The rooftop groaned under his landing.
Tiles cracked. Dust puffed up in little clouds. Lucen stood still, letting the night breathe around him.
He hadn't meant to hit that hard.
His boots left small craters beneath him.
"It's getting worse…" he muttered.
He looked down.
His veins pulsed with emberlight, weaving gold-red under his skin like rivers on fire. Just behind his shoulder, a faint halo shimmered in and out of existence—never stable, never still.
Below, a scream cut the silence.
A mugger ran down the alley, clutching a torn purse. Lucen moved.
He didn't jump.
He teleported.
One moment he was on the roof.
The next—he was in front of the mugger.
The man froze mid-blink. Shock hadn't even caught up to his heartbeat yet.
Lucen's voice was low.
"Drop it."
The mugger didn't listen.
He stabbed.
Lucen didn't move. The blade struck his side and bent like it had hit stone.
"You missed your only chance," Lucen said, eyes beginning to glow.
He raised his hand. The mugger rose with it, limbs flailing in the air. Panic filled his scream.
Energy spiraled around Lucen's fingers—telekinesis thick and hot like steam rising from fire.
Then—nothing.
Lucen exhaled and slowly lowered the man.
He stared at his own hands like they didn't belong to him.
Scarne's workshop was lit by flickering lamps and the occasional spark of metal meeting metal.
Lucen struck the reinforced wall.
A hole blew straight through it.
Dust settled as Scarne stepped in, arms crossed.
"You're not fighting to win anymore, are you?"
Lucen wiped the sweat off his face. His breath came heavy.
"I'm fighting to not burn through everything."
Scarne's voice dropped.
"They're feeding you."
Lucen looked up.
"Someone's worshipping the version of you that burned the city."
Lucen stared at the cracked wall.
"Then I need to find them," he said. "Before that version finds me."
The city was changing.
Slowly. Quietly.
Flyers showed up on street corners—inked in red and gold, burned around the edges. Some bore the silhouette of a figure walking through flame. Some had words.
LUCEN THE REDEEMER. FIRE CLEANSES. POWER JUDGES.
Graffiti spread like infection. On walls. On school buildings. Even on churches.
People whispered in alleyways.
The cult wasn't just growing.
It was converting.
The fire in his dream didn't burn.
It consumed.
Lucen stood at its center, naked from the waist up. His skin blackened, not from ash—but from change. It hardened into obsidian, cracked with light. Two more arms split from his sides with the sound of ripping bone.
Then came the voice—from deep inside his chest.
"You were meant to lead."
It wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
"This world is a forest of rot," it whispered. "Only fire can make it pure."
Lucen gasped awake.
His sheets were damp with sweat.
The wooden floor around his bed was scorched in a perfect circle.
His eyes still glowed silver.
The docks were chaos.
Lucen hovered above it—silent, watching two gangs about to tear each other apart. Smoke curled into the night from nearby barrels. Guns cocked. Yelling blurred into violence.
Lucen raised both arms.
"Stop."
No one did.
The shots came anyway.
His body moved before his mind did.
Light burst from him like a tidal wave.
Fire rippled in rings. The sound cracked like lightning. Men flew back as if gravity had turned inside out. One landed wrong. The sound of his neck snapping was louder than the gunfire.
Lucen's breath caught.
He dropped to his knees.
"No… no, no, no—"
And he vanished.
The temple was still waiting.
Beneath the streets, candles flickered in ancient patterns. The Cult Leader stood near the altar, watching a flame swirl inside the statue's chest.
Behind him, hidden by shadow, someone listened.
"He resists," the Cult Leader said, grinning. "But the cracks are showing."
A voice, smooth as glass, answered from the dark.
"He will come home."
There was a pause.
"Even light casts a shadow."
Satan smiled.
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END OF CHAPTER 15
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Next: Chapter 16 – "Temptations of Power"