"NO–!"

Max's scream ripped the air – but it didn't echo.

Time fractured.

Not silence. Not stillness. Just dragged. Like the moment itself didn't want to arrive.

His body moved, but too slow. Like swimming through tar. Every heartbeat stretched long enough to break. He saw the mask – white, grinning, in Zagan's outstretched hand – drifting toward Ferron's face.

He reached for it.

Too far. Too late.

The mask touched.

And sealed.

A soft hiss. No flash. No scream. Just the moment ending.

Time slammed back into motion.

Max hit the ground on his knees. Air burned in his lungs. Ying coughed behind him, staggering to her feet, blade half-raised, eyes wide with horror.

Ferron knelt in the centre of the shrine.

Motionless.

White mask smooth and faceless, curving down over his jaw like porcelain fused to bone.

"Ferron!" Max's voice cracked. "Ferron, look at me!"

No response.

Then—

A twitch.

Just a finger. Just once.

Then another.

And then the breathing started.

Shallow. Rough. Like something drowning behind a veil.

Ying moved in beside him, blood still dripping from her ribs. "Max… I think he's still in there."

Max didn't answer.

He was already moving. Toward Ferron. Toward the thing that still hadn't stood.

Because if Ferron was still alive…

Then there was still time.

Maybe.

Ferron's shoulders shook. A wheezing breath hissed out through the slits in the mask. He hunched forward, palms digging into the blood-slick floor. For a moment, Max thought he was going to collapse.

But then—

"Max."

A single word.

Hoarse. Broken. His voice.

Max fell to his knees beside him.

"Ferron. I'm here. Just hold on."

The masked man twitched again. Hands clawed at the floor. Blood leaked from the seams of the mask – not gushing, just seeping, like the shrine itself was crying through him.

"I'm… holding it," Ferron rasped. "Can't… much longer."

Max grabbed his shoulder. "We'll break it. Just hang on. We can still—"

"No."

Ferron's voice turned sharp. Not loud. Just sure.

"Listen to me."

Max froze.

The masked head turned slightly toward him – not fully. Just enough that Max could feel the weight behind it.

"She's in the cracks," Ferron whispered. "Not in me. Not yet. But… bleeding through. Slipping past… into my soul."

Max's throat closed.

"She wants a relic," Ferron said. "A shrine saint. Holy death. Turned puppet. Don't let her."

"You're not a puppet," Max said. "You're still fighting. You're still here—"

Ferron twitched again. Violently this time. His breath caught.

"Not for long."

Ying stepped closer now. Her eyes were hard, calculating – but the pain on her face was clear. "He's losing control. Fast."

Max stared at the mask. The edges were starting to glow faintly, silver veins threading out along Ferron's cheekbones.

"Break it," Ferron gasped. "End it. Now."

"I can't."

"You have to."

Max's hand hovered near Ferron's chest. Soulfire burned faintly in his palm. It felt wrong. Too cold.

"You'll die," Max said. "You'll die for good."

"I know."

Max's soul shuddered.

He looked down at Ferron – at the warped, bleeding shape of his friend – and the words caught in his throat like glass. His hand hovered, fire flickering, but it felt useless. Distant. The power that once answered his will now recoiled.

Because this wasn't an enemy.

This was a man he trusted. A man who stood beside him through hell. Who never broke when everything else did. Who fought with him, bled with him, carried his daughter's name like a vow.

You'll die for good.

It echoed. Loud, then hollow.

Max's breath hitched.

He didn't see the shrine anymore. Just all the moments that came before – Ferron teaching him to bind a soul thread over fire. Ferron standing between him and Mammon's wrath. Ferron whispering prayers over Liz's pod when he thought Max wasn't listening.

Max wanted to scream. To deny it. To do anything else.

There has to be another way.

But there wasn't. He saw it now – in Ferron's eyes, or what remained of them behind that twitching mask. The rot was moving. Fast. Already burrowing through his spine like a parasite tasting marrow. Zagan hadn't broken him instantly. She was letting him transform from the inside out.

Why?

Because that was the cruelty of it. Not just death. Not even torture. But erasure.

Ferron wouldn't just die.

He'd become one of them. Another mask. Another echo. Another slave of this mountain's will.

Max clenched his jaw.

He could see it. Could feel what came next – the moment Ferron's voice twisted, the second he turned, chain hissing toward Ying or Liz or some innocent who didn't know the name he once carried.

He couldn't let that happen.

Not to Ferron.

Not to the man who still fought – even now – to stay himself.

Max's shoulders trembled. His hand lowered, fire burning steady now. No longer cold. No longer scared.

Tears blurred his vision.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "God, I'm so sorry."

Ferron didn't flinch.

Ferron turned his head slightly more. Through the mask's shadowed eyes, Max saw a flicker of something real. Raw. Resigned.

"I don't want to wake up wearing someone else."

He tried to smile.

"Promise me she won't use me. Promise me I don't become her priest."

Max clenched his jaw. "You're not."

"Then kill me."

The mask trembled again. Its grin widened – impossibly. The edges peeled open, just a little. Not physically. Spiritually. Like something underneath was waking up.

"Max," Ying said. "Now."

"I promised I'd protect him," Max whispered.

"And this is how you do it."

