As the speaker's final words echoed like an ancient dirge through the vast stone chamber, a silence settled heavy over the crowd. Then, with a single hand gesture—casual yet commanding—the humanoid figure dismissed the gathering.
No parting words. No blessings. Just silence.
The crowd of cloaked figures began to rise like a dark tide, hushed footsteps carrying them out in reverent streams. Niko, still kneeling for a beat longer than the rest, finally stood. But as he turned to go, he felt something that froze him mid-step—a weightless pressure that curled down his spine.
He glanced subtly over his shoulder.
The figure on stage was gone.
Yet Niko knew—knew—that something was watching him. Not just observing, but studying. Measuring. As if the eyes of something beyond the room itself had fastened to his back.
He swallowed hard and forced his legs to move, weaving into the flowing crowd, trying to lose himself in the sea of dark cloaks and lowered heads. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, but his steps were steady. Controlled. He couldn't afford a mistake now.
He passed under one of the stone archways leading out of the chamber, into a dim corridor lit by long-burning torches that shimmered against the moisture on the walls. Still no windows. Still underground. He didn't know how deep.
He walked beside a man whose hood was drawn low, the faint shimmer of a tattoo peeking from his collarbone. Something serpentine.
Trying to sound casual, Niko muttered, "So… what's the deal with the War God?"
The man turned his head sharply, brows furrowed as if Niko had just uttered some unspeakable ignorance.
"You don't know?" the man said, his voice both baffled and scornful. "Why the hell are you here, then?"
Niko shrugged, putting on a crooked smile. "Coin. I joined for the money. Not the mythology."
The man recoiled slightly, shaking his head in open disgust. "Tch. Typical. Another lost House rat looking for scraps. You're playing with fire, kid. You don't even understand who's being awakened. What's at stake. This isn't some bounty hunt."
Without another word, the man strode ahead, his pace clipped and dismissive, fading into the curve of the hallway.
Niko stood there for a second, alone again, the torchlight catching the faint rise and fall of his breath.
"Yeah…" he muttered under his breath, voice low and bitter. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that."
But part of him didn't regret it. He needed to know who these people were. How far they'd go. And now, he'd just lit a match and thrown it into their circle. The fire might come later.
As he resumed walking, that earlier sense of pressure—the eyes—faded. But the thoughts didn't.
The War God.
The one who fell in battle… in some holy war against "devils."
Was that truth? Myth? Something twisted and half-forgotten? And what did the speaker mean when he spoke of "the one who watches over Dem Oche"?
The Oche family was powerful, maybe even ancient, but the implication was far stranger—someone… some thing was watching them. Guarding them?
A god?
Another?
Maybe not a war god, then. Something else.
A balance?
A protector?
Are they even on the same side? Niko wondered, his mind racing. Or are we just stuck between monsters too big to see clearly?
He moved silently through the hallways now, every shadow around him looking a little deeper. Every face a little harder to read.
He didn't know where all of this led. But if what he'd seen and heard tonight was true—about sacrifices, about gods, about fate—then he was walking a razor's edge.
And he wasn't sure if the ground would be there when he took his next step.
Niko kept walking, the long, echoing hallways of the underground compound stretching ahead like a maze carved from ash and bone. The scent of stone and faint burning oil clung to the air. He adjusted the dragon-crest cloak draped over him, its heavy fabric brushing against his ankles as he moved with purpose.
'The chamber… it has to be where they're keeping the sacrifices,' he thought, eyes scanning every corridor, every symbol etched into the stone walls. Everything in this place had the taste of ritual—intentional, cruel, and precise.
Torches flickered against the carved walls, casting shadows that danced like ghosts. Niko turned a corner and spotted a guard—tall, square-shouldered, with a dark mask obscuring most of his face. The man stood rigid beside a sealed iron door, spear in hand and eyes alert. Niko slowed his steps, heart thudding in his chest.
'Alright… just play it cool.'
