They chose the old cathedral of St. Eadric on the outskirts of the midland diocese—half-ruined, half-forgotten, its spire cracked but still standing like a broken finger pointing at heaven. The Church had abandoned it years ago after a fire; now only crows nested in the rafters and moonlight fell through missing roof tiles in pale shafts.
It was the perfect place for a trap.
The four vessels arrived just after midnight. Liora's shadows had cloaked their approach; no patrol had seen them cross the fields. Inside, the nave smelled of damp stone and old incense. Broken pews lay scattered like bones. The altar—cracked marble—still bore faint scorch marks from some long-ago exorcism.
Elias stood at the center of the crossing.
"We wait here," he said. "If he's watching—and he is—he'll come."
Elara leaned against a pillar, arms crossed. "You're sure about this? Pretending to take his deal?"
"No," Elias admitted. "But if we don't get inside Sanctum soon, the purge will finish what it started. We need to be close enough to strike."
Behemoth rumbled agreement from the shadows near the rood screen. "Stone waits. Stone breaks when ready."
Liora paced slowly, shadows trailing her like a hem. "I'll make the illusion perfect. He'll see what he wants to see—four vessels kneeling, ready to serve. One crack in the mask, though, and he'll know."
They did not have long to wait.
The air shimmered near the altar. Golden light bled through the cracks in reality itself. Then he stepped through—still wearing Lucian's body, but the boy walked differently now: straighter, surer, the bruises on his face already fading as though time bent around him.
Lucifer stopped ten paces from Elias.
"You reconsidered," he said. Not a question.
Elias met his gaze. "We want the same thing. The heavens opened. The one who banished you found. The game ended."
Lucifer's smile was small, almost fond. "Wise."
He gestured. Golden chains materialized—not binding, but offered—looping loosely around the wrists of Elara, Behemoth, and Liora. Illusory, harmless, but visible. A symbol of temporary alliance.
"Walk with me to Sanctum," he said. "The Prelates will welcome you as redeemed vessels. The people will see the miracle of your conversion. And when the gates are torn open…" His golden eyes flickered to Elias. "You will have your vengeance. I will have mine."
Elias nodded once.
They began the march north—Lucifer leading, the four vessels following at a measured distance. Liora's shadows softened the edges of the illusion; to any watcher, it would look as though the heretics had indeed bent the knee.
But inside the group, tension coiled tighter with every step.
Halfway through the second night, they stopped to rest in the shell of another abandoned chapel—this one smaller, more intimate. Stained glass still clung to some windows, throwing fractured colors across the floor.
Lucifer—Lucian—sat on the altar steps, head bowed as though praying. The others spread out, pretending to rest.
Elias approached him quietly.
"Tell me the truth," he said. "About Lucian. Is he still in there?"
Lucifer looked up. For a moment the golden mask slipped—just a flicker—and genuine weariness showed in the boy's eyes.
"He is," Lucifer answered softly. "Sleeping. Dreaming. He believes he serves the Light. He believes he is saving souls. I let him keep that comfort."
Elias's jaw tightened. "You're using him."
"I am keeping him alive," Lucifer corrected. "Without me, the Church would have burned him the moment his power manifested. With me, he is their greatest treasure."
Before Elias could reply, Liora's voice cut through the quiet—from the far end of the nave.
"Enough."
She stepped into a shaft of moonlight. Shadows boiled around her, thicker than before.
Lucifer rose slowly. "You were supposed to be resting, little liar."
Liora smiled—cold, sharp. "I don't rest when I smell a better lie."
Her shadows lashed out—not at Lucifer, but at Elias.
Thin black tendrils wrapped his arms, pinning them. Another coil tightened around his throat.
Elara surged forward. "Liora—!"
Behemoth moved to intercept, but golden chains—real now—snapped into existence, binding his wrists and ankles. He roared, stone cracking along his skin, but the chains held.
Lucifer sighed. "Belial. Always the opportunist."
Liora's storm-cloud eyes fixed on Elias.
"You're too soft," she said. "You'll never finish this. But I can. Give me Abaddon. Let me carry him. I'll do what you won't—burn it all."
Elias struggled against the shadows. "You swore—"
"I swore to follow the eldest," Liora hissed. "Not a boy who hesitates. Abaddon deserves a vessel who understands endings."
Lucifer watched with mild interest. "Fascinating. A coup within the coup."
Inside Elias, Abaddon laughed—low, rolling, dangerous.
She forgets, the demon murmured. I do not change vessels on a whim.
The sigil on Elias's chest flared—black light so intense it burned through Liora's shadows like paper. The tendrils recoiled, smoking.
Liora staggered back.
Elias stepped free. Black flames rose around him—not wild, but cold and absolute.
"You swore to me," he said quietly. "To us."
Liora's face twisted—anger, fear, betrayal.
"I swore to power," she spat. "Not weakness."
She raised both hands. Shadows surged upward—claws, wings, screaming mouths—aiming for Elias's heart.
Behemoth broke one chain with a surge of stone. Elara called water from the cracked font, sending it crashing into Liora's flank.
But Abaddon moved faster.
Black flames erupted—not outward, but inward—through Elias's veins, through his will. For one heartbeat Elias's eyes turned pure black.
The flames reached Liora before she could scream.
They did not burn her flesh.
They burned deeper.
Her shadows collapsed. She dropped to her knees, gasping, clutching her chest where her own mark now smoked.
Abaddon's voice rolled out of Elias's mouth—deep, final.
You serve. Or you are unmade.
Liora shuddered once.
Then her head bowed.
"I… serve."
The black flames retreated.
Elias staggered, breathing hard. His eyes returned to normal.
Lucifer clapped once—slow, mocking.
"Beautiful," he said. "Discipline restored. The alliance holds."
He turned away, wings flickering briefly into view.
"We continue to Sanctum. No more interruptions."
As he walked toward the door, Lucian's small voice broke through—just a whisper, barely audible.
"Eli… help me…"
Then it was gone.
Elias looked at Liora—still kneeling, head bowed, shadows limp around her.
Elara put a hand on his shoulder.
"We're running out of time," she said quietly.
Elias nodded.
The fractured alliance limped onward—toward the golden city, toward the saint who waited, toward the angel who watched.
And toward the moment when masks would finally fall.
End of Chapter 17