NOVEL WEB Chapter 352: Tag Theta-12.... Three Objectives Confirmed
The tear in the wall didn't make a sound when it opened—it just appeared. A slow shimmer that pulled apart the surface of stone like it had never really been solid to begin with.
And from that quiet opening, something stepped through.
It looked like a man, if you squinted. But only just.
No robe. No mask. No attempt to hide or decorate. Just skin that looked like blackened bark, rough and ridged in some places, smooth and polished in others.
It didn't move like flesh. It moved like something carved—precise, silent, a little too smooth.
Symbols ran straight down his spine, not painted or drawn but burned in, like scars left by something old and searing, now long gone but not forgotten.
One of the veiled figures took a step back, more out of instinct than fear. Not submission, not worship.
Just the kind of stillness that comes when something bigger than you walks into the room.
"Lord Veleth," the figure said quietly.
Kyra didn't move. Her body stayed calm, but her chest tightened slightly. Not out of panic—she didn't do panic—but from the heavy pressure that built when your instincts recognized something that shouldn't be here.
She'd studied gods. All kinds. She'd seen divine echoes and outlawed fragments, even the twisted, half-dead ones that still clung to memory.
But this wasn't any of that. It wasn't familiar. It wasn't unknown.
It was something else entirely.
Other.
Lord Veleth didn't speak right away. He walked toward the altar without rushing, like time did not weigh him.
His movements were quiet and deliberate. He reached into nothing and pulled out a folded parchment bound in gold thread.
It had no name, symbols, or decoration. He placed it on the altar like it belonged there and spoke just one sentence, his voice steady and low.
"The pact is done. May your side hold."
Then he disappeared.
No noise. No ripple. No dramatic flash of vanishing light.
Just gone. Like a breath that wasn't needed anymore.
Kyra didn't breathe until the wall shimmered closed and the lines faded back into dull stone. She felt the tension in her chest loosens slightly, but didn't let it show.
That was it. That was the second confirmation. A pact. Not just between people, not just between cult cells or alliances—but between pantheons. Between different divine orders.
That kind of agreement didn't happen overnight. It took years. Maybe decades. Or it took something worse. Something desperate.
She had what she came for.
Almost.
She was just about to begin her exit protocol when something in the room shifted. Not visibly.
Not even with sound. It was the feeling. The way the air seemed to stretch—thicker, slower.
Like someone had taken a soaked cloth and wrung it out over the room, and all the air caught in its weight.
The flame on the altar bent sideways.
The lead veiled figure lifted their arms and whispered something low, too soft for even Kyra's enhanced senses to catch.
The space shivered.
Then it appeared.
An Eye.
Hovering gently above the altar. Perfectly round. No color. No light. No glow. But it was alive.
Not in a breathing, moving kind of way—but in the way something watches you before you even know you've been seen. It didn't blink. It didn't turn.
But she felt it.
Kyra didn't need an explanation. Her instincts kicked in before her thoughts caught up.
It wasn't a weapon. It wasn't some divine tool. It wasn't a passive camera.
It was worse.
It was something that watched the watchers.
The kind of thing that didn't need to look directly at you to know you. It just knew. It hovered, still and patient, and around it, the figures in the room began to work—not to bind it, not to destroy it, but to wrap it.
Layer by layer, they poured silent energy over it. Not spells. Not blessings. Just veils. Protective, suppressive, masking veils. They weren't caging it.
They were hiding it.
Making it invisible to the kinds of beings who normally see everything.
The ones above.
Kyra's hand brushed against the charm thread hidden in her sleeve. Her breathing was steady, but shallow. She didn't wait. She couldn't.
She triggered the escape charm.
No flash. No swirl of energy. Just a quiet folding of the world, like the room blinked and forgot she'd ever been there.
When her eyes opened again, she was standing seven levels up inside a cracked, dust-covered corridor that hadn't been walked in years. The walls were still, the air stale.
Her hand clenched once at her side as she moved.
She made her way to an old storage room tucked into the sanctum's outer ring. It was cold and dry, full of broken crates and forgotten records. A good place to breathe.
She pulled off the outer layer of her robe, reached beneath the collar of her undershirt, and pressed her fingers to the faint sigil drawn just beneath the skin near her collarbone.
"Tag Theta-12," she said quietly. "Three objectives confirmed."
There was a faint pulse. A soft response only she could feel. The signal had been received.
She took a breath.
Then she added one more line.
"They're testing our leash."
No reply came.
She didn't wait for one.
She pulled the robe back on, adjusted her sleeves, and stepped back into the hallway.
She didn't run.
She didn't rush.
She just walked—calm, quiet, like any servant moving between rooms.
The kind of walk no one remembered.
Hours passed. Maybe more. Somewhere far from sanctums, from known godspace, from planetary watchlists or official registry points, a single figure stepped through a shrouded veil.
No announcement.
No guards.
Just movement.
The courier wasn't built like a soldier. Not cloaked like a priest or laced with divine markers. They wore no symbols, said nothing, and held nothing but a sealed black case pressed gently to their chest.
Inside it, five strands.
Memory strands.
Each one is carefully coiled and locked with identity encryption, bound to a single person.
They entered the Crescent vault without fanfare. No scanning. No verification. The space itself recognized them.
They walked down the center of the chamber and knelt in front of the main platform.
Lilith was already waiting.