Ferron's head sagged forward. Blood trickled from the mask's chin now, soaking into his robes. But his voice was steady.

"Please."

Max took one breath.

Then ignited.

Blue-gold flame flared in his palm. It shook. Not from power – from grief.

He pressed his hand to Ferron's chest.

Ferron didn't flinch.

He just nodded.

And smiled. Weak. Grateful.

Max closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

The Soulfire surged.

The shrine flashed gold-blue for a heartbeat.

Then went silent.

Only smoke remained.

Max knelt there for a long moment, head bowed, hand still pressed to the ashes that used to be his friend.

The mask lay cracked beside him.

Empty. Dead.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

Ying said nothing. There were no words.

Max's whisper was nearly lost in the smoke.

"She won't use you. I swear it."

…………………

Max stood. Slowly. Like every part of him weighed too much now.

Ferron's ashes were still warm on his palm.

The cracked mask lay at his feet, faint wisps of smoke curling from its edges. Ying hadn't moved. She just stood behind him, blood soaking through her side, her blade still lowered. Her face was tight. Controlled. But her hands were shaking.

"Where did she go?" Max asked, hoarse.

Ying looked up. Scanned the chamber.

Gone.

No ripple. No scent. No trace. Zagan had vanished. The shrine itself was still – too still – like it had exhaled after the kill and fallen back asleep.

Max turned toward the exit.

But someone else was already there.

A presence, sudden and sharp, snapped through the shrine like breaking glass. No demonic pressure. No soul-rending dread. This was different. Lighter. Older. Like wind slicing through long-forgotten prayer wards.

A woman stepped through the threshold.

Young, in her twenties. Dressed in battle-worn shaman garb – not ceremonial, but real. Her long black hair was braided with fox teeth. Bracers lined her arms. Talisman cords fluttered at her hips.

Max saw the resemblance instantly.

Ferron's bearing. Ferron's calm intensity. But where he carried it like a vow, she carried it like a blade.

Her gaze found the cracked mask.

Then the ashes.

Then Max.

She didn't blink.

"What did you do?" she said, voice low.

Max opened his mouth. No words came.

She stepped forward.

The air changed – again – but not like before. It tightened, focused. Her steps didn't echo. Her presence didn't roar. But everything in the room flinched away from her, like nature itself didn't want to interfere.

"You killed him," she said.

Max swallowed. "No. I—"

"Shut up."

She didn't yell. Just sliced the air with her voice. Clean and final.

Ying stepped forward. "He saved him. Zagan—"

"I said shut up."

The woman's eyes never left Max. But she raised one hand.

A line of paper charms fluttered from her sleeve. Ink burned in ancient script. They ignited midair and flared white.

Max barely had time to react.

The force hit like a wave – not heavy, but absolute. A binding. He dropped to one knee as weightless pressure folded his limbs inward. Soulfire guttered in his chest, smothered before it could rise.

Ying moved – fast, despite the wound – blade flashing.

A sigil ignited under her feet.

She stopped. Staggered.

Something invisible coiled around her ankle like wire.

Max gritted his teeth. "Stop. Just listen to me."

The girl stepped closer. Her voice shook now – not with fear, but something worse.

"My name is Hana Seineru," she said. "And you murdered my cousin."

Max froze.

Ying's breath hitched.

"She didn't understand," Max said. "Ferron asked me to—"

"Don't."

Hana's voice cracked like frost underfoot.

"You weren't there," she said. "When he was exiled. When they stripped his name. I was the only one who still called him family."

Max's chest tightened.

"I believed in him," she whispered. "Even when the elders didn't. Even when he stopped writing. Even when I thought he was dead."

She looked down at the cracked mask.

Then at the ashes.

"I waited seven years. And you burned him."

Max didn't speak.

Ying did. "He chose it. Zagan was inside him. We didn't—"

"You think that makes it better?" Hana snapped.

She lifted her hand again. Light coalesced around her palm – foxfire, ancient and true. The kind that tore demons apart from the soul outward. But it didn't move toward Max.

Not yet.

She just stared at him.

"Contractor," she spat. "You're all the same."

Max didn't flinch. Couldn't.

"I didn't want to," he said. "But I couldn't let him become… something else."

She stepped closer.

"Don't speak like you knew him. You don't get to speak for him."

Max looked up. "I didn't. Not the way you did. But I loved him. In the end, he was my brother too."

For a second, Hana froze.

Then the mask caught her eye again.

The cracked, empty mask.

And her expression shattered.

She dropped to her knees.

Lifted the broken porcelain like it meant something.

And screamed.

A raw, wordless, feral sound – years of training broken in one breath. Her whole body shook as she cradled the mask against her chest.

Max didn't move.

He couldn't.

The bindings held him – and even if they didn't, he wasn't sure he'd have the strength to rise.

Ying groaned behind him.

And Hana just wept.

Over the pieces of her cousin.

Over what had been lost.

Over what she thought had been stolen.

And over what neither of them could change.

And over what neither of them knew – that he'd died with his soul still his own.

…………………

Max couldn't move.

The bindings still held – invisible, sacred, absolute. His knees crushed into the shrine floor, arms pinned tight by ghost-thread lines etched in blood and prayer. Every breath scraped like broken ribs. Soulfire curled uