Wolfgang and his two companions moved through the corridors of Elysian-Vault-7 like three phantoms, trailing the scents of blood and rain. The killing outside had ceased, leaving behind only the low hum of residual energy and a suffocating silence. The air was a disturbing cocktail—the lingering acrid tang of discharged power, a faint coppery hint of blood, all undercut by the facility's own sterile smells of cold metal and antiseptic.
They passed Balthasar's team near the entrance to the core sector, at the site of the grotesque "energy extraction." Wolfgang didn't grant Balthasar so much as a glance, but the tight line of his lips and the hardening of his jaw spoke volumes of his contained disgust. His military boots struck the polished, non-reflective floor with sharp, solitary echoes that seemed abnormally loud in the overwhelming quiet.
The three of them moved through one heavy bulkhead after another, each sliding open and shut with a hushed hiss. The deeper they went, the colder the air became, as if frozen by the pervasive, icy will of the Inquisitorial Tribunal.
Finally, in the last corridor leading to the innermost research chamber, their path was blocked.
Several figures detached themselves from the shadows of the walls, barring the way without a sound—Umbral-Walkers of the Tribunal. They were encased in specialized matte-black armor, their faces hidden behind expressionless metal masks. Where their eyes should have been were only dark lenses that reflected no light. Their light-devouring short-blades remained sheathed, yet their mere presence seemed to leech all warmth and life from the corridor. A cold, implacable will to deny passage pressed physically against the newcomers.
The lead Walker's voice emerged from behind the mask—a flat, processed synth-tone like rusted metal grinding.
"Instructor Wolfgang. Your presence is no longer required. This facility, all specimens within, and all research data are now under the sole jurisdiction of the Inquisitorial Tribunal. You will withdraw immediately."
The air crystallized.
The tall priestess's knuckles whitened where she gripped her weapon, her entire form a drawn bowstring. Kaelen narrowed his ever-mocking eyes; the usual levity vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating alertness as he shifted his weight almost imperceptibly to cover a potential angle of attack.
Wolfgang halted. He did not look at the Walkers—he treated them as obstructions, not people. His deep, penetrating gaze locked onto the sealed research chamber beyond—a reinforced alloy bulkhead etched with countless binding sigils. The muscles in his face tightened, his jawline sharp as a blade.
For a heartbeat, a name rose in his throat—her name.He strangled it, killing it before it could escape.
What emerged instead was cold, precise, and officially sanctioned—an emotionless term used like a weapon:
"…Ceci—"A tiny catch, a fracture in the ice."…What is the specimen's condition?"
He challenged nothing about the takeover, nothing about authority.His focus—unnervingly narrow, almost obsessive—was directed solely at the being sealed behind that door.
The lead Walker's lenses lingered on him for a moment longer, assessing.
"Vital signs: stabilized," the Walker recited mechanically."All anomalous energy signatures neutralized. The threat has been eliminated in accordance with Tribunal protocols."
"Eliminated?" Wolfgang's voice dropped into a low, contained growl—a predator's warning rumble vibrating beneath the sterile lights.
"Grand Cleric Hongbo's explicit command was eradication.Define your elimination.I require confirmation the threat is gone."
He stepped forward half a pace. The immense, battlefield-honed pressure radiating from him surged like a physical wave, causing the nearest Walkers' postures to hitch—almost imperceptibly, but enough.
The Walker did not waver.
"Our mandate is to ensure the threat poses no further risk to the Sanctum or its order," he replied, tone impenetrable."The methodology and criteria fall strictly under Tribunal jurisdiction. We are not required to report them to an Instructor. Withdraw your team. Further unauthorized presence will be construed as a direct challenge to the Tribunal's authority."
Absolute. Unyielding.
Wolfgang stood unmoving—a volcano sealed beneath absolute zero.
He sensed his companions' tension behind him, and beyond the door he could feel the Tribunal's cold power saturating the chamber. Any further insistence would be futile… or catastrophic. A direct clash with the Tribunal was something even fanatics whispered about only in caution.
He drew in a slow, controlled breath.
His eyes burned one final, silent, desperate line into the sealed sigils—as if he could pierce metal and light to see the truth of the one trapped behind it.
Then he turned sharply.
The white sleeve of his robe cut a decisive arc through the air. The dark, half-dried blood at its hem glared under the corridor's lights like an accusation—like a wound still open.
"We're leaving."
His voice carried its usual coldness, but beneath it ran a deeply suppressed force that made even Kaelen straighten and nod without a trace of mockery.
The three retreated in silence, their steps steady but heavy with unspoken weight. They left the shadow-drenched sector—and the "specimen" swallowed by the Tribunal's unknown verdict—to the merciless cold of higher authority.
The corridor absorbed the fading echoes of their steps until nothing remained.
Behind the sealed door lingered only silence.A silence more unnerving than any scream.
Deep within the Sanctum, in a brightly lit yet oppressively tense chamber, the voice of High Priest Hongbo resonated—calm, emotionless, yet heavy with power.
"Regarding the additional resources expended on the 'Deathbird' matter… and the subsequent disposition… what are your thoughts?"
A brief silence. Then an aged, calculating voice ventured:"The 'Second Angel' that manifested so unexpectedly last time… the individual in question… could it be… the one we have been observing—"
Before he could finish, a more eager voice cut in, tinged with acquisitive excitement:"The other city-sanctuaries have moved in sync. It is indeed… a fortunate windfall. After all, it is the only living specimen currently—"
Another voice, hesitant, almost pitying, tried to redirect:"And… what of the child? Was this latest… 'integration'… not too severe?"
Hongbo seemed to frown faintly, displeased by the digression.His tone cooled, decisive and final.
"Confirmed heretics… transfer them directly to the Penance Spire. Let nothing go to waste."
The words carried clearly to just outside the chamber door.
There, the elderly sister responsible for little Anna's instruction knelt trembling on the cold floor, head bowed. She had not meant to eavesdrop—merely awaited summons—but had overheard these soul-freezing fragments.
"Second Angel.""Only living specimen.""The child.""Penance Spire."
Each word was ice driven into her pious faith and maternal compassion.She felt with dreadful certainty that the "heretics" and "the child" being discussed were inextricably linked to Anna—the girl who had passed her trial in such an unusual manner, her spirit still pure as untrammeled snow.
She dared not move. Barely dared to breathe. The cold of the stone seeped through her bones.
The chamber door slid open without a sound.
A shadow fell over her. A high-ranking cleric looked down dispassionately at the shuddering sister. Hongbo's voice—still devoid of inflection—fell upon her ears like a final verdict:
"As you have heard… the task of guiding her to 'voluntarily' seek conversion in the Penance Spire falls to you. It is for the purity and stability of the Sanctum."
The sister flinched violently, as if struck by an invisible lash.Her body nearly collapsed entirely.
She knew, then.Not only could she not protect her student—she was to become the very instrument delivering her into that rumored forge from which none returned.