He approached the guard, keeping his posture confident. "Where's the chamber?" he asked, tone calm but direct.
The guard's eyes narrowed under the dark steel helm, his grip tightening around the spear. "Why?" he asked flatly, suspicion laced in every syllable.
Niko didn't flinch. He met the man's gaze evenly, channeling every ounce of authority he could fake. "I was told to check if the new sacrifice has arrived. Word was it was a child. Boss wants confirmation."
The guard didn't respond at first. His gaze lingered on Niko, unblinking, studying him. 'He doesn't recognize me. Good,' Niko thought. Still, a bead of sweat ran down his spine.
After a pause, the guard grunted, then stepped aside. "Straight down. End of the corridor, left turn. You'll see the doors. You don't have clearance, don't touch anything."
Niko nodded, trying not to let relief show. "Of course."
He moved past the guard, steps quickening once he was out of view. The hallway sloped downward—colder here, and darker. He could feel it.
'If the chamber's really where they're keeping people…' he clenched his fists under the cloak. 'I have to see it. I need to know what's happening.'
But even as he walked, another thought itched at the back of his mind—the speaker's words echoing from the theatre like a ghost in his head.
'The one who watches Dem Oche…'
'Someone… or something… protecting their line. That means they're not just royalty. They're chosen. Shielded by a god? Or something worse?'
Niko shook the thoughts from his mind.
'Doesn't matter. I'll fight through gods, curses, fate itself if I have to. I'm not dying in this house. I'm going to survive… and I'm getting out.'
His footsteps echoed louder now, like the very ground was listening.
And up ahead, the chamber waited.
Niko pressed his hand to the cold iron door. It creaked open with a groan like a dying thing.
The stench hit him first.
It was thick and sharp—blood, bile, and something else. Burnt hair? Ash? Death itself? He gagged instantly, staggering a step back—but forced himself forward. The cloak swayed around him as he entered the chamber.
His boots crunched over something soft.
Niko looked down.
Blood pooled thick across the stone floor in wide, glistening smears. He couldn't tell where one body ended and another began—mangled limbs stretched like discarded parts, fingers curled mid-panic. Ribs poked through torn flesh. The walls were spattered red. One still-twitching hand was nailed to the wall as if in prayer.
And then he saw it.
A long, cracked horn. Blackened at the tip. Not human.
Niko's stomach turned. He staggered back, hand flying to his mouth. His breath stuttered. Saliva rose in his throat like poison, and he hunched over, holding it down. He pressed his palm against the wall, cold and wet with blood.
'What the hell is this?'
'They were people—kids even—and… they used them.'
He tried to catch his breath, to calm his mind, but it was too late.
"Figured you were suspicious."
The voice echoed down the hall behind him. Heavy, cold.
Niko turned slowly.
The guard from before stepped into view, spear now replaced with a blade that gleamed even in the dim light. His mask had been lifted, revealing a face scarred across the jaw and cheek.
"You really thought we wouldn't notice you wandering around, asking dumb questions? If you were one of us, you'd have known—" he pointed his sword at the carnage, "—the sacrifices have already been made."
Niko's heart dropped.
'Already made… I was too late.'
'Too slow. Damn it—what were they going to do with me then? Why bring me at all?'
He stepped back once, his boots nearly sliding in the blood. His thoughts raced.
'If the chamber's done, then I was never meant to go in. I wasn't going to be part of the ritual. I was… something else.'
He glanced again at the horn.
'Then who—or what—was sacrificed? And what the hell have they summoned?'
The guard's eyes narrowed as he started approaching, blade raised.
"Whatever plan you had, kid, it ends here."
But Niko stood straighter, pulling the cloak around himself tighter. Beneath the fear was a fire. A storm in his chest.
'Too late to save them… but not too late to make it count.'
His eyes flicked toward the horn once more, then to the blood soaking the floor. Then to the man in front of him.
No more running.