Chapter 8 - Chapter 8: The Pit of Echoes

The chanting grew heavier, vibrating against the walls of the broken subway like the heartbeat of something monstrous, and Lucien stood at the edge of the shadows watching the cloaked figures sway in rhythm, their hands raised as if pulling invisible strings from the molten pit below. The shards floating within the pit pulsed with sickly light, beating like stars on the verge of collapse, each one calling out to the two shards in his pouch with a hunger so strong he could feel it in his bones. The girl pressed close beside him, her breath shallow, her blade trembling faintly though not from fear but from the unbearable energy thrumming in the air. "They're feeding it," she whispered, her fiery eyes reflecting the glow. "Not summoning… feeding." Lucien's jaw tightened, silver eyes narrowing as he followed the rise and fall of the cloaked figure in the center, the leader whose voice wove the chant like a net. He recognized the cadence—it was old, older than the city, older than human tongues. The kind of rhythm meant to break down barriers between worlds. "If they finish," he muttered, his voice low and sharp, "this whole city is gone." The girl tilted her head toward him, lips curving into the faintest grin despite the suffocating dread in the air. "Guess we're not letting them finish then, are we?" She moved before he could stop her, a flash of reckless fire slipping out of the shadows, her blade igniting with silver light as she cut down the first kneeling cultist with a single swift stroke. The chant shattered instantly into screams. Lucien cursed under his breath and surged forward, twin pistols blazing, bullets tearing through hoods and flesh with merciless precision. The chamber erupted into chaos—robes scattering, voices shrieking, the glow of the pit flaring higher as if angered by the interruption. The leader did not move, did not flinch, only raised one hand as if swatting away insects, and the ground shook violently. From the walls, shapes clawed their way free—demons not of flesh but of molten shard-light, their bodies crystalline and jagged, eyes burning red as if forged from the pit itself. The girl spun, striking one down in a shower of sparks, but another leapt past her, forcing Lucien to roll aside as it slashed where he stood. His pistols roared, bullets embedding into crystal flesh, exploding into cracks of silver fire, but the creatures kept coming, relentless. "Lucien!" she shouted, hurling her blade through the air. He caught it one-handed, slicing through two demons before returning fire with his free hand, the fluidity of his movements so sharp it looked like a dance of death. Their synergy was instinctive, unspoken, each covering the other's blind spots without hesitation, but still the swarm pressed closer, driven not by rage but by command. The leader's voice rose again, louder, darker, words like knives stabbing at the edges of Lucien's mind. He gritted his teeth, but the shards in his pouch throbbed violently, their whispers screaming in unison as if answering the call. His knees buckled for a split second under the weight of it, and the girl's hand shot out to steady him, fiery eyes wide with something more than worry. "It's the shards—they're trying to use you as a conduit!" Lucien pushed her hand away, forcing himself upright, cold determination hardening in his gaze. "Then let them try." He tore the pouch open, pulling one shard into his bare hand. The instant his skin touched it, the world screamed. The molten pit erupted like a volcano, shards spiraling upward in a storm of red light. The leader's chant faltered for the first time, a note of surprise breaking the rhythm, and every demon in the chamber froze, their red eyes turning toward Lucien. The girl gasped, her blade sparking as she stepped closer. "You idiot—you'll burn yourself alive!" But Lucien only smirked through the strain, silver eyes glowing faintly now as the shard bled its light into him. "Better me than the city." With a roar, he drove the shard into the ground. The explosion was instant—light searing, shards shattering, demons crumbling into dust as the chamber convulsed under the impact. The chanting collapsed into panicked cries, cloaked figures scrambling, but Lucien and the girl stood at the center of the storm, their silhouettes carved against the violent glow. When the light faded, the pit was fractured, the shard-storm dissipated, and silence reigned again. The leader was gone, vanished into the smoke, leaving only the faint echo of his voice lingering like a curse. Lucien staggered, dropping to one knee, his breath ragged, his hand still glowing faintly from the shard's touch. The girl knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder with uncharacteristic seriousness, her smirk gone. "You can't keep doing that. Whatever you just tapped into—it's not power, it's poison." He looked up at her, his silver eyes dim but unbroken, and managed a small, grim smile. "Maybe both." She held his gaze for a long moment, fire meeting steel, until finally she let out a slow breath and helped him to his feet. "Fine," she muttered, half to herself, "then I guess I'll just have to make sure you don't kill yourself before this is over." He chuckled weakly, adjusting his coat as he turned away from the fractured pit. "You talk like you're planning to stay." Her lips curled into that familiar teasing grin again, but softer this time, almost warm. "Guess I am." And though the city above still bled under the weight of shadows, for the first time in a long time, Lucien felt the faintest glimmer of something he hadn't known in years—hope mixed with danger, a bond forged in fire and blood.