Claude skulked through the barren streets of Hawden, his clothes soaked—not from physical exertion, but from the slow-burning feel of his own mind unravelling.
The ceaseless flood of memories, the endless fleeing and fighting, had worn his sanity thin. Every step felt like dragging a rusted chain through his thoughts.
'Still...' He thought, lips curling in defiance. 'I won't give in. Not now. Not again. Power. Immortality. I'll claim them both—no matter the cost.'
His musings were cut short as a sudden burst of golden radiance erupted from the town square ahead.
"What...?" He murmured, eyes narrowing.
Claude blinked, unsure if exhaustion had finally broken him—but no, he had seen it clearly.
Golden flames.
An ocean of gold bathed the town square in the distance, its brilliant light contrasting with the deep crimson that haunted the scene.
Pressing his lips, he cast a glance over his shoulder, to the building where he'd told Evelyn to remain hidden.
Most of the abominations tearing through Hawden had already drifted outward, roaming the edges of the barrier in search of new prey. She would be safe there. For now.
But that wasn't the only reason he'd left her behind.
Claude's jaw tightened as a crushing fatigue surged through his bones, deeper and heavier than any weariness he had known.
As the radiant light in the distance reflected in his eyes, a single thought came to his mind.
'I can't wait any longer...' he thought grimly. 'If it comes to that, there must be no witnesses.'
***
"Heuk—Huk!"
A rasping cough tore from the figure's throat, spraying arcs of blood that spattered the ground in thick, meaty slaps.
It oozed down his neck, pooled in the hollows of his collarbone, and congealed across his torso, forming a grotesque second skin, slick and dark as oil.
William, or whatever remained of him, lurched upright. Each breath rattled like loose nails in a coffin.
Blood trailed from him in viscous threads, peeling off his frame like ribbons of melted silk. In the sickly, pulsating light, his form took shape. A silhouette of something terrible, reflected in the wide, disbelieving eyes of Alfred.
What had emerged from the egg bore William's frame. His stature. Even his swagger.
But was it him? The same one from moments prior?
No. Not even close.
Something inside was warped beyond recognition. His presence now reeked of something ancient and starless—an imitation of humanity sculpted by malice and pain.
"To think you'd succeed in becoming a Hollowed One…" Hugh's voice slid through the tension like a knife through parchment. He was calm. Too calm. "His Excellency was truly not mistaken about you."
He began to clap, slow and full of measure. Others soon followed. Their palms met in a mockery of reverence, echoing across the shattered chamber like a death knell. Hollow and final
"Save your praise, Hugh." William's voice was dry and rasping as blood streamed down his skin in sluggish rivulets, but no longer fell; it moved with intent, retreating from his flesh as if commanded.
William turned—slowly, deliberately—each motion saturated both in blood and a terrible grace.
"You and I both know—you could have become a Hollowed One long ago. But you lacked the will. The nerve." The last beads of blood lifted from his frame with a flick, scattering into the air like dust in moonlight.
He was whole; no steel grafts, no prosthetic limbs, nothing that would cast his humanity into question. Just flesh. And yet nothing about him felt natural.
His eyes, once brown, had been inverted into horrors: sclera as black as char, veins laced red like fractures in volcanic stone, with a ghostly white pupil that pulsed like a star ready to implode.
He flexed his fingers slowly, as if discovering sensation for the first time in years.
"Finally…" He looked up.
And found Alfred.
The golden serpent at Alfred's side hissed, body coiled tight, its gleaming scales twitching with unease. It could sense it too, something monstrous had awakened in William.
"I should thank you," William said, voice low and sardonic. "Truly. Your resistance—your obstinacy—was the final push I needed. Without it, I may never have chosen this path. And you know as well as I…"
His grin widened, no longer quite human.
"…the price one must pay to become Hollowed."
"William…" Alfred's voice trembled, laced not in sorrow but rage and bewilderment. "Why? Why this? Why go so far? All this death, this ruin, for what? He's gone. Cogus is dead. We all know it."
