Chapter 46: The Last Resort
"So you're telling me if we draw its attention for ten seconds, you can stuff that thing inside a pocket pendant?"
Alina stared at Rowen, her eyebrow raised in complete disbelief.
"Yes," Rowen said, swallowing hard. "Look, sending it back through the seam isn't happening. That would take twice as many blood offerings as the initial invocation. But I can invert the anchor array. If you keep it still, I can use the reverse draw to pull the manifestation into the stone."
Everyone except Lucien looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Ten seconds against a writhing, shifting divine nightmare felt less like a plan and more like a collective suicide pact.
"You got a better idea?" Dally chimed in, throwing a cautious glance toward Lucien. "Because this is literally the only card on the table."
Dally knew Lucien wouldn't step in until the floor was completely soaked in blood. The Heretic was perfectly content to watch them flounder, and if the array collapsed, he’d just walk out the back door.
Not that Dally could blame him. He’d do the exact same thing in Lucien's boots.
For a fraction of a second, Dally's eyes turned red. He blinked, ducking his head, hiding the shift before anyone caught it.
"Fine," Elina sighed, rubbing her temples. She looked less frightened and more utterly drained, like someone who’d weighed five terrible options and picked the one least likely to leave them in pieces. "We do it."
"Okay, but how are we keeping it busy for ten seconds?" Nuri asked, eyeing the dark hallway ahead. "I feel like we're going to get flattened in two."
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"We just jump in and make noise," Alina said, tightening her grip on her spear shaft. "If it works, great. If not, well... we'll know."
Nobody argued.
They moved out, stepping into the main corridor. With every yard they covered, the air grew thicker, heavy with an unnatural mana pressure that made their skin itch, like microscopic insects crawling under their clothes. Every instinct screamed at them to turn around and run for the forest.
Lucien trailed behind the group, taking slow, lazy strides.
Tucked into his umbrella handle, Mo stared up at his face. "You're seriously just going to let them charge in there?"
Mo couldn't wrap its head around the man. Lucien had the power to end the whole show with a flick of his wrist. Why force a group of tired kids to play decoy? Was he just sadistic?
"Don't go there," Lucien murmured, his voice dropping into a flat, warning tone, as if he’d read the spirit's mind clear as day.
Mo let out an internal sigh. "I know you've got an angle... I'm just worried about Nuri. Out of all of them, he's the one most likely to get crushed."
"Soft on him already?"
"No," Mo muttered, watching the boy's back as he walked ahead. "He's just... interesting."
Lucien didn't respond immediately. "I'll give you that," he said softly, his pale eyes locked onto Nuri. "He actually adapts. Very open to change." A small, unreadable smile touched his lips. "Whether that turns him into something useful or destroys him... well, that's up to him."
Mo stayed silent. Talking to Lucien was like navigating a maze in the dark. Mo knew there was deep history between Lucien and Captain Caelan, but whenever the Heretic brought him up, his voice carried a strange mix of intimate familiarity and total, razor-sharp disdain. He talked about Caelan like an old friend he couldn't wait to strangle.
Before Mo could push the thought any further, the hallway opened up.
They’d reached the nave.
The entity stood fifty yards out, its shifting, multi-limbed outline blotting out the far altar. A deep, vibrating roar tore through the hall, rattling the floorboards and sending a shower of stone dust down from the vaulted ceiling.
The group halted, weapons drawn, knuckles white.
Ten seconds.
Nobody spoke. They just drew their breath, planted their heels, and prepared to throw themselves into the fire.