The air in Ironhaven's Forge district clung thick with the stench of molten metal and despair, a suffocating haze that blurred the lines between the living and the damned. The great furnaces belched thick black smoke into the sky, their glow flickering like the dying heart of the city itself. Steam hissed from rusted pipes, and the distant clang of hammer on anvil echoed through the streets like the heartbeat of a caged beast. The city never truly slept; the Forge district pulsed with restless energy, an unceasing churn of laborers, enforcers, and those who lurked in the shadows.
Judicator Veyra, a paragon of the Inquisition's merciless order, stood atop the courtroom's rusted dais, her Law Branch Shard, Ironclad Mandate, casting jagged golden light over the gathered crowd. The inquisitorial chamber, an open-air relic of a bygone era, loomed over the Forge's central square. Below her, a child—no older than ten, their wrists raw from Compliance Collars—trembled in silence, their eyes hollow and resigned. The trial was a spectacle, another performance of the Inquisition's unwavering justice, but the tremors in the ground betrayed the city's rot. Metal groaned under unseen strain, a whisper of something breaking beneath the surface.
"By the Order's decree," Veyra began, her voice echoing like a struck bell, each syllable sharpened by centuries of doctrine, "you will be cleansed of corruption."
She raised her gavel, the Shard at her throat pulsing with righteous light. The weight of judgment hung thick in the air, pressing down on the assembled crowd like an iron vice. The silence stretched, taut as wire, as anticipation gripped the onlookers. But before it fell, a sound split the air—a crack, sharp and final, like a bone snapping under the weight of a lie. The crowd froze as Veyra's Shard splintered, geometric runes erupting across her skin like fractures in glass. Her eyes widened, a flicker of humanity breaking through the cold facade, and then she imploded.
The blast tore through the Forge, shattering windows and scattering ash like black snow. The courthouse dais was vaporized in a burst of golden energy, Compliance Collars snapping open in a ripple of disrupted Order. The prisoners collapsed as raw truth-energy surged through the streets, a pulse that burned through lies and forced confessions from unwilling lips. The city reeled. The wave spread like wildfire, sweeping through alleyways and iron-clad corridors, unraveling secrets buried in silence. The air hummed with energy, reality warping in the pulse's wake.
Kael stumbled, his corrupted arm seizing as the energy fused with his Toxin Shard. Gold veins spiderwebbed up his wrist, burning with alien power. Around him, voices erupted in involuntary confessions—a shopkeeper sobbing about smuggling Oblivion spores, a soldier screaming his hatred for the Spire, a mother whispering her guilt over a child sold to the Fleshcrafters. And then his own voice, raw and unbidden, ripped from his throat:
"I let Jarek go. I froze. I watched him take everything."
The admission echoed off the crumbling walls, ringing in his ears like a curse. Gutter pressed against his leg, her crystalline hackles raised, a low growl reverberating through her body. The truth-pulse had turned the city into a chorus of anguish, every secret laid bare. Somewhere in the chaos, Ryn stood motionless, staring at the wreckage of the courtroom, his face pale. The distant ringing of broken glass and the fading screams of those ensnared in the pulse wove a dirge through the destruction.
Veyra's body was gone, reduced to shimmering dust, but her final memory lingered in the air—a fractured hologram of a lab, sterile and cold. Liss lay on a steel slab, her wrists ringed with Compliance Collar burns, her eyes vacant. Dead. Ryn's hands trembled as the image flickered. He'd spent years weaving stories of her escape, of a reunion in some far-flung corner of Noxthorn. Now, the truth hung in the ash, undeniable. There was no running from it. The past had its teeth in his throat, and it refused to let go.
The reactor at the Forge's core roared, its energy spiraling out of control. The truth-pulse was liquefying minds, turning confession into carnage. Ryn moved on instinct, clawing through debris to where Veyra's Shard fragment lay glowing. The moment he touched it, her memories flooded him—interrogations, executions, the crack of bone under her gavel. And Liss. Always Liss. Every echo of judgment she had passed weighed upon him, chains of righteousness dragging him under.
A spectral judge materialized, its form woven from golden light and broken law-runes. "Confess your sin," it demanded, its voice a chorus of gavels.
Ryn's knees hit the ground. "I left her. When the Inquisition came… I ran. I let them take her."
The Shard fragment flared, its power surging into him. Gold veins spread up his arms, burning like brands. He could feel Veyra's resolve hardening in his chest, her cold certainty that order demanded sacrifice. For a heartbeat, he almost agreed. Almost.
Kael fought through the chaos, his temporary fusion of Law and Toxin energy allowing him to paralyze enforcers with a touch. But the power was a poison—his veins blackened with every use, his vision blurring at the edges. He found Ryn kneeling before the reactor, the Shard fragment pulsing in his grip, his eyes hollow. The weight of something ancient settled over him, pressing his breath into the dust.
"Ryn!" Kael shouted, but his voice was lost in the reactor's scream.
Gutter lunged, her crystalline body a streak of amber light. She collided with Ryn, knocking the fragment from his hands. It shattered against the ground, its glow dying as the reactor's pulse stuttered and stilled. The silence that followed was deafening. It swallowed the city whole, wrapping it in the weight of its sins.
Ryn stared at the shards, Veyra's memories receding like a tide. "She's gone," he muttered, more to himself than anyone. "They're all gone."
Kael's golden veins faded, his Toxin Shard reasserting itself in a wave of nausea. He slumped against a wall, his arm trembling, the temporary power leaving him weaker than before. Gutter nosed Ryn's hand, her whine soft, persistent. The city shifted around them, iron groaning under its own weight, the scars of the truth-pulse etched into its bones.
In the rubble, a data chip glinted—scorched but intact. Ryn scooped it up, his jaw tightening as he recognized the Inquisition's encryption. Project Stonebreaker. Subject Jarek V: Asset secured. Location: Undisclosed. No coordinates. No trails. Just proof that Jarek was still the Inquisition's weapon, his whereabouts buried deeper than the city's roots.
Night fell over Ironhaven, the Eclipse Belt casting its perpetual twilight. The streets were littered with the aftermath of the pulse—collapsed Order Spires, bodies curled around their own confessions, rebels picking through the wreckage for scraps of freedom. The group retreated to the Dregs, where the air stank of synth-alcohol and the shadows hid more than rats.
Kael flexed his corrupted hand, the skin now mottled with gold and black. "We'll find him," he said, though the words felt hollow.
Ryn didn't answer. He stared at the data chip, Liss's face burning behind his eyes. Gutter settled beside him, her warmth a silent promise.