Ethan used the last of his immediate spiritual reserve to execute a controlled Gatewalk, tearing a rift in the subterranean tunnel's reality and stepping into Lucien's designated sanctuary.
It wasn't a temple or a castle, but an executive suite in a dead tower, insulated from the rest of the city by spiritual wards and cold, deliberate geometry. The space was utterly silent, clean, and cold—the embodiment of Infernal Order.
Ethan was exhausted, the power drain from the battle and the subsequent Gatewalk pulling him close to the dangerous spiritual lull. Yet, the sigil throbbed with a terrifying new energy: the unstable, chaotic light of the bound Anima.
Lucien was waiting, seated behind a sleek, black obsidian desk. He did not smile.
"You are late, Emissary," Lucien observed, his voice smooth and cold. "And you reek of unauthorised sentiment."
Ethan ignored the critique. He walked forward, bracing his body against the sudden drain. He slammed his hand onto the desk, allowing the sigil to blaze with the contained golden white light of the chaotic soul.
"The Anima," Ethan stated, his voice flat. "Secured. Contained. Payment."
Lucien leaned forward, his perfect, cruel face registering a flicker of professional satisfaction. He extended a pale hand, placing it delicately on the desk near Ethan's; the contact was a chilling drain. A thin, silvery tendril of shadow slipped from Lucien's sleeve, touching the sigil.
The Anima was instantly, violently pulled from Ethan's core and into an internal spiritual dimension controlled by Lucien. The sudden release of power was dizzying, leaving Ethan weak but immediately clearer-headed.
"A satisfactory result, despite your reckless method," Lucien conceded. He looked directly into Ethan's eyes, the gold rings a perfect reflection of his displeasure. "However. You left the Angel alive. Unharmed. You even spoke to her."
"She is compromised," Ethan argued, straightening his spine. "She knows the truth of the mark now. She will be less effective as an Enforcer."
Lucien laughed, a sharp, humourless sound that echoed off the glass walls. "A poetic fiction, Emissary. She is an Enforcer. Your mercy is merely confusion, and confusion will be purged. Your self-sacrifice was the genesis of her power, and your sentimentality will be the cause of your failure." He stood, gliding around the desk. "Let me be explicit. Failure means a swift return to the void. And I will simply reclaim the spark of life."
Lucien snapped his fingers. The air shimmered, and a structure of pure, swirling shadow energy appeared above the desk—a complex, nine-tiered spiritual device that resembled a massive, segmented abacus.
"Your service is not a single retrieval, Ethan. It is a ledger," Lucien stated, his tone transactional. "The spark of life, the soul fire that sustains you, is highly prized. The payment requires thirteen high-value souls to balance the cosmic ledger."
He tapped the shadow abacus. The first bead, representing the Anima, instantly solidified into a dull, captured golden light.
"One down, twelve to go," Lucien said, his eyes drilling into Ethan's. "Do not confuse your duties with conscience. Do not endanger my investment. Complete the ledger, or return to the silence."
The weight of the number—twelve more—was suffocating. Ethan was not merely an agent; he was a slave to a colossal debt, with only his own damnation to offer as collateral.
Lucien moved to the wall, where the captured Anima was sealed into a containment field. The orb of light was still violently unstable, thrashing against the dark geometry of the infernal ward.
Suddenly, the containment field buckled. A crack appeared in the spiritual geometry, and a fraction of the Anima's energy—the raw, unstable chaos of its reality warping ability—was ejected, piercing the ward and slamming back into the immediate spiritual vacuum of Ethan's core.
The surge was agonizingly hot, mixing violently with the ordered Gluttony energy that preferred systematic absorption.
Ethan gasped, clutching his head as the world momentarily shivered.
On the obsidian desk, a pen that Lucien had used vanished, reappearing three feet away, stuck point-first into the wall. A sliver of shadow detaching from the wall stretched and took the vague, temporary shape of a small, frightened bird before dissolving.
Ethan's new power had manifested. The spontaneous, localised reality alterations—the very anomaly he was sent to neutralise—were now a chaotic, uncontrollable byproduct of his own core.
Lucien frowned, a sliver of annoyance replacing his indifference. "A complication. The cost of dealing with unstable variables. Consider it an unfortunate gift, Emissary. You are now the host of your own small, pointless anomalies."
The pressure on Ethan's mind lifted. The audience was over.
Ethan staggered back from the desk, his body shaking not from fear, but from the terrifying, unpredictable energy now fizzing in his veins. He had satisfied his master, but he had inherited a new, volatile instability.
He was a weapon, forged from Wrath and Gluttony, now infused with the chaos of reality warping. He was one step closer to freedom, but one step closer to becoming a monster that could unravel the very world he walked in.
He had a dozen hunts left, two relentless hunters on his trail, and now, the unpredictable, destructive power of the very miracle he had just captured. He was the point of ultimate disorder, trapped in a quest for cold, infernal order.