Chapter 22 THE CHURCH GAMBIT

Chapter 22 THE CHURCH GAMBIT
The Light isn't holy; it’s just a brighter way to hide the blood."

The iron gates of Grey-Rock groaned as a massive, silver-plated carriage rolled into the town square, flanked by fifty knights in blinding white armor. In the center of the formation was a weapon that made the ground tremble: the "God-Slaying" Ballista. It was a monstrosity of enchanted oak and cold iron, its bolt etched with runes designed to pierce the heart of a primordial.

High Inquisitor Malachi stepped from the carriage, his eyes scanning the crowd of workers and scrappers with a look of supreme disgust. "By the decree of the Holy See, this den of heresy is condemned! Where is the beast Kaelen?"

Kaelen stepped out from the shadow of the Trade Guild. He wasn't wearing a mask. He wasn't hiding. He stood with his arms crossed, watching the massive weapon being aimed at his chest.

"You’re making a mess of the cobblestones, Malachi," Kaelen said, his voice carrying through the square. "Who told you that oversized toothpick would work on me?"

"Blasphemer!" Malachi roared, pointing a trembling finger. "You have corrupted the economy, you have siphoned the spirits of the nobility, and you have dared to claim a Dragon’s throne. The Light does not negotiate with parasites."

"Parasites?" Kaelen laughed, a dry, sharp sound. "Thorne, give them the news. I think the High Inquisitor missed his morning briefing."

Thorne and a dozen scrappers suddenly appeared on the rooftops, raining thousands of parchment pamphlets down onto the square like a snowstorm of truth.

"What is this?" a citizen shouted, catching a paper. "The Church has been selling mana-crystals to the enemy kingdoms in the North? To the Shadow-Cults?"

"Look at this one!" another yelled. "The High Priest’s private ledger—he’s been taking a fifty-percent cut of the orphanages' tithes!"

"It’s a lie!" Malachi screamed, his face turning a mottled purple. "A fabrication of the Abyss!"

"The signatures are sealed with the High Priest’s own blood-stamp, Malachi," Kaelen said, stepping into the center of the square. "My men spent weeks cleaning your latrines and emptying your trash. You’d be surprised how much 'holy' evidence people throw away when they think the help is invisible."

"You think words will save you from the God-Slayer?" Malachi signaled the knights. The ballista began to hum, the tip of the bolt glowing with a violent, white heat. "Soldiers! Clear the square! Any man standing near this heretic is a traitor to the Light!"

The knights moved forward with their shields, but they didn't get far.

A grizzled miner named Hanz stepped in front of Kaelen. Then his wife. Then the blacksmith. Within seconds, a wall of hundreds of citizens had formed a human circle around Kaelen.

"Get back, you fools!" the lead knight barked, his sword shaking. "He’s a monster! He’s a dragon!"

"He’s the man who gave us bread when Julian let us starve!" Hanz roared back. "He’s the one who fixed the mine vents so we didn't choke on mana-rot! If you want him, you go through us!"

"This is madness!" Malachi turned to the ballista crew, his eyes wild with fanaticism. "The boy has bewitched them! They are no longer human—they are husks of his dark will! Soldiers, do your duty! Fire the God-Slayer!"

"Sir, there are women and children in the line of fire!" the ballista commander shouted, his hand hovering over the release lever.

"I said FIRE!" Malachi screamed, grabbing the lever himself. "Purify them all! Let the Light sort the innocent from the damned!"

The air in the square turned cold. The runes on the ballista reached a fever pitch, the sound like a thousand screaming souls. Malachi’s face was a mask of holy madness as he prepared to execute an entire city to kill one boy.

"Kaelen, get down!" Hanz yelled, bracing himself.

Kaelen didn't get down. He stepped through the crowd, moving to the very front of the human wall. He looked Malachi directly in the eye, and for the first time, he let the silence of the Abyss break.

"You want to see a monster, Malachi?" Kaelen whispered.

With a sound like a thunderclap, the black-iron wings erupted from Kaelen’s back, snapping open with such force that the nearby windows shattered into dust. The obsidian feathers shimmered with a dark, metallic luster, casting a shadow that swallowed the entire square.

"By the Gods..." a knight whispered, dropping his shield.

"The wings..." Malachi gasped, his hand frozen on the lever. "The Fourth Molting... it’s real."

Kaelen stood before the God-Slaying Ballista, his wings draped around him like a shield of midnight. His eyes were no longer human; they were twin suns of molten gold, burning through the white light of the Church.

"Fire the bolt, Malachi," Kaelen commanded, his voice echoing like the heartbeat of the mountain. "See if your God can pay the price for what happens next."

Malachi shrieked and slammed the lever down.

The white-hot bolt screamed through the air, a streak of divine execution aimed directly at the center of Kaelen’s chest. The crowd gasped, some closing their eyes, others screaming in terror as the Light sought its prey.

The bolt hit.

An explosion of white and violet light blinded everyone in the square. A shockwave tossed knights and citizens alike to the ground. When the smoke cleared, the silence was absolute.

Kaelen stood unmoved. He had caught the God-Slaying bolt with his bare right hand, the tip of the projectile inches from his heart. The runes on the iron were glowing red-hot, hissing as they tried to pierce his skin, but the \[Dragon Marrow\] held firm.

Kaelen looked at the bolt, then at the trembling Inquisitor.

"My turn," Kaelen said.

He snapped the God-Slaying bolt in half like a dry twig.

From the shadows of the surrounding alleys, thousands of red eyes began to glow. The beasts of the mountain, the Draconic Spies, were descending. And in the distance, the sound of the Royal Knights’ mutiny began to roar toward the square.

"The Light is fading, Malachi," Kaelen said, his wings spreading wide as he began to hover off the ground. "And the dark has a very long memory."

The High Inquisitor fell to his knees as the first shadow of a dragon’s wing passed over his sun-bleached robes. The Holy War had just become a massacre.