The sanctum doors burst inward.

Marcellus was the first through, golden light pouring from his palms and driving back the shadows gathered along the corridor walls. Julius kept pace beside him, sword raised, his face set and unreadable. Evelina followed a step behind, her crimson eyes sweeping the sanctum the moment it came into view.

The chamber beyond was vast, circular, and ancient.

Older than the cathedral built around it, older, perhaps, than the city itself. Its walls were carved from black stone that seemed to swallow light whole, while the floor bore a great sunburst worked in gold, its surface worn smooth by generations of kneeling priests.

At the heart of that sunburst stood a ring of robed figures gathered around an altar. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

The High Council.

Nine men and women clothed in white and gold, their faces hidden beneath their hoods, their hands lifted in prayer. Beyond them, at the far end of the sanctum, the Grand Priest knelt before a second altar, smaller, older, and etched with runes that pulsed with a sickly red glow.

And resting atop it was a knife.

Something that seemed to shift even while lying still.

"The Grand Cleric isn’t here," Julius said, his voice low.

"She will be." Marcellus stepped farther into the chamber, light magic unfurling around him like a second skin. "She’s probably the ritual’s main caster."

One of the robed figures turned.

Her face was gaunt, her eyes unnaturally bright, and the smile pulling at her mouth held no trace of warmth.

"The Crown Prince," she said. "So you were the one causing a ruckus below."

"Enough. What did you do with Elion’s worshippers?" the Grand Priest thundered, his voice echoing strangely through the sanctum, as though it came from every direction at once.

"If I had to guess, my accomplice has already killed them all."

Marcellus’s eyes narrowed. Then he brought his hands together and cast [Light Guardian]. Wings of radiant light spread from his back, a halo flaring into being above his head, and Julius was only a moment behind, his own light gathering around him.

Evelina, meanwhile, had no intention of revealing her demonic form in a room full of light magic users.

The Grand Priest’s bluster died into a strained silence as Marcellus’s [Light Guardian] came fully to life, his wings blazing with pure radiance, his halo burning gold above his brow. Julius’s aura was different, keener somehow, the light drawing close around his sword until it looked like the weapon had grown a second edge.

The High Council recoiled.

Not at the sight of light itself. They had seen light before. What unsettled them was the certainty in Marcellus’s gaze.

The crown prince should have hesitated. He should have shown conflict, doubt, something.

Instead, he stood in their sanctum wearing the face of a man who had already made peace with whatever he was about to do.

"You can’t kill us all," the Grand Priest said, finding his voice again. "There are thousands of faithful in this city. Millions across the continent. Kill us, and they will rise. They will—"

"They won’t know it was us."

Evelina’s voice cut across the chamber.

She stepped past Marcellus, white hair shifting lightly with the movement, crimson eyes passing over the High Council with the calm patience of a predator that had already chosen where to strike.

"The ritual requires your full concentration, doesn’t it?" she said as she moved along the edge of the sunburst. "Every member of the High Council, the Grand Priest, the Grand Cleric, all of you channeling together. No guards. No backup. Just you and your gods."

"Actually," another voice said, echoing through the sanctum, "I’d argue otherwise."

The voice came from behind them.

A bookshelf turned, and from the hidden passage beyond it stepped a woman in a white blindfold. Her hair shone like sunlight itself, and her beauty was so striking it seemed almost unreal.

The Grand Cleric’s robe flowed behind her in long pale folds, and from her back spread the same wings and halo Marcellus and Julius bore.

The difference was that hers shone far brighter.

Evelina knew her on sight. Aside from herself and Lillian, there was only one other woman whose beauty was spoken of in the same breath as legend.

Her nickname.

"The Sun Daughter..." Evelina said.

The temperature in the sanctum seemed to fall. Not from cold, but from the sheer pressure of the Grand Cleric’s presence settling over the room like something tangible.

Her wings spread wider, halo blazing, and the runes etched into the smaller altar answered with a deeper pulse.

"You’ve done well to come this far," the Grand Cleric said, her voice carrying a warmth that felt more threatening than kind, like a blade laid gently against the skin. "But this is where your path ends."

[Sanctuary]

A wave of radiant power swept through the chamber, settling over every praying council member, the Grand Cleric included. It was not merely decorative. All three of them felt its effect almost at once.

"Sanctuary..." Marcellus said, jaw tightening.

A spell that prevented any human from harboring harmful intent toward its target. Which meant, in practical terms, that the council members were untouchable for as long as the Grand Cleric lived.

Silence filled the sanctum. The pressure of the spell settled over them like another layer of skin. Marcellus’s [Light Guardian] flickered, his radiant wings dimming as Sanctuary pressed against his killing intent and tried to smooth it away.

He clenched his teeth and forced the light to brighten.

"I can still move," he said. "I can still fight."

"Moving and fighting are not the same as killing," the Grand Cleric replied.

She stepped farther into the chamber, and the light from her wings stretched long shadows across the black stone walls.

"Sanctuary doesn’t paralyze you," she continued. "It simply... reminds you of your humanity. Of what it means to take a life."

Julius’s sword lowered a fraction. His jaw tightened hard enough to ache.

"Don’t listen to her," Evelina said.

Her voice remained level, controlled, but she could feel the spell brushing insistently at the edges of her mind. Softening. Pulling at memory.

She had killed before. Many times. Yet the faces of the dead had never haunted her sleep.

Now, all at once, they returned.

"The ring," Marcellus said through clenched teeth. "Evelina, the ring—"

She glanced down at her hand.

It was pulsing faster now, the shifting patterns across its surface alive with agitation, with hunger. She could feel something within it resisting the Sanctuary’s influence, something ancient and merciless, sharp as a drawn blade.

"Bypass any magical barrier," she murmured. "So long as I have the strength to force my way through."

A smile touched her lips.

"Well... I suppose it’s time I steal the spotlight."

[Demonic Transformation]