Chapter 26: His Bloody Pact

Raziel walked down the empty hallway.

’I’m an idiot! A damn idiot!’

He leaned against the cold stone wall as soon as he turned the corner, already out of Lara’s sight because he needed a second to not explode.

He wanted to play the cool, mysterious guy, and the only thing he achieved was triggering all the girl’s alarms. It was obvious he had screwed up big time.

’If Lara opens her mouth, the Inquisition is going to use me as firewood for the bonfire.’

[MENTAL STATE: UNSTABLE]

The System blinked with some red letters that seemed to mock him. Raziel gritted his teeth.

He had to control the damage, and he had to do it fast. But first, there was another fire to put out.

A redhead one with a serious hero complex.

He walked towards the outer training grounds. He didn’t need a map, because the sound of violence was a guide more than enough.

CRACK!

THUMP!

In the middle of the courtyard, under the pale light of the moons, Lucian was demolishing a training dummy.

He was bathed in sweat and with a fury that was noticeable in every blow of his wooden sword.

Raziel stayed in the shadows for a second, watching him.

The noble moved badly, with too much brute force and zero technique.

It was the pure tantrum of a rich kid whose pride had been hurt.

Finally, he came out of his hiding spot.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Raziel asked, his voice low but sharp.

“Why did you say that in front of Lara?”

Lucian’s hand shot out, a flash of steel in the gloom.

Raziel’s eyes opened wide seeing a dagger pointing straight at his shoulder.

But before Lucian could stab him, Raziel moved, closing his hand around the blade.

Blood gushed out immediately, running down his fingers while he took the dagger away from him.

They froze, with their agitated breathing as the only sound in the night.

“I wanted to see how far your power went…” Lucian finally said.

“Those aren’t the reflexes of a normal novice. Who are you? For real?”

“…Did you maybe use some kind of spell and pretended to be Raziel?”

Raziel’s grip on the dagger tightened, his knuckles white from the force and his hand stained with blood.

He barely felt the pain, because the adrenaline was stronger.

“Stop it, Lucian,” Raziel said, his voice sounding urgent. “You don’t want to do this.”

Lucian’s eyes narrowed.

“And why not?” he challenged him, trying to get the dagger back.

“Lucian, stop…” Raziel pleaded, raising his free hand.

“Why are you holding back?” Lucian spat, with a clear taste of bitterness in his voice.

“Are you scared of showing me what you can really do?”

“Open your eyes, Lucian!” Raziel hissed, squeezing the wound. “This is bigger than your pride! They are hunting us!”

“Why are you be—?” Lucian started to say, but Raziel’s kick smashed into his stomach, cutting off the sentence and the air.

“I told you to stop!” Raziel shouted, his voice loaded with desperation and power.

Lucian gasped, clutching his side, eyes wide with pain and confusion.

Raziel took a step forward and grabbed him by the tunic.

“Do you want the Inquisitors to hear us?” he hissed, his face inches from Lucian’s. “This isn’t a game. Grow up already!”

Lucian slumped against the wall, Raziel’s words hitting him harder than the kick.

He forgot the pain in his side and looked at Raziel, his gaze intense.

“And you think you are that Paragon? Is that where your powers come from?”

Raziel shook his head slowly.

“I don’t know. The golden light… matches what the stories say. But to be the Paragon, you have to master all of Zhalyr’s gifts and have a pure spirit.”

Lucian let out a snort that sounded like mockery.

“Pure spirit? You? What a joke.”

Raziel’s lips twisted into something that was almost a smile.

“I don’t believe it either. But I need to figure out what is happening to me. I need to understand this power if I’m going to save everyone.”

Lucian studied him, his skepticism fading upon seeing the pure desperation in Raziel’s eyes.

“Then… what do you need from me?”

Raziel met his gaze.

“I need your help, Lucian.”

Lucian blinked, surprised.

“Help? With what?”

“With everything,” Raziel said in a low voice.

“I can’t do this alone. I need someone who knows how the Church works from the inside, how to… handle all this shit.”

He paused, swallowing saliva.

“I’m asking you, not as an initiate, but as someone who wants to stop what is coming.”

Silence settled between them, heavy and full of everything that wasn’t being said.

Finally, Lucian nodded slowly, determination hardening his face.

“Alright, Raziel,” he said. “I’m in.”

Just then, a noise in the shadows broke the moment.

Oriel, another novice, came out of the darkness, eyes like saucers, full of fear and curiosity.

It was obvious he had heard them talking.

Raziel’s heart shot up. He looked for an explanation in a hurry, seeing a flash of panic in Lucian’s eyes too.

He forced a smile.

“Oriel! What are you doing out here?”

Oriel looked at them, shifting his view between one and the other, frowning.

Raziel’s heart sank.

They couldn’t keep up the charade.

He crossed a look with Lucian, they were busted.

“Oriel, we have to talk,” Raziel said, taking a step forward.

“No, we don’t,” Lucian said, his voice suddenly cold and hard.

Before Raziel could react, Lucian’s fist smashed against the back of Oriel’s neck.

The novice, who didn’t expect it, collapsed on the ground, unconscious.

“Why did you do that?” Raziel hissed, completely in shock.

Lucian glared at him, his eyes full of a cold fury that Raziel had never seen in him.

“And what were you going to do, Raziel? Tell him everything? We don’t know who we can trust.”

He looked at Oriel’s body, worry wrinkling his forehead.

“We can’t leave loose ends.”

Raziel felt a knot of guilt in his stomach, but he understood Lucian’s caution.

They were into something very dangerous and couldn’t afford any risks.

He raised his bloody hand.

“Lucian,” he said, “you better know how to fix this. I don’t want Father Marius to see the wound and start asking questions.”

Lucian looked at Raziel’s hand.

“I thought your golden light could heal that?”

Raziel snorted and shook his head.

They stood there, in an uncomfortable silence.

Raziel knew they were getting into a dangerous path, one that required being careful and thinking things ahead, two things he wasn’t especially good at.

Lucian looked at the unconscious figure of Oriel.

“We have to do something with him,” he murmured, the worry evident in his voice.

Raziel’s mind was racing at a thousand miles per hour. They couldn’t just leave Oriel lying there. But the idea of really hurting another initiate made his stomach turn.

“We can’t… leave him,” Raziel said in a low voice. “There has to be another way.”

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