Stained glass windows once meant to glorify the gods now bled crimson light through depictions twisted by dark magic. The high altar dripped with black ichor, and the air trembled with whispered chants no human tongue had uttered in centuries. What was once sacred ground had become the throne room of blasphemy. The other part looked divine but the chamber down was the opposite.
At the heart of it all, seven figures knelt in a half-circle.
The Seven Corrupted Knights.
Each one had once been a paragon of virtue, a protector of kingdoms. Now, they were shadows draped in armor too black to reflect light, their bodies mutilated or enhanced beyond mortal limits. And in the center of them all, seated atop a pulsing throne of bone and sinew, was their true master.
A thing that wore the shape of a man only when it pleased him.
He had no name spoken aloud—only titles: The Shepherd of Graves. The Unseen Flame. The Final Choir. But today, his voice cut through the cathedral like a guillotine.
"Natalia."
The necromancer looked up.
Tall, gaunt, and eternally cloaked in mourning silks, Natalia's eyes were voids, rimmed with ash. She knelt beside a mound of still-living corpses—her pets, stitched together from failed offerings. Bones clicked within her robes as she raised her head.
"Yes, my Lord."
The air tightened.
"You were entrusted with the soul harvest," the Shepherd said, his voice too many voices layered at once. "Seventeen souls prepared, drained, and offered. Sixteen were bound to your legion. One... slipped. And it wasn't just a soul. It was an otherworlder."
A low growl stirred among the knights.
The one called Spade cracked his plated knuckles. "A mistake, perhaps?"
"There are no mistakes in my calculation," the Shepherd hissed.
Natalia bowed deeper.
"My Lord, the pit was design as torture chamber. It was designed to break a soul's will specially made for otherwordler. It no could escape from it. Our method shatters the spirit, fragments it into compliance. The seventeen summoned otherworlder are there."
"Are you sure about that?" Shepard questioned her.
She reached into her robes and pulled free a scroll bound with red sinew. When she opened it, the parchment bled faintly.
"There have been seventeen summons for the past ten years, my lord. I was positive there were all in the Chamber pit, in the process of breaking."
Another knight leaned forward, face obscured by a veil of moths. His name is Ogur.
"How can you be so sure? I heard about the failed summoning back at Korra. Although the knights had killed all Sora's puppets, we can't be sure there were only 17. What if there was another? Breathing and surviving?"
"If there's another summons, I have already felt it. There's nothing that can escape my skill," Calix replied, the knight surrounded by insects and venomous snakes. "I have eyes everywhere."
"We can't be sure," another woman dressed in a gown instead of a knight's suit. She was Stella, the master of seven elements. "Sora is a sneaky bitch. She probably had a plan hiding in her sleeve before she killed herself."
"That's not possible," Natalia replied. "We have eyes all over Orion. Even the Demon land."
Shepard seemed unsure, especially since the one who escaped was Jayson, he had the skill he wanted to have but he couldn't steal the belongings of a dead person. That's why he made Natalia break them. He went there personally, but he didn't find anyone, not even a trace or scent. Sure, he lost Sora's skill. He failed to devour it but according to the grimoire he had read. There's another skill that caught his attention. The skill was one of the three highest order, Cherubim, an imitator, an evolutionist. Stronger than Seraphim and his Throne, the devourer. According to the grimoire, it has a mind of its own. He wanted it.
"So, how are you sure the seventeen were all still there?"
"It screamed. I heard seventeen screams," Natalia whispered, visibly unnerved. "The souls screamed—but not in pain. In defiance"
The cathedral's torches flared blue for a moment.
"You're unsure," Shepard said.
Natalia kept quiet. She knew. She felt one of the chains snap.
Shepard knew, Natalia's unsure. Even him, there must be some intruders in the pit. He rose slowly from his throne. The stone floor beneath him withered.
"Do you understand what that means, child?"
Natalia didn't answer.
Because she knew.
"It means," the Shepherd said, each step echoing with the screams of the damned, "You're unsure of how one of those souls escaped and you're unsure who freed him."
He circled behind her.
"My lord, its-"
"Saved it. You believed you were gathering weapons. Broken blades to wield at my whim. But now, someone has noticed the pit, helping one escape, away from your claws. And yet you didn't see who it was?"
He leaned close to her ear, his breath smelling of dust and rot.
"Where is it now?"
"I-I do not know," Natalia admitted. "It vanished before binding. All tracking failed. Its energy was... incompatible."
One of the other knights, a woman with a face sewn shut and eyes branded with runes, hissed. Her name was Sabrina.
"Could it be interference from another god?"
The suggestion hung in the air like poison.
"If a god had intervened," the Shepherd said coldly, "the Cathedral would already be ash. No. This is not divine rescue. This is someone's doing. Something I can say from another world, stronger than those seventeen."
Everyone looked at him as he returned to his throne.
"Is there some skill that can rival yours, my lord?" One of the knights said.
"There is," he replied. "Find the bearer and the soul."
Natalia bowed again. "If it still exists, my Lord, it will be drawn to the others. The living hosts. It will seek answers."
"Then bait it," he said simply. "Let the Bishop spread the word. Let him smile with false grace and whisper of class unlocks. Humans are curious. Hungry. If the stray seeks truth, give it a scent trail. And when it follows..."
He raised a hand. A cage of bone descended from the ceiling, holding a soul-fire shrieking inside.
"...bring it to me."
The knights rose as one.
Natalia turned to leave, her mind reeling.
She had done everything right. The pit was perfect. It should have reduced the soul to its base pieces. But instead, it had ignited something—something willful. Something strong. And now it was out there, hiding, perhaps someone had hidden it.
One unbroken soul. In a world that had already sold its own.
The Cathedral's bells rang once—dull and heavy.
"You know one of these days, you'll die," one of the souls she forcefully made into her servant. A soul has a strong will-power, a seeker, someone who sees the future. The soul smiled, she was a crusader, a necromancer's natural enemy. She was once her lover, before Shepard corrupted her. Ana, the crusader, was opposed to her decision and she died defending Orion. Natalia made her into her soldiers because she wants Ana to be by her side alway.
"You could have at least told me who it was," she whispered, her eyes softened.
"Who would I do that? I defended Orion from your lord as you turned your back to me. No. I wouldn't let you have the one who will free Orion from you and your lord."
Ana's words broke Natalia's heart.