The cobbled streets of Saint Ravel were slick with rain, the moonlight splintering across puddles like broken glass.
The holy city, once a shining bastion of the Church's power, now carried a subtle, poisonous scent — distrust.
It started small.
A whispered rumor in the marketplace.
A missing priest.
A caravan of sacred texts burned beyond recognition.
Minor accidents, the Order told themselves.
Coincidences. Nothing more.
But Lucien knew better.
Perched atop the edge of an abandoned bell tower, he watched the city below, his cloak fluttering like a tattered flag in the cold wind. The bells no longer rang. The faith that once breathed life into them was decaying — and he was the rot that fed on it.
In the streets, clusters of people gathered. Arguments broke out over trivial matters.
A baker accused a priest of theft.
A merchant spat curses at a Templar, claiming unfair taxes.
Guards stood uneasily at the corners, their authority questioned for the first time in decades.
Lucien allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
"Fear was a disease. And I am its carrier."
His hand brushed against the black rose insignia pinned beneath his cloak — a symbol only his growing network knew.
Footsteps behind him.
Without turning, Lucien spoke, "You're late."
A young woman emerged from the shadowed stairwell, breathing heavily. She wore simple robes, her hair tucked under a hood, but her amber eyes gleamed with excitement.
"I completed it," she said, holding up a bloodstained satchel.
Lucien turned to face her, his crimson gaze settling on the satchel with lazy curiosity. "Proof?"
Wordlessly, she opened it.
Inside lay the signet ring of Father Marius — a mid-ranking clergyman known for hunting suspected heretics.
Lucien's lips twitched into a smirk. "Efficient. And messy."
The woman flushed, unsure if she was being praised or reprimanded.
"You'll learn," he said softly, taking the ring between his fingers and tossing it once into the air before pocketing it. "For now, you've sown another crack."
She hesitated. "But... won't the Church notice? Won't they retaliate?"
Lucien stepped closer, until their faces were mere inches apart. His voice dropped to a whisper, silk and steel intertwined.
"Let them notice," he said. "Let them scramble. Panic. Turn on their own in search of traitors that don't exist."
He pulled back, his smile widening — a devil's smile.
"If they spend their time chasing shadows, they'll never see the dagger until it's buried in their throat."
Thunder rumbled overhead, a low growl that rattled the broken bells.
Lucien turned his gaze back to the city.
In the distance, the great cathedral's stained-glass windows glowed like the eyes of a dying beast.
He could almost hear the cracks forming.
---
Later that night...
In a hidden chamber beneath the holy archives, a meeting was held.
Five high priests sat around a stone table, their faces grave.
"The disappearances are growing," said one, voice tight with unease. "The people whisper about demons walking among us."
"Blasphemy!" spat another. "We are the chosen! Our faith shields us!"
"And yet..." a third murmured, his hands trembling slightly, "our shield... feels thinner these days."
An uncomfortable silence.
Finally, an old man at the head of the table — Grand Inquisitor Velric — spoke.
"Begin an internal investigation," he commanded, his voice like iron. "If rot has entered our house, we will tear it out."
"And if it's a demon?" one asked hesitantly.
Velric's eyes burned with righteous fury.
"Then we shall remind the world why devils fear the flame."
The priests nodded, but uncertainty lingered in the stale air.
Far above them, unseen and unknown, Lucien's web tightened around their throats.
Soon, they would choke.
One by one.
All at once.
---
End of Chapter 10