The air in the Zenith Exchange was thick with the scent of abandoned merchandise and desperation. The Exchange, a sprawling, multi-tiered hub near the city's silent docks, was a fortress of forgotten, complex architecture. Lyra had chosen well; the building's structure and dead energy signatures offered a brief invisibility from Seraphiel's sweeping surveillance.
The Saint rested against a concrete pillar, the massive strength of his body now masking the profound spiritual fatigue. His core was stabilised—fully charged, terrifyingly potent—but the fissures remained. The next major blow, the next large expense of grace, could be the last.
He was the Executioner, armed with Sanctus and the stolen knowledge, but he was tethered to a mortal woman whose touch both saved and damned him.
Lyra worked with methodical efficiency, setting up their temporary command centre among the draped cargo netting. Her focus was absolute on the salvaged equipment: the celestial comms unit and the data module containing the Cathedra's black ledger. She was the anchor in this storm of divine violence, and he relied on her more than he dared admit.
"They're not just looking for us," Lyra reported, her voice low, her eyes scanning the cryptic data. "The moment we breached the Annexe and you unleashed that... Wave... Seraphiel escalated. We are no longer a localised threat."
She projected a small, shifting map from the comms unit. Clusters of red and white light—Cathedra patrol signatures and surveillance sweeps—were converging on the entire eastern sector of the city.
"It's a network attack," she continued, tapping the screen. "They're calling it the Veritas Protocol. It's not just a physical search. It's a city-wide spiritual sweep, using a high-frequency filter designed to snare any anomaly with an un-sanctified celestial signature. That's you, Azael. And that's the Fragment inside me."
The Saint stepped forward, leaning over the data, the hood of the duster shadowing his intense gaze. Veritas. The word tasted like betrayal. His brother's sword—a rapier of pure celestial light, capable of severing a soul from its body—was an executioner's tool, one he had designed.
"The Protocol needs a focal point," the Saint stated, running a finger over the pulsing red zone. "A powerful anchor to maintain a field that vast."
Lyra's finger landed on a single, strong signature at the centre of the growing Protocol zone. "The leader of the Archon Squad. He survived your blast."
"He did more than survive," the Saint corrected, his voice hardening. "He has been given a piece of Seraphiel's grace. He is wielding the blade."
Lyra looked at him, comprehension dawning. "The Archon leader is now carrying Veritas. Seraphiel wants this personally. He's sending your opposite—the instrument of his 'pure' truth—to hunt you."
The threat was immense. The Archon leader, powered by Seraphiel and armed with the one weapon designed to counter his own, was a focused, lethal extension of Heaven's malice.
The Saint felt the familiar, crushing weight of his damnation. He had been so focused on the fight, he had neglected his mortal needs. The energy cells were holding the core, but the raw exertion had left him physically depleted.
He turned away from the light, cradling his head against the cold pillar. The silence stretched between them, thick with the burden of unaddressed pain.
Lyra, ever observant, pushed the data aside. She walked over to him, her movements measured.
"You need to rest," she said, her voice gentle, but firm. "The core is stable, but the cost was brutal. You are only human right now, Azael."
He shook his head, refusing the vulnerability. "There is no time. The Protocol begins at dawn. I need to plan the counter-strike."
Lyra didn't argue. She simply raised her hand and placed it on his back, resting it against the broad, weary expanse of muscle.
The dual shock hit him immediately—the white-hot pain of the Forbidden Love, followed by the deep, resonant thrum of stabilisation. It was a violent, necessary intimacy.
The Saint closed his eyes, his resistance melting away into a profound, aching relief. He leaned into her touch, allowing the small, mortal woman to shoulder the weight of his endless war.
This is the true cost, he realised, not just the breaking of his core, but the forced acknowledgement of his absolute need for her. He needed her to live, to be whole, to be anchored to this flawed, beautiful reality he had fought so hard to save.
"Seraphiel will not stop," the Saint whispered, the words choked with the admission of his fear. "He will send everything. And the Black Cardinal is still out there, waiting for us to fail."
Lyra tightened her grip, her touch possessive and fierce. "Then we don't fail. The ledger we stole—it's gold. Seraphiel has contingency sites, supply drops, and communication jammers outside the city limits. We can't fight the Protocol head-on, but we can disrupt the focal point."
She pulled back, her eyes shining with adrenaline and cold calculation. "The Archon leader is now an analogue for Seraphiel. He's radiating a strong, unique signal through the comms unit. We use the stolen unit to broadcast a false location—a high-value lure—then ambush the Archon leader and take Veritas."
The plan was reckless, brilliant, and dependent entirely on Lyra's ability to manipulate divine technology. It was a direct declaration of war against the highest authority in the city.
The Saint looked at her, at the mortal woman who had just faced down an Archon Squad and proposed an assassination attempt on the wielder of Veritas. She was his mirror image—a killer of systems, driven by an absolute refusal to be controlled.
He reached out and placed his scarred hand over hers, sealing a silent, mutual pact.
"We lure the Archon leader out of the Protocol zone," the Saint affirmed, his voice now strong, the pain momentarily subdued. "And I will take back what my brother stole. You will navigate the trap, Lyra. And I will execute the Judgment."
The first phase of the war was over. The alliance was sealed, and the counter-strike was planned. They were bound by the shadow of the Veritas Protocol, ready to face the full, unyielding fury of Heaven together.