All that answered him was William's dry and brittle laughter.
"Questions? From you?" His eyes shimmered with malevolence. "Isn't that so unlike you, Alfred? I thought we were just… 'cultists' to you. Remnants. Ashes of a dying dream. Why are we suddenly worthy enough to be questioned?"
His words rippled through the air like poison in water. More laughter followed—mocking, infected with glee. Even Hugh chuckled, his mangled face twitching as it tried to form a ghost of a smile.
William turned his gaze skyward, toward the massive rift in the heavens, black as pitch, endless as guilt.
When William spoke again, his voice was quiet.
"Cogus is gone. We know this."
"Then why—"
"Revenge."
It wasn't a scream. It didn't need to be. The word landed like a guillotine blade.
"Revenge on the world. On the gods who turned away. On the people who spat on our faith. On you, Alfred—who had the gall to abandon the purpose we bled for."
Silence. Thick, heavy. Not a single cultist moved. William's words were iron. And they were theirs.
Alfred opened his mouth, tried to speak—but no words came. His tongue stone and throat ash.
"This Heaven Bleed," William continued, "is just the prelude. The overture of wrath. After this, I will rip the roots of that fiend from the earth."
Alfred's breath hitched. "You… you can't mean…"
William's eyes gleamed like polished knives. "Oh, but I do. Even those sanctified blades… they will shatter."
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Footsteps. William was moving—each step a lonely echo in the now silent square.
Hisssss!
The golden serpent coiled forward, flame dancing in its throat, eyes blazing as it stood between its master and the approaching foe.
But William didn't slow. If anything, his grin widened.
With a single gesture, blood burst from his pores; not red, but deep, aged maroon, like a fermented wine. It floated, twisting in the air, before congealing into a large, oval mirror suspended in nothingness.
Thrum!
Its surface quivered.
The black stormclouds spilt out, crawling like ink across the stone. They pulsed, surged, rose, forming something serpentine.
A twin.
A mockery.
A serpent formed of shadow, its body leaking smoke, scales like obsidian soaked in oil. Its eyes glowed crimson, not with heat but with hunger. Horns curved back from its head like twisted daggers, and each exhale birthed ashy flames.
"What is this…?" Alfred stepped back, heart pounding. He'd heard stories. Of the Autarch. Of Hollowed Ones. Of their myriad powers and abilities. But he had never seen either of them or their powers—until now.
No time to think.
Fwoom!
Twin fires ignited. The golden serpent spat radiance so bright it scorched the walls. But the shadow answered with black fire—dull, ashen, diseased. They met midair.
Boom!
The clash tore a shockwave through the square. Debris flew. Air warped. Light died.
As Alfred's eyes adjusted to the scene, his pupils contracted.
William was gone.
Alfred immediately began to chant, golden constructs forming around him, but it was too late.
Thud!
William erupted from Alfred's own shadow like a bullet from a gun, claws formed and gleaming, shredding golden constructs with animal ferocity.
Alfred continued chanting as more figures blinked into existence—but William tore through them all the while, melting through gold like acid through silk.
Then—
Crack!
Alfred hit the ground hard as the last of his constructs vanished.
Shnk!
A rod of shadow impaled his arm. Then his leg. The pain was immediate, paralysing. He couldn't scream. He could barely breathe. Blood spilled.
The golden serpent Alfred had summoned flickered, then burst apart in a silent bloom of golden motes, cascading like snowflakes through the still air.
On the other hand, the shadowed serpent gave a triumphant hiss as it loomed over both Alfred and William.
Standing above Alfred, William breathed heavily, his chest heaving up and down like a blacksmith's bellow.
Still, amid his panting, he laughed. First, a small chuckle, then a manic laugh.
"You'll live, Alfred. That's the punishment. I want you alive. Awake. Watching." He crouched, smiling. "You'll see what your hesitation has cost."
Then he rose and turned—
But stopped.
He stilled. Something had moved.
His head snapped toward the darkened edge of the square. Voice sharp and clear.
"Who's there?!"