Chapter 7: When Even Gods Miss
Lucien Veyr did not slow down.
Stone shattered behind him as holy light slammed into the ruins, each impact leaving scorched sigils burned deep into the ancient rock. The air screamed under the pressure of divine mana, a suffocating presence that did not behave like ordinary magic.
It did not flow.
It judged.
Lucien vaulted over a fallen column, boots barely touching the surface as he twisted mid-air and landed in a narrow corridor between collapsed walls. The moment his feet hit the ground, he turned sharply and ran again, instincts screaming louder than thought.
This was different.
Hunters could be outplayed.
Monsters could be killed.
This—
This wanted him erased.
A beam of radiant light punched through the corridor ahead, melting stone into molten slag. Lucien skidded to a stop, threw himself sideways, and rolled as the blast grazed past him, searing the edge of his coat and blistering skin beneath.
Pain flared.
Lucien gritted his teeth and kept moving.
So this is divine magic, he thought grimly. No chant. No delay.
Luck pulsed violently in his chest, not calming him—pushing him.
Not away.
Down.
Lucien veered sharply and plunged through a collapsed section of floor just as another blast tore through the space he'd occupied.
He fell.
The underground chamber swallowed him whole.
Lucien hit hard, rolling across cracked stone before slamming into a wall. He groaned, breath knocked from his lungs, vision blurring for a moment as dust rained down around him.
He pushed himself upright immediately.
Darkness pressed in, thick and heavy. The faint blue glow of ancient mana crystals flickered weakly along the walls, revealing a vast subterranean hall carved deep beneath the ruins.
This place was old.
Older than the Church.
Older than kingdoms.
Lucien felt it in his bones.
Above him, stone groaned.
Then—silence.
Lucien stood still, breathing carefully, suppressing everything.
Mana.
Presence.
Intent.
Seconds stretched.
Then minutes.
No divine light followed.
Lucien frowned slightly.
He lost me?
Luck answered with a slow, uneasy pulse.
No.
The Inquisitor hadn't lost him.
He had stopped.
Lucien swallowed.
"That's worse," he muttered.
Inquisitor Malrec stood at the edge of the ruins above, robes fluttering gently despite the still air.
He lowered his hand, expression calm.
"The world bends around you," he said softly to the empty space. "That alone is proof."
Behind him, two robed figures approached—lesser inquisitors, faces pale beneath their hoods.
"Should we pursue?" one asked.
Malrec shook his head.
"No," he replied. "Not yet."
The inquisitor's eyes glimmered with faint golden light.
"Let him believe he escaped," Malrec continued. "The variable must act when it feels safe."
He turned away.
"Seal the area. Purify the surface. Leave no witnesses."
The robed figures bowed deeply.
"As you command."
Malrec smiled faintly.
"Even luck must surface eventually."
Lucien did not feel safe.
The underground hall was vast, its ceiling lost in darkness. Broken statues lined the walls—figures carved in armor that did not match any modern design. Their faces were worn smooth, expressions erased by time.
Lucien moved slowly, senses stretched to their limit.
No monsters.
No traps.
No ambient hostility.
That alone made him uneasy.
He knelt and pressed his palm lightly against the stone floor.
The mana here was… stable.
Too stable.
"This was sealed," Lucien murmured. "On purpose."
Luck pulsed.
A memory surfaced unbidden—his own, yet not entirely.
A sense of standing in a place like this before.
Long ago.
Lucien shook his head sharply.
"Not now."
He stood and continued deeper.
The ambush came without warning.
The air twisted violently, mana freezing mid-flow as a holy sigil flared to life beneath Lucien's feet. Light erupted upward, chains of radiant energy snapping around his limbs and torso, slamming him to the ground with crushing force.
Lucien gasped as pain exploded through his body.
Divine binding.
Stronger than the suppression cuffs.
"Found you," Malrec's voice echoed from the darkness.
Lucien strained against the chains instinctively—and froze.
No.
If he broke these openly, there would be no ambiguity left.
Malrec stepped into the chamber, light haloing his figure unnaturally.
"You should feel honored," the inquisitor said calmly. "Very few are bound by the Light of Judgement personally."
Lucien coughed, blood staining his lips.
"…I was hoping we'd talk first."
Malrec tilted his head slightly.
"Talk?" he repeated. "There is nothing to discuss. You survive what should kill you. Probability collapses around you. You are a contradiction."
He raised one hand.
"Contradictions must be erased."
Lucien closed his eyes.
Alright.
Luck surged.
Not gently.
Violently.
The ancient runes etched into the floor flared in response—reactivating after centuries of dormancy. The divine chains flickered as conflicting authority slammed into them.
Malrec frowned for the first time.
"What—"
Lucien moved.
He didn't break the chains.
He slipped between moments.
The chains snapped shut—empty.
Lucien reappeared behind Malrec, blade already drawn.
Not empowered.
Not glowing.
Just steel, guided by perfect timing.
Malrec spun, holy barrier flaring instinctively.
Too late.
Lucien struck—not at the inquisitor, but at the sigil anchor hovering behind him.
The ancient rune reacted violently.
Divine authority clashed with something far older.
Malrec screamed as the feedback tore through him, holy light imploding inward. His barrier shattered, throwing him across the chamber in a burst of shattered stone and golden sparks.
Lucien staggered, blood dripping from his nose now.
That move had cost him.
A lot.
Malrec lay motionless.
Lucien approached cautiously, blade raised.
The inquisitor's chest rose once.
Twice.
He was alive.
Lucien looked down at him, breathing heavily.
"…You should've walked away," Lucien said quietly.
Malrec's eyes fluttered open.
"…So it's true," he whispered hoarsely. "You don't fight gods. You let them destroy themselves."
Lucien said nothing.
He raised his blade—
—and stopped.
Luck pulsed sharply.
Lucien stepped back just as Malrec's body disintegrated into ash, holy fire consuming every trace of him in seconds.
No corpse.
No proof.
Lucien stared at the empty space.
"…You planned that," he muttered.
The Church would never admit an inquisitor had failed.
There would be no witnesses.
No record.
Only escalation.
Lucien wiped the blood from his face and turned away.
By the time he emerged from the underground ruins hours later, night had fallen.
The surface was silent.
Too silent.
Ash drifted through the air where ruins once stood.
Lucien stood at the edge of the devastation, cloak torn, body aching, mind coldly focused.
The Church had crossed a line.
This was no longer about survival.
It was about precedent.
Lucien looked toward the distant lights of civilization.
"…If you keep hunting me," he said softly to the night, "you're going to learn something."
Luck pulsed—slow, deliberate.
For the first time, it did not feel reactive.
It felt aligned.
Far away, in cathedrals and courts, something shifted.
The world did not know it yet.
But a war had begun.
Not of armies.
Not of faith.
But of inevitability.