The first week at Grimsby Manor established a routine that was both terrifying and oddly domestic.
Mornings began with Celeste detonating small explosions in the East Wing (now dubbed "The Science Wing") as she tested the void staff's resonance.
Afternoons involved Lyanna running defensive drills in the courtyard, forcing Ravi to "train" with the Widowmaker—which mostly consisted of him pretending the 200-pound weapon was heavy while accidentally chopping practice dummies in half with the blunt end.
Evenings were the best part. They sat in the great hall, a fire roaring, eating whatever strange but edible concoction Ravi cooked. (It turned out his immense strength made him excellent at kneading dough, but terrible at cracking eggs without obliterating the shell into powder).
But beneath the domesticity, tension coiled like a spring.
Ravi stood on the cliff edge behind the manor, watching the turbulent gray ocean. The salt spray felt like rain.
"brooding doesn't suit you," Lyanna said, joining him. The wind whipped her silver hair around her face. "Leave the brooding to me. It's part of the tragic backstory package."
"Not brooding," Ravi corrected. "Scanning. Aurelia's little visit wasn't just a sales pitch. The Templars have been patrolling the perimeter. Keeping us 'safe'."
"Spying," Lyanna scoffed. "She's gathering data. Assessing risk."
"She's scared," Ravi said. "Malachai terrified them 300 years ago. The idea of him coming back... it shakes their foundation."
"And the idea of him possessing you shakes mine," she whispered, looking out at the water. "If he takes you... I'd have to kill you, Ravi. Or try to."
"You could try," Ravi smiled gently. "I'm notoriously hard to kill."
"Don't joke," she grabbed his arm, hard. Her eyes were fierce. "I couldn't do it. I know I couldn't."
The vulnerability caught him off guard. Lyanna, the Unbreakable Princess, admitting defeat before the battle even started.
"Then I won't let it happen," he promised.
A scream from the manor shattered the moment. It was Celeste.
They sprinted back. The sound came from the library, not the lab. They burst through the doors.
Celeste wasn't hurt. She was standing by the large enchanted map table she'd brought from the academy, her face pale as parchment. The map, usually a topographical display of the Kingdom, was covered in pulsing red lights.
"We have a problem," she said, her voice trembling. "A big one."
"Invasion?" Lyanna asked, hand on sword.
"Worse. Infiltration. Look." She pointed at the glowing dots. "These are Void resonance signatures. I recalibrated the Grimshaw staff to act as a localized radar. I thought I'd find maybe one or two latent cultist cells."
The map looked like it had chickenpox. Dozens of red dots cluttered the capital city, Aethelgard. And not just in the slums. In the merchant district. The noble quarter.
"There are hundreds," Celeste whispered. "Sleeper agents. They've been embedded for years. Grimshaw wasn't the leader; he was just the political face."
"The real infection runs deeper," Ravi muttered. "Malachai has an army inside the walls."
"And here," Celeste pointed to a large cluster of dots moving rapidly towards the eastern gate—towards Grimsby Manor. "They're mobilizing."
"They're coming here," Lyanna realized. "An assault force."
"Thirty signatures," Celeste counted. "And one... huge one."
Ravi leaned in. A massive purple blotch was moving with the smaller dots. "Another golem?"
"No," Celeste shook her head. "Too organic. Too messy. That signal matches historical records of... a Blood Abomination. A construct made of flesh sacrifices."
"Lovely," Ravi sighed. "They upgraded from metal to meat."
The gong at the gate sounded. But it wasn't the polite ring of the Church. It was a single, shattered clang as the heavy iron gates were ripped off their hinges.
"They're early," Ravi noted.
They ran to the front courtyard.
The assault force poured through the ruined gate. Cultists, yes, but armored ones this time. They wore black plate mail etched with void runes. Elites.
And in the center of their formation lumbered a nightmare.
It stood fifteen feet tall, a hulking mass of stitched-together muscle, extra limbs, and weeping sores. It had no head, just a gaping vertical maw in its chest lined with serrated bone. It radiated a smell that made even the battle-hardened Lyanna gag.
"The Blood Abomination," Celeste choked out. "Regenerative capabilities are near infinite. You have to destroy every cell to stop it."
Standing atop the wall was a figure wrapped in bandages and chains—the shadow Ravi had sensed the night before.
"The Vessel is home!" the bandaged figure rasped. It was a Dread Lord. Or a General. Something bad. "Submit, Vessel! Let the Master in!"
"Not on the first date," Ravi called back. "And you owe me a new gate!"
"Kill the women!" the General ordered. "Subdue the Vessel!"
The Elite Cultists charged.
"Defensive formation!" Lyanna shouted.
"No," Ravi stepped forward. He stabbed the Widowmaker into the ground. He cracked his knuckles.
"This is my house," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "And I just swept the floors."
He didn't wait for them. He charged.
But this time, he didn't hold back to "F-Rank" levels. He was "E-Rank" now. And he was pissed.
He met the first line of armored cultists like a bowling ball hitting pins. He didn't use a weapon. He shoulder-checked the lead tank.
The cultist flew backward so fast he became a projectile, knocking down three of his friends. Their "void-reinforced" armor crumpled like tin foil upon impact with Ravi's shoulder.
