The thunder of footfalls echoed through the dim tunnels beneath Verranus, each step laced with urgency, each breath soaked in dread.
Five cardinals and Pontiff Malcheron moved swiftly, robes trailing behind them, flanked by ten Paladins in burnished armor and a dozen High Purifiers, their hoods drawn and hands tight on their weapons. The sacred regalia of the Sanctified Council clinked faintly with every stride, a grim accompaniment to their spiraling descent. The narrow tunnel, carved generations ago and sealed with divine wards, was lit by flickering rune sconces, dim blue flame sputtering as if it too feared what stalked the city above.
Malcheron's heart hammered behind his ribs, each beat heavier than the last. How could it come to this? The City of Saints, the heart of the faith, the bastion of purity in a world devoured by sin... now burning. Not from an outside siege, not from demons breaching the Veil, but from within.
The last runner's voice still echoed in his skull: