The ruined cathedral echoed with the faint dripping of water from shattered stone. Faded murals of long-forgotten saints watched from the crumbling walls — silent witnesses to the gathering darkness.
Lucien stood at the altar, arms crossed casually, facing the newly-formed group of followers he had recruited.
They knelt before him — not out of faith, but out of ambition and desperation.
Good.
He didn't need believers.
He needed weapons.
"You crave revenge against the Holy Order," Lucien said, his voice low and steady, "but revenge without discipline is suicide."
His crimson eyes swept over them, cold and unyielding.
Some flinched. Others stiffened in pride. A few showed flickers of defiance.
Perfect.
"I will give you tasks. Small, insignificant at first. Not for glory," he continued, smiling faintly, "but for trust. For loyalty."
A man with a missing ear spoke up, rough and skeptical. "You mean... errands?"
Lucien's smile deepened, predatory.
"Consider them... seeds. Plant them well, and your enemies will wither before they even realize you moved."
He snapped his fingers, and shadows detached from the pillars — demon informants disguised in human forms.
Each follower received a sealed letter, marked with Lucien's sigil: a black rose entwined with a thorned serpent.
Inside, instructions.
Spy on a minor priest.
Poison a well used by the Order's supply wagons.
Bribe guards.
Steal documents.
Nothing grand yet.
But everything carefully calculated to chip away at the Church's strength.
As they read their missions, Lucien watched them, memorizing their expressions — those who accepted eagerly, those who hesitated.
Trust was a fragile thing.
But fear?
Fear was eternal.
He turned away, stepping down from the altar.
Above him, the broken stained-glass window framed the blood-red moon.
Soon.
Soon, the world would know that the boy they had once cast aside...
Was the devil they had birthed with their own hands.
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Chapter 9: End