The air in the abandoned cathedral was thick with the scent of rust and old blood. Kael stood at the center of the shattered altar, his fingers tracing the jagged edges of a broken rune. The Maw whispered in the back of his skull, a low, insistent hum that never truly faded.
"You knew this would happen."
He had.
The breach wasn't an accident. It wasn't carelessness. It was a calculated unraveling—one he had set into motion days ago, when he first let the Saints believe they had cornered him.
The First Cut
Three nights prior, Kael had stood atop the ruins of the Hollow Spire, watching as the last of the Saints' scouts retreated into the mist. They thought they were hunting him. They were wrong.
He had let them see him. Let them track his movements. Let them believe they were tightening the noose.
And then—he had vanished.
Not into shadow, not into stealth. Into silence.
The System had flickered that night, a single, distorted message flashing across his vision before dissolving into static:
[Causality Disruption: Active]
The Saints had panicked. Their perfect formations had fractured. Their arrogance had blinded them to the truth—that Kael wasn't just running.
He was herding.
The Second Move
Two days ago, he had walked into the heart of their territory. Not to fight. Not to kill.
To leave something behind.
A single shard of the Hollow Crown, embedded in the stone beneath their commander's throne. A seed of corruption, buried where they would never think to look.
It had taken time to fester.
But when it did—
The breach had torn through their ranks like a scythe through wheat. Saints who had never known fear screamed as their flawless armor cracked from within. Their divine weapons turned against them, their own sanctified steel drinking deep as the Crown's influence spread.
Kael had watched from the shadows, his fingers curled around the hilt of his dagger, his breath steady.
"Perfection is a lie," the Maw had murmured.
And Kael had agreed.
The Final Stroke
Now, standing in the cathedral, he listened to the distant echoes of chaos. The Saints were scrambling, their order collapsing under the weight of their own hubris.
They would regroup. They would retaliate.
But it didn't matter.
Because Kael wasn't done yet.
A notification flickered at the edge of his vision, warped and glitching:
[Dominion Established: 47%]
He exhaled, slow and deliberate.
Then he stepped forward—into the heart of the breach, into the ruin he had crafted—and let the shadows swallow him whole.
Somewhere in the dark, the Hollow King laughed.