"Left flank!" Lyanna yelled, engaging two swordsmen with her usual silver grace. She was faster now, confident because she knew Ravi was watching her back.
Celeste stayed on the manor steps, unleashing torrents of fire and lightning. "Focus fire on the Abomination! It's regenerating!"
She hit the flesh-giant with a fireball. It scorched a massive hole in its side. But the flesh writhed and knitted back together in seconds. The monster roared—a wet, gurgling sound—and kept coming.
It ignored the women. It wanted Ravi.
The Abomination charged Ravi, swinging a fist the size of a hatchback car.
Ravi caught the fist.
With one hand.
His feet skidded back six inches, digging furrows in the gravel, but he stopped the charge dead. The impact shockwave blew the hoods off the nearby cultists.
The Abomination gurgled in confusion. Its meat-brain couldn't comprehend resistance.
"You're soft," Ravi observed. "Gross and soft."
He squeezed the massive fist. Bones—or whatever passed for bones in that thing—shattered with wet crunches. The monster shrieked.
Ravi didn't let go. He spun.
Using the monster's own fist as a handle, he lifted the fifteen-ton meat beast off the ground. He pivoted on his heel, using centrifugal force.
"Outgoing!"
He released the Abomination.
It flew through the air like a grotesque ragdoll, soaring over the courtyard wall and crashing into the squad of archers the Dread Lord was commanding.
Splattering sounds followed.
"Did... did he just throw a biological siege weapon?" Celeste asked, lowering her staff.
The Bandaged General stared from the wall. His purple eyes narrowed.
"Impressive," he hissed. "Physical strength beyond limits. But can you fight... yourself?"
He raised a black amulet. Void magic flared.
Ravi suddenly clutched his head. A spike of cold pain—not physical, but mental—stabbed into his brain. It wasn't an attack on his body. It was a connection.
I see you, Ravi.
The voice wasn't auditory. It echoed inside his skull. It was deep, ancient, and amused. Malachai.
So empty. So perfect. Let me in. Let me show you what we can break together.
Ravi staggered. His vision blurred. The world tilted.
"Ravi!" Lyanna screamed, cutting down a cultist to rush to him.
"Get... back..." Ravi gritted out. His hands were shaking. Not from fear. From fighting for control. His own muscles were twitching, trying to obey commands he wasn't giving.
Malachai wasn't possessing him yet. He was hacking the controls.
Your friends are fragile, the voice purred. Break them. It would be so easy. Just a little squeeze.
Ravi's right arm shot out, seemingly of its own accord. It grabbed Lyanna by the throat as she reached him.
Lyanna gasped, her feet lifting off the ground. His grip was iron. Unbreakable.
"Ravi?" she choked, her eyes wide with terror. "Ravi, it's me!"
Snap her neck, the voice whispered. End her suffering.
Ravi looked at her. He saw the fear. He felt the terrifying strength in his own hand, strength that could crush her windpipe in a millisecond.
"NO!" Ravi roared.
He didn't fight the hand holding her. He fought the arm itself. He used his left hand to grab his own right wrist. He pulled. He strained against his own impossible strength.
The muscles in his arms bulged, shirt ripping. The ground beneath him cracked from the tension. It was Titan vs. Titan, but both Titans were him.
"Let... her... GO!"
With a scream of effort, he wrenched his own hand open.
Lyanna dropped to the ground, gasping for air.
Ravi stumbled back, panting. He looked at his traitorous hand.
"Get out of my head!" he bellowed.
He focused. He remembered who he was. Not a Vessel. Not a Weakling. Ravi. The guy who hated pickles.
He slammed his mental barriers down. It was like slamming a door on a intruder's foot.
The connection severed. The cold presence vanished.
The Bandaged General hissed in pain on the wall, his amulet shattering. "He resisted?! The link is broken!"
Ravi looked up. His eyes were burning, but clear. He was furious.
"You tried to make me hurt her," he said quietly.
He picked up the Widowmaker.
He looked at the wall where the General stood, fifty feet away.
He didn't run. He threw the glaive.
It was a black lightning bolt. It crossed the distance instantly. The General tried to blink away, but he was too slow.
The Widowmaker impaled him, piercing his chest and pinning him to the stone battlement behind him.
The General gasped, black blood bubbling. He looked at the spear in his chest, then at Ravi.
"The... Master... is... coming..." he wheezed, before dissolving into black dust.
The remaining cultists, leaderless and their monster thrown into the ocean, routed. They fled into the night.
Ravi stood there, trembling. Not from exertion. From horror.
Lyanna was on the ground, rubbing her bruised neck. The red marks of his fingers were already forming.
He had almost killed her. He had been a puppet for five seconds, and in those five seconds, he had become the monster they feared.
"Lyanna," he stepped forward, hand outstretched.
She flinched. Just a tiny, instinctive flinch.
It broke his heart more than any blow ever could.
He pulled his hand back.
"I... I need to be alone," he choked out.
He turned and walked into the manor, leaving them in the silent courtyard. He didn't stop until he reached the cellar, barring the heavy iron door behind him.
He sat in the darkness, staring at his hands. The hands that could break the world. The hands that had almost broken his world.
Aurelia was right. He was dangerous. Not because of Malachai. But because if he lost control, even for a second, there was no one on this planet strong enough to stop him.