Chapter 5: The Faceless Idol
The boy's breath came in short, rasping bursts. His back bore fresh lash marks—some from whips, others from magic, judging by the burns. Around his neck, the charm pulsed with a dim, sickly light, feeding on the pain in his body like a leech drinking marrow.
Jean knelt beside him, pressing two fingers to his throat. He was alive—barely.
Whitney circled the temple ruin, fangs bared, eyes glowing like twin moons.
"Something watches. Something close."
Jean laid the boy down and drew her saber in one smooth motion. The blade pulsed gently in response to the corrupted air. Her sigil—the wings and sword burned into her palm—flared beneath the gauze. It wasn't her magic. It never was.
It was Celeste, calling something ancient from within her.
The dragging chains stopped just outside the temple arch.
The silence that followed was worse than any howl.
And then—
A shape stepped into the broken sanctuary.
It wore no face.
Only smooth flesh where eyes and mouth should be.
A long robe of funeral white.
Chains wrapped its arms, dragging behind it like a coffin.
Jean stepped forward.
"Are you the one who did this to the boy?"
The creature tilted its head.
A voice scraped into her mind—not sound, but pressure:
"We do not kill the marked. We convert."
Whitney snarled. Jean raised her saber.
The creature reached up and tore its own flesh apart—revealing hundreds of eyes beneath its skin, blinking in unison, weeping blood and silver.
Jean didn't hesitate.
She attacked.
Her blade flashed in a golden arc, light surging down the edge like a streak of dawn. The creature raised a hand wrapped in chains, deflecting the blow with unnatural speed. Sparks flew. Metal rang.
It hissed:
"You carry the false star's blessing. We will strip it from you."
Jean ducked, rolled, slashed low. The blade cut through its robe, slicing open glowing tendons beneath. Whitney lunged, his jaws clamping down on the thing's shoulder. The creature shrieked in ten voices.
It swung wildly, hurling Jean into the altar. Stone cracked. Her ribs screamed.
But she stood.
Bleeding, breath ragged.
She whispered: "Celeste... now."
Her sigil exploded with light.
A pillar of radiance roared from her palm, engulfing the Faceless Idol. Whitney jumped clear just as the beam consumed the chains, the skin, the eyes—all of it burning away in holy fire.
The silence returned.
Only ash remained.
And the charm around the boy's neck shattered.
---
Jean limped to the altar and sat down hard. Whitney nuzzled her side. She exhaled slowly, wincing. Her hands trembled—not from fear, but from the aftershock of divine energy.
Whitney spoke gently.
"You channeled more than your own strength. You're not just an emissary. You're a vessel."
Jean shook her head. "I didn't ask to be."
"Neither did Celeste. Not the first time."
The boy stirred. His eyes opened—clear now, the brand on his chest already fading.
He looked at Jean, awed and afraid.
"You… you're the Light's sword."
Jean looked away.
"No. Not yet."
But in her heart, something whispered:
Soon.
---
Far from the temple, deep in the catacombs of a ruined city, a figure knelt before a black altar. Around her burned candles made from bone and flesh. A single chain coiled around her throat like a serpent.
She opened her eyes.
"They've found her," she said to the darkness. "The vessel walks."
The shadows writhed.
And the god in chains… smiled.
---