The Summit was held in the "Grand Void" ballroom—a space folded between the layers of reality beneath a nondescript hotel in the Financial District. The air inside didn't smell like a gala; it smelled of ozone, ancient sulfur, and the cold, sharp scent of divinity.
Lilith walked at Chase's side, her head held high, though her hand gripped the Essence Condenser in her clutch with white-knuckled intensity. She was playing the part of the untouchable Alpha, but Chase could feel the tremors of the room's power-play hitting her like waves. The ballroom was divided into three distinct clusters: the Traditionalists, who wanted to keep the Sanctuary status quo; the Nihilists, who sought to burn the veil; and the Opportunists, who simply wanted to rule the new world's ruins.
As they moved toward the center of the room, a tall man with skin like weathered parchment and eyes of solid gold stepped into their path. He wore a high-collared military uniform from a kingdom that had been dust for a millennium.
"I recognized that gait before I even saw the face," the man said, his voice a low, grinding rasp. "Still walking like you have the weight of a dying battalion on your back."
Chase stopped, his muscles locking into a combat-ready stance. "Malphas. I thought you were executed at the Siege of the Iron Spire."
"The gods are sloppy executioners, Surgeon," Malphas sneered, glancing at Lilith with utter disdain before returning his gaze to Chase. "I haven't forgotten the day you 'amputated' my left wing to save your precious human refugees. I spent three centuries regrowing it in the dark."
The room went quiet. The name The Surgeon carried a weight that rippled through the factions. To the Ancients, Chase wasn't just a warrior; he was the man who had the clinical precision to dismantle a god's power-source without killing them—leaving them as nothing more than mortals.
"I was doing my job," Chase said, his voice devoid of emotion.
"And now your job is protecting a traitor and a battery?" Malphas gestured to the room at large. "The word is out, Surgeon. We know about the Heart of the Void. We know about the beach-front fortress. There is a bounty on that stone that would tempt even a Saint to murder."
"Oh? And you think you are strong enough to take it?" Chase asked, his eyes darkening. "Unless we all forget that you are a coward, Malphas. Always hiding behind your men, sending children to die in the front lines while you sip wine in the rear. Remember this: if you come to my home, I will kill you. And in this world, there are no priests. You won't have anyone to revive you this time."
Chase didn't flinch. He leaned in, his Essence flaring just enough to make the golden eyes of Malphas flicker with a moment of genuine hesitation. "If you come to my home, Malphas, make sure you bring a better surgeon than me. Because I won't be looking to save any parts of you this time."
He turned to Lilith. "We're done here. You have your orbs. You have your status. Don't follow me."
Lilith looked like she wanted to scream, to command him to stay, to remind him of the years they had spent in their "strictly professional" dance. But she saw the look in his eyes—the look of a man who had finally put down a burden he never asked for. She nodded once, a sharp, jerky movement, and walked toward the Opportunist faction.
The Shadows of the Summit
Off in the other corner of the room, tucked away in an alcove of velvet and shadow, two figures watched the confrontation. Isolde took a slow sip of her wine, her eyes tracking Chase's exit. Beside her stood Michal, a man whose presence felt less like a person and more like a localized weather system—quiet, heavy, and potentially cataclysmic.
"Are you planning to intervene in this, Michal?" Isolde asked, swirling the dark liquid in her glass.
"Of course," Michal replied, his voice a deep baritone that seemed to hum in the floorboards. "This is a perfect opportunity to kill Malphas once and for all. He's been a stain on the Lattice for far too long. Besides, it gives me a convenient excuse to visit the cliffside."
Isolde chuckled. "Very well. Oh, also—since you're going, get rid of the stone, it would do us all a favor. Try not to destroy the entire hillside in your fight, okay? Chase just moved in, and his sister would be quite cross if you ruined the landscaping."
Michal gave a short, dry chuckle. "Who do you think I am? I can hold back a bit. Don't worry, I will save your friend and his little 'family.' My wife is Alex's sister, after all. She'd kill me if she found out I let her sister get caught in a mercenary crossfire. I'll be off. Don't drink too much, Isolde."
"I won't," she said, promptly upending an entire bottle of wine into her glass.
"I just said don't drink so much. Your body is that of a human now, you idiot," Michal said, walking off and shaking his head in disbelief.
Chase drove back to the mansion in record time. He didn't care about the speed traps or the thinning veil. He just needed to be back inside the wards. When he entered the mansion, Rixsa was sitting on the kitchen island, cleaning a set of throwing knives. She looked up, her expression guarded.
"That was a short party," she noted. "Did the Alpha find someone shinier to play with?"
Chase walked straight up to her. He didn't stop until he was in her personal space, the scent of sea salt and pine replacing the jasmine of the ballroom. "I quit," Chase said, his voice rough.
Rixsa paused, a knife halfway through a whetstone stroke. "What do you mean, you quit? You can't quit a blood-contract, Chase. She'll—"
"I ended it. All of it. The contract, the sessions, the job," he stepped closer, his hands finding the edge of the counter on either side of her. "The only person I'm an anchor for from now on is sitting right here. If that's okay with you."
Rixsa's eyes widened, her feral green pupils dilating. She dropped the knife; it clattered harmlessly onto the quartz. She looked at him, searching for the "Warrior," but finding only the man who had shared his memories with her in the gym.
