Cardinal Valerius wasn't stupid. The fall of House Corwin. The destruction of the Penitent Blade nursery. The whispers in the streets. He knew the Crimson Lotus was coming for him.
He declared the **Feast of Saint's Eve**—a grand sermon in the Grand Cathedral, promising "divine revelation" and "bountiful charity" for the starving. It was a trap. He'd lured every noble, every merchant, every potential dissenter into one place. Templar snipers lined the rooftops. Fully activated Penitent Blades—twenty of them—stood hidden in the catacombs below, ready to slaughter anyone who caused unrest.
"He thinks we'll attack the feast," Lyra said, studying stolen schematics by lamplight in the Root Cellar. Her eyes were sharp, exhausted, but burning with focus. "He's right."
Kael smiled, a cold, thin thing. "But he doesn't know *how*."
The plan was audacious, born of weeks of preparation and the **Void Arts** they'd forged together:
1. **Elara** would infiltrate as a choir novice, her small frame perfect for slipping through vents. She'd poison Valerius's ceremonial chalice with **Soulrot Tincture** and the Penitent Blade nutrient vats with **Necrotic Catalyst**.
2. **Lyra** would access the bell tower archives, planting evidence of Valerius's corruption—ledgers, letters, proof of child trafficking—in every noble's personal donation box.
3. **Bastian** would rig the cathedral's main support pillars with **Silent Collapse** charges, timed to cause disorientation, not collapse.
4. **Garrick** would pose as a repentant minor noble, using his knowledge of Templar command structure to create chaos among the guard captains.
5. **Kael** would confront Valerius on the pulpit, using the distraction to phase in unseen.
They moved under the cover of festival chaos—jugglers, street performers, drunken nobles spilling from taverns, the city alive with false hope.
Elara, humming a hymn, slipped into the cathedral kitchen. She mimicked the head novice's voice to gain access to the chalice. Her hands, steady despite the adrenaline, poured the Soulrot into the wine. She then descended into the catacombs, avoiding the few remaining guards, and emptied the Necrotic Catalyst into the vats feeding the Penitent Blades.
Lyra, disguised as a scribe with forged credentials, accessed the archives. She left damning ledgers with House Corwin's seal in every box—proof that Valerius had orchestrated their fall to seize their assets.
Bastian, working through the night, planted his charges with meticulous care, weaving Void-Forged wires into the ancient stone.
Garrick, in a borrowed doublet of a disgraced lord, approached the Templar captain. "I've seen them," he whispered urgently, his voice laced with perfectly mimicked fear. "The Crimson Lotus. They're in the catacombs! They plan to blow the foundations during the sermon!"
The captain, already paranoid after the nursery's destruction, barked orders. Half the Templars rushed below, clanking in their armor.
Perfect.
As the feast began, Kael watched from the bell tower. The cathedral blazed with a thousand candles. Incense choked the air, thick and cloying. Hundreds knelt in the pews—nobles in velvet, commoners in rags, all united in false piety.
Cardinal Valerius ascended the pulpit, his robes embroidered with golden suns that caught the candlelight. He raised his arms, his voice booming with practiced sanctimony.
"People of Veridia!" he cried. "The Light shines upon us this holy eve! Through our tithes, our faith, our obedience, we are saved from the darkness!"
He paused for dramatic effect, then raised his chalice. "To the Light! To our salvation!"
He drank deeply.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
Then—a gasp. Valerius clutched his throat. Black veins spiderwebbed across his face like cracks in porcelain. The chalice slipped from his fingers, shattering on the stone floor.
*"Heretics!"* he choked, his voice wet and bubbling. He pointed not at the crowd, but at the shadows above the pulpit—*directly at Kael*.
Chaos erupted.
Below, the Penitent Blades in the catacombs convulsed. The Necrotic Catalyst corrupted their bindings. They turned on their handlers with mindless, agonized fury, **ripping out throats with their teeth**, eyes blazing with stolen, tormented light.
**Groan.**
Bastian's Silent Collapse charges activated. Pillars crumbled silently, raining dust and stone chips, causing panic—not destruction, but **disorientation**. People screamed, scrambling for exits.
Garrick shoved the Templar captain into a group of nobles. "The Church poisoned the Cardinal!" he roared, his voice raw with righteous fury. "They're culling us! They're using us as fuel!"
Elara, hidden in the rafters, mimicked the voice of the High Priestess—smooth, authoritative, laced with divine terror: *"The Light has abandoned you! Flee or perish in its judgment!"*
Panic became stampede. Nobles trampled commoners. Templars drew swords, confused, turning on each other.
Kael dropped from the bell tower rafters, landing silently on the pulpit as Valerius collapsed, gasping, his body convulsing.
"You… demon…" Valerius gurgled, blood flecking his lips.
"I'm the shadow your greed cast," Kael said, kneeling beside him. He placed a hand on the Cardinal's chest. **True Void Dominion**—the ability unlocked by their collective will, their shared trauma, their righteous fury—activated.
The void didn't just kill. It **consumed**.