Apostles' War

Beneath the Cathedral, France – 12:29 AM

It was watching them.

The Grinshade Lord stood at the far end of the crypt — a towering creature of coiled limbs, cloaked in human shadows and faces. Its body was strung with dozens of mask-like visages, each grinning wider than the last. Some whispered. Some sobbed. All were wrong.

Its main face loomed above the rest: a pale, cracked mask with a mouth stretching ear to ear, frozen in a parody of joy.

The lower Grinshades parted like trembling dogs before it. The crypt darkened. The air thickened with the stench of warped laughter.

Elian stepped back, his throat dry. "W-What is that thing?"

Leon's voice was low, but steady. "A mask-lord. Born from the death of joy and twisted reverence. It's been feeding on the cathedral's sanctity."

"It's strong," Enoch added, eyes narrowing. "But it bleeds."

The Grinshade Lord raised one arm — too long, too thin, ending in fingers shaped like bells. A chime echoed. Behind it, rows of lesser Grinshades shrieked and surged.

"Hold the front," Leon said, adjusting his circlet. "I'll shatter its illusions."

Enoch didn't wait. He launched himself forward, leaping in a radiant arc. Golden light burst beneath his feet with every step, creating temporary platforms in midair. He moved like lightning — boots flashing, kicking through swarms as they lunged.

Grinshades exploded into smoke, their laughter severed mid-scream.

Leon remained behind, pressing his hand to his relic.

[Invisible Authority]

A pulse of divine silence rang out from his crown. The lesser demons faltered — their pride, their madness, their arrogance unraveling. Around him, illusions distorted and melted away. One by one, the flickering shadows lost form.

Elian stood frozen behind them.

This was nothing like the voices in Tagaytay. Nothing like the Wailing Hordes he fled. This was war — spiritual, brutal, real.

He could see it now: the unrelenting tide. The grotesque beauty of the relics. The sheer force of conviction behind every strike.

And he felt...

Useless.

He clenched his fists, glancing down at the sigil still glowing on the back of his hand. Seraphblade... Why won't you come? Why can't I fight?

"Leon!" Enoch shouted suddenly.

The Grinshade Lord moved.

With impossible speed, it crashed its bell-arm down — the soundwave rippling like a scream made physical. Stone cracked. Debris flew. Leon braced himself, but the power hit like a typhoon. He staggered back, momentarily dazed.

Elian cried out, instinctively running toward him — but stopped halfway. He had no weapon. No relic. Nothing but the searing mark on his hand.

The Grinshade Lord laughed — a layered, broken sound, like glass cutting through a choir.

It raised both arms. The ground trembled.

Faces peeled away from its chest, flying outward like cursed petals — masks with jagged teeth, launching toward Enoch and Leon.

"ELIAN!" Leon shouted. "Stay back!"

He stumbled, bleeding from the temple. Enoch dove in and kicked the ground, sending a shockwave that knocked the masks away.

But the Grinshade Lord was already moving again.

Its mouth stretched wider. The voices of the stolen echoed from its maw:

"You're not real."

"You're not chosen."

"You will fail them all."

And this time — the voices were aimed at Elian.

He stumbled. Fell to his knees. Hands over his ears. Eyes wide. The cathedral spun.

"You're the kind one," the Grinshade Lord crooned, with a dozen mouths. "But you have nothing to offer but pity."

"Why did the flame choose you?"

Elian gasped, clutching his head.

Something inside him frayed.

The sigil blazed again, burning hot across his skin — but the relic did not answer.

He bit his tongue to stay conscious. "Not now... not now…"

And then —

A hand on his shoulder.

Leon, bruised but standing, had knelt beside him.

"Elian," he said quietly, "it's okay to be afraid."

Elian looked up, breathing hard.

"You were never meant to face this alone. That's why there are Twelve of us."

Enoch landed beside them, holding the line.

"I'll keep it back," the Apostle of Faith said. "But don't give in to doubt. Not here."

Elian stared at the twisted Lord in the dark. It grinned wider, preparing another scream.

He had no sword.

No relic.

But he had a choice.

He stood — knees shaking, breath unsteady — and stepped behind Leon and Enoch.

"I'll stay behind you," he whispered, "but I won't run again."

Leon smiled, bloody but proud.

"Good."

The Grinshade Lord howled.