The cathedral was silent again.
Ash drifted through the broken windows like falling snow. The bodies of the cultists lay twisted across the marble floor, their blood sliding toward the altar as if it had a will of its own.
Isaac stood among them, unmoving.
The comm had gone quiet minutes ago. Only the sound of rain tapping against stone filled the air.
He wiped his blade clean on a tattered cloak. The steel pulsed faintly — the Blade of Hollow Echoes never truly slept. Every life it took left a whisper behind, trapped in the metal.
He glanced at the altar. The sigil there still flickered weakly, drawn in blood and desperation.
"You people never learn," he muttered, voice flat.
He turned to leave. Then something caught his eye.
The blood pooling at his boots reflected a faint shimmer — his own face staring back at him through the crimson.
For a second, it blinked.
He hadn't.
Isaac crouched slowly, eyes narrowing behind the blindfold. His reflection tilted its head, lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"I thought we agreed," the voice said. It came from the reflection, cold and calm, his tone but sharper. "No hesitation."
Isaac said nothing.
"You keep pretending the killing means nothing," the reflection continued. "But I see the way your hand shakes afterward."
He didn't answer. The rain hissed outside the ruined walls. The reflection leaned closer, its voice softening to a whisper.
"How long will you keep lying to yourself?"
Isaac's fingers brushed the hilt of his sword. "Until the job's done."
The reflection smiled wider — cracked, hollow, familiar.
"Then it'll never be done."
A single drop of rain fell from the ceiling, shattering the reflection into ripples. When it cleared, the blood was still. Silent.
Isaac exhaled once — a habit, not relief — and rose to his feet.
The Blade of Hollow Echoes hummed faintly on his back, almost like laughter.
He stepped into the rain. It hissed against his coat but never touched him, turning to steam before reaching his skin. The storm had thickened — black clouds coiling over the ruined city.
He tapped his comm again. Static. Then a voice broke through, distant and clipped.
"Unit Seven, confirm location."
"Still in Sector C. Cult nest cleared."
"Acknowledged. Report to the Skywall immediately. You're meeting your new assignment."
He didn't bother asking who. He already knew the name. It echoed in his head, cutting through the static like a blade of light.
Lucien Arclight.
Isaac's jaw tightened. He turned toward the storm and began to walk.
The city whispered as he passed — every shadow bending away from him.
And behind his blindfold, something in the dark stirred and laughed softly.