Chapter 2: The Citadel of Seven Paragons
1000 Words
The woman looked helplessly at Lucien Vance. "I could help if you asked. I have connections."
"No need," Lucien replied, his voice flinty.
She sighed. "Fine. Reach out anytime. I’ll keep watching them." With a brittle smile, she melted into the predawn gloom, leaving cloying perfume in her wake.
Lucien closed his eyes, undisturbed.
Near dawn, the woman reappeared. "Good news! Your pest problem’s gone," she chirped.
Lucien’s gaze sharpened.
"My eldest brother handled it," she purred. "Derek Thorne’s detained. He wants to discuss their sentencing with you."
Lucien stood. "Lead on."
Smirking, she guided him past smoldering campfires to a clearing 300 meters from the caravan—exposed, yet within shouting distance.
There knelt Derek Thorne—the Augur who’d brutalized those women—and a dozen cronies. Before them stood a broad-shouldered man, hands clasped behind his back.
"Brother, Lucien’s here," the woman trilled, sidling up to him.
He turned, appraising Lucien. "Lucien Vance?"
A nod.
"Marcus Vale. Captain of this caravan." He jutted his chin. "You may know me."
"I do," Lucien said, toneless.
Marcus’ eyes narrowed at the dismissal. "These maggots are yours to punish. Your call."
Lucien met his stare. "Your price?"
Marcus’ lips curled. "Cut the pretense. I’ve watched you. Never absorbed a single Bio-Crystal, yet you fight like a Strider. How?"
Beside them, the woman leaned forward, breath quickening. Even the kneeling Augurs stared, hunger in their eyes.
Lucien’s smile was ice. "That’s why you lured me here?"
Marcus nodded to the woman.
She slithered toward Lucien, her whisper oily. "Tell us, darling. Another path to Auguration? Humanity would owe you. And I..." Her fingers brushed his arm. "...could make it worth your while."
Lucien turned. "Last warning: touch me again, you die."
Steel flashed.
She clutched her throat, blood welling between fingers. Shock froze her face—he’d actually done it. Before Marcus Vale, a caravan captain!
Marcus gaped, stupefied.
Lucien flicked gore from his staff. "You’ve hounded me since this caravan began. Ends now." He lunged.
"You dare?!" Marcus roared, whipping his longsword up to block—
—CRACK!
The blade shattered. Lucien’s staff carved a furrow to the bone in Marcus’ shoulder.
Impossible! Marcus stumbled back. He was a Strider—he should’ve crushed this upstart!
Lucien pressed. His staff whistled sideways.
Marcus dove, hurling the broken hilt. Lucien batted it aside; the projectile gouged the earth where he’d stood.
"Kill him! NOW!" Marcus bellowed.
Derek’s crew scrambled for weapons.
Lucien spun. His staff became a silver blur. With a ground-shaking stomp, he covered ten meters in a breath. Steel hissed—
—and crimson blossoms erupted on every chest.
Derek and his men toppled, corpses before they hit dirt.
In that heartbeat, Lucien’s heart turned to iron. This age was lawless, brutal—but evil could be cleansed.
"Earthshaker... You’re Earthshaker-tier!" Marcus trembled, collapsing to his knees. "Mercy, Master Vance! I’ll be your hound! Your blade! I’ll fetch women—"
Lucien gazed skyward.
Marcus snarled, lunging with a hidden shiv—
—and stabbed empty air. The Lucien before him shimmered, a fading mirage.
"Phantom Step. Combat art," Lucien’s voice came behind him. "From the stars."
Marcus’ head thudded to the earth.
Lucien sighed, sheathing his staff. A wanderer of worlds, yet chaos trails me.
He harvested Bio-Crystals from the corpses. As they neared his ring, they vanished—swallowed by the Void Ring. Another relic from beyond.
Derek’s absence went unremarked. But Marcus Vale? A missing captain drew eyes. Yet his own scheming had buried his trail. Truth will out, Lucien thought grimly.
Noon. Thousands craned their necks. Judicator Zane Shaw approached.
A speck swelled into a titan hovering mid-air—crop-haired, two meters tall, gripping a three-meter siege axe. Zane Shaw, Skyforger of the Seven Paragons.
A collective gasp. Flight!
BOOM!
Zane slammed a palm down without warning. A dust cyclone blinded the caravan.
Augurs watched, awed. Skyforger might—mountains would shatter!
Giant Bloodvines erupted below, lashing upward.
Zane hmphed—a thunderclap of sound. He raised his axe. Air shivered behind him, forming ghostly wings. "TEMPEST CLEAVE!"
He spun. The axe became a silver comet.
KRAKOOM!
The impact split the earth. Fissures spiderwebbed. Shockwaves battered the Augur captains shielding the crowd.
Lucien’s eyes narrowed. Skyforger-tier. That vine had been stronger than they knew.
Dust settled. Zane stood, axe resting on one shoulder. Below him, a crater frothed with green sludge—the Bloodvine, obliterated.
"To Crimson Fortress!" Zane boomed, soaring higher. "Safety awaits!"
"HAIL JUDICATOR!"
"LONG LIVE THE PARAGON!"
Thousands chanted. Heroes were oxygen in this apocalypse.
Lucien gripped his staff. Not Skyforger. Not yet. Marcus was right—no Bio-Crystals. His path was the stars’ path. Soon, he thought, eyes on the void. It must be soon.
Zane’s escort made the journey uneventful. Stronger monsters lurked, but they were rare.
At Crimson Fortress, survivors wept, shedding burdens.
The city was a scarred giant. Earthen bulwarks rose where walls once stood, manned by silent Augurs watching the caravan enter. Their eyes held grief: one in ten hadn’t survived.
Lucien remembered the old city—tree-lined boulevards, serenity. Now, outer districts seethed with Ghouls. Only Zane’s might had breached this hell.
Survivors were processed. Augurs marched to the Judicator Citadel.
Five hundred Augurs for tens of thousands—one guardian per hundred souls. A grim calculus.
If only Ghouls bore Bio-Crystals...
The Citadel loomed, devouring Mount Bellcrest. Its gates stood stern, patrolled by uniformed soldiers. Rookie Augurs eyed them with envy—their future.
"Six months," someone breathed. "The Judicator built this?"
"While others hid," another murmured. "The Citadel anchors the region."
Nods rippled.
Lucien walked among them, studying the soldiers. Military precision.
No charisma alone could forge this. Zane Shaw was state power wearing a hero’s face. The old order hadn’t fallen—it had morphed.
And the stars draw near...
- Writer
