.
But he felt something else too.
A cost.
With every enemy he felled, the fire inside him grew wilder. Unruly.
Unnatural.
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The Hollow Ones were being pushed back.
Lucien strode through the battle like a phantom, untouched. Every glance from him caused Hollow Ones to collapse, convulsing.
He was heading for the cathedral.
> "He wants the Sleeper," Eli realized. "He wants to wake it fully."
Eli turned, sprinting back toward the cathedral doors—but Lucien was already inside.
By the time Eli reached the altar, Lucien stood before the cocoon.
The veins of gold were pulsing faster. Stronger. The Sleeper was waking.
> "Stop!" Eli shouted.
Lucien turned, smiling like he'd won.
> "Why would I stop destiny?"
Then, without hesitation, he pressed his hand—also marked—against the cocoon.
Everything shattered.
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A sound like a world being torn inside out filled the cathedral.
Eli dropped to his knees, hands over his ears. His vision blurred, the world tilted—and then stopped.
When he opened his eyes…
The cocoon was gone.
In its place stood a figure—tall, cloaked in shadow, yet somehow glowing beneath. No face. Just presence. The Sleeper.
Lucien collapsed instantly, body steaming, the mark on his hand burned black.
The Sleeper turned toward Eli.
And smiled.
> "We are whole," it said. "You are the vessel. The others… were distractions."
Eli tried to rise, but gravity felt broken. His limbs didn't listen.
His mark pulsed in response to the Sleeper's presence like a loyal dog to its master.
> "You're… using me," Eli spat, forcing himself to stand.
The Sleeper tilted its head.
> "We are you. You were made to carry what others feared."
Eli's thoughts cracked. Memories—flashes—poured in. Dreams of red skies. Broken worlds. Battles he'd never fought. Names he didn't know, screamed in terror.
It wasn't the Sleeper showing him these things.
It was himself. From before. From always.
> "No," he whispered.
"I'm not your pawn."
The Sleeper stepped forward.
> "You are our Gate. The Mark proves it. The bond is sealed."
But then…
Something pulled back.
A resistance.
The Hollow Ones—those broken, failed Chosen—had entered the cathedral. Despite the pain. Despite the fear. Despite the Sleeper's presence.
They stood between Eli and the thing he was "destined" to become.
The child, the burned girl from earlier, stepped forward.
> "You can still choose," she whispered.
"We couldn't. But you can."
And in that moment—Eli did.
He turned the mark on his hand inward.
The sigil flared—bright gold, not red.
He screamed as fire exploded inside him.
> "If I'm the Gate," he shouted through the storm of light,
"Then I'm closing it!"
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The Sleeper screamed.
The cathedral cracked.
Reality twisted.
But Eli held on—forcing the mark to collapse. To seal. To turn the connection off.
The Sleeper began to break apart—its form flickering like shattered glass in moonlight.
Lucien writhed on the floor, shrieking, his own mark disintegrating into ash.
And then—
Silence.
The cathedral crumbled. The Sleeper was gone.
The sigil on Eli's hand… burned out.
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Outside, the night was still.
The Hollow Ones were gone—freed, or perhaps released.
Lucien lay unconscious.
Eli stood alone in the clearing, breathing hard, soaked in sweat and blood.
But the silence wasn't peaceful.
It was… waiting.
Something was still out there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Breathing.
Because while the Sleeper had been cast back…
The Gate was still open.
Inside him.
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