"You're an idiot," she whispered, her voice trembling. "A total, absolute idiot. Do you have any idea how much trouble you just invited into this house?"
"I have a pretty good idea," Chase smiled, his first genuine smile in years.
Rixsa didn't answer with words. She grabbed his tie and pulled him down into a kiss that tasted like a declaration of war against the rest of the world. It wasn't a session; it wasn't a release of power. It was just them.
The moment was interrupted by Vincent stepping into the kitchen. "I hate to interrupt the 'human' emotions," the boy-commander said dryly, "but the security sensors just picked up a fleet of black SUVs entering the private drive. It seems the bounty hunters didn't want to wait for morning."
Chase pulled back, his hand lingering on Rixsa's cheek. "Rules of the house, Vincent?"
Vincent gripped the hilt of his blade. "No guests after midnight."
Walking outside, Chase stood in front of the long, winding driveway with Vincent by his side. The moonlight turned the pavement into a silver ribbon, and the air was thick with the scent of wet asphalt and incoming violence. A dozen black SUVs screeched to a halt, their headlights cutting through the darkness like the eyes of predators.
As the army of mercenaries stepped out, armed with Essence-dampening gear and high-caliber rifles, their leader Malphas stepped out of the lead vehicle. He looked at the mansion with a greedy, arrogant glint in his gold eyes.
"Chase!" Malphas shouted, his voice amplified by a localized spell. "So glad to see you haven't run away. I was worried I'd have to track you through the sewers. I am planning to kill you today. And after I'm done with you, I'll take that stone and your little 'Goddess' back to the Council for a handsome reward."
Chase stood unfazed, his hands in his pockets. "You're still talking, Malphas. That was always your problem. You think your mouth can win battles your courage can't. Look at these men you brought—paid killers and bottom-feeders. Do you really think they're enough to take this house?"
"They are enough to tear you apart by sheer numbers, Surgeon!" Malphas spat. "Kill them! Leave the girl and the stone, but I want Chase's head on my hood!"
The mercenaries began to level their weapons, but before a single trigger could be pulled, a shadow detached itself from the side of the mansion. It wasn't a normal shadow; it was a void, a hole in reality that moved with terrifying speed.
A tall figure stepped out of the darkness, clad in a long, tattered duster that seemed to be made of starlight and smoke.
It was Michal.
"You're making a lot of noise for a man who's about to become a memory, Malphas," Michal said calmly.
"Who the hell are you?" Malphas barked, stepping back.
Michal didn't answer. He simply snapped his fingers.
The world seemed to lurch. The shadows beneath the feet of the mercenaries suddenly rose up like jagged, obsidian teeth. In a blur of gore and silent screams, the shadows tore through the army. Men were ripped into bloody bits, SUVs were crushed like soda cans by invisible hands, and the screams were cut short, the driveway was empty of life—except for Malphas, who had been left standing in a circle of mangled steel and viscera.
Malphas fell to his knees, his golden eyes wide with a terror that surpassed anything he had felt in a thousand years. "Please... please, I didn't know... I'll leave! I'll never come back!"
Chase walked up to the trembling mercenary leader. He looked down at him with a cold, detached pity. "I told you, Malphas. You aren't worth the effort of a surgeon's blade." Chase looked at Michal, who gave a small nod. "Get out of here. If I see your face again, I won't let Michal be the one to finish it. Run."
Malphas didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted into the woods, disappearing into the dark.
Michal exhaled, and with a wave of his hand, the cars and bodies sank into the shadows, the pavement cleaning itself as if the massacre had never happened. "Messy," Michal muttered. "Isolde sent me. She thought you might need a hand with the 'uninvited' guests."
Chase shook Michal's hand, feeling the immense power radiating from the man. "I appreciate the assistance. Who are you, really?"
"An old friend of the family," Michal said, his eyes glancing toward the mansion where Alex was likely hiding. "My wife is Alex's sister. She'd have my head if I let this place get sacked. Now, about that gem—the Heart of the Void. It's causing far too much trouble."
Chase reached into his pocket and pulled out the pulsing violet crystal. He had questions—plenty of them—but he could sense that Michal wasn't an enemy. "What do you plan to do with it? If this stone is a beacon, it'll just keep bringing more like Malphas."
Michal took the stone, and it seemed to dim in his presence. "I am going to destroy it," Michal said firmly. "But you can't just smash a piece of the Void. I'm going to take it to the deep Arctic, to a great beast that the gods left behind when they first fashioned this world. A creature of pure consumption. I'll feed the stone to it, and the power will be neutralized forever. No one will ever use it as a beacon or a battery again."
Chase nodded, finally feeling the last thread of the old war snap. "Do it. I've had enough beacons for one lifetime."
Michal tucked the stone away and looked at the mansion. "You've got a good setup here, Chase. Try to keep it quiet for a while. And tell Alex her sister says hello—and that she still owes her a scarf."
With that, Michal stepped back into the shadows and vanished. Chase stood in the quiet driveway, the sound of the ocean finally returning to fill the silence. He looked at Vincent, who was still holding his blade, then back at the front door where Rixsa was waiting.
"Is it over?" Vincent asked.
"For tonight," Chase said, turning back toward the house. "Let's go inside. I think we've earned a bit of that 'human' sleep."