The Pale Choir's new sanctuary was not a hidden bunker but a complex, multi-layered spiritual fortification. Located in the forgotten sub levels of an old municipal reservoir, the space was warded with intricate anti-infernal geometry designed to confuse, not repel. It felt like a cage, but it was the only one that could possibly hold him and his secrets.
Elias moved with a quiet, efficient desperation. She had abandoned all pretence of worship; their alliance was purely professional, fueled by the imminent apocalypse.
"The good news," Elias reported, displaying a holographic map thick with energy readouts, "is that the Greed soul is secure in your ward. Lucien cannot reclaim it remotely. The bad news is the Tenebris Rift Engine is impossible to locate."
The four collected souls (Lust, Sloth, Pride, Greed) were acting as powerful dimensional anchors, twisting the fabric of spacetime around the Engine's true location. The resulting Concealment Ward was massive and nearly impenetrable to their limited senses.
"We hunt the fuel, then," Ethan said, his voice flat. He was still wrestling with the psychological debris of his last fight—the volatile mix of Wrath and the crushing apathy of Sloth—but the mission's urgency demanded immediate focus.
"We can't just bind them," Elias reminded him, her voice low. "If they aren't destroyed, Lucien will simply clean up the scattered fragments and reassemble the power. We need to annihilate the soul and reduce it to nothing."
They gathered around a projected schematic of a low-grade demonic soul—a simple blueprint for their dark science.
Wrath was destruction, but it always left a residual energy trace. Gluttony was consumption, but it integrated the sin into Ethan's core, which they couldn't afford. They needed a third element.
"The Reality Warping," Ethan stated, the realisation hitting him with the force of cold truth. "It negates physical laws. If I can combine the pure destructive force of Wrath with the negating chaos of the Reality Warping, I can create an instantaneous, localised void where the soul existed."
The danger was immense. The Reality Warping was his most unpredictable power. Directing it, even for a millisecond, would risk his own disintegration.
"It must be directed through the sigil," Elias calculated, pointing to the projection. "Focused, not flared. The Wrath provides the fire; the Warping provides the negation. It is the ultimate infernal anti-weapon. The Annihilation Protocol."
Ethan accepted the protocol with a grim nod. The method was dangerous, but necessary. He would be weaponising his own instability.
The Next Target
Ethan reviewed the files on the remaining nine souls. His choice had to be ruthlessly pragmatic. He was no longer trying to protect his humanity; he was trying to save the world.
"We need a test case," Elias offered. "A soul with low physical defence, high energy visibility, and minimal civilian risk."
Ethan pointed to the file labelled Lust (Second Circle). This soul was known to inhabit high-traffic environments, fueling hedonistic excess. The energy flare would be obvious, and the host would be easily isolated.
"Lust," Ethan confirmed, his voice devoid of emotion. "It's a high-energy, volatile target. We locate the target, isolate the host, and test the Annihilation Protocol. We have to ensure the soul leaves no traceable fragments."
The inherent tragedy was not lost on him. He was choosing the easiest path to damnation—a necessary sacrifice of moral complexity for the sake of speed. The final three souls (Envy, Wrath, and the final high-value soul) would be exponentially more difficult.
"Intel suggests a major flare in the club district. The soul of Lust is deeply integrated with a local criminal leader," Elias reported. "It is exposed. We move within the hour."
Miles away, in the subterranean remnants of the financial district, the wreckage of the Gilded Tower still smouldered. Lucien stood there, his perfect facade marred by a cold, surgical fury.
His asset was rogue. His Rift Engine was compromised. He would tolerate no further deviation.
Lucien activated his Executioner protocol.
It was not a brute force demon. It was a pair of Arch Fiend assets known as The Fangs—specialised assassins skilled in spiritual tracking and non-flaring, discreet elimination. Their power was pure, contained Shadow Law, designed to track and suffocate the volatile energy signatures of a rogue emissary.
Lucien spoke into the distorted air, his voice a chilling command that bypassed physical acoustics. "The asset is unstable. It is compromised by the Angel and its own sentiment. Reclaim the energy, but destroy the host. Do not bring back the soul fragments. Do not engage the Pale Choir. Focus only on the source: Ethan Vale."
The Fangs—two shadows in human form, male and female, utterly devoid of emotion—accepted the command. They began their hunt, not by tracking fire or noise, but by tracing the faint, residual scent of Sloth inertia mixed with the recent, massive, uncontrolled flare of Reality Warping. They were hunting the Emissary's weakness.
Ethan stood alone in the centre of the Choir's defensive wards, preparing his core. The risk was terrifying. He was intentionally destabilising his most chaotic power.
He drew the energy from his Gluttony core, feeding the Wrath fire. Then, with a silent, iron resolve, he loosened the Sloth dampener on the Reality Warping power, allowing the chaotic energy to surge to the surface.
The walls of the sanctuary began to shimmer. He was a second away from the total loss of control. He focused the Wrath into a thin, precise beam, intending to ride the fire with the chaos.
He had to destroy the soul and survive the backlash. Nine more times.
He stepped out of the ward and into the city's underbelly, a weapon of cosmic annihilation seeking the easiest path to the void. His mission was no longer a grim task; it was a desperate race against the Engine, the Angel, and the Executioners who were already on his scent. The true price of redemption was paid in the loss of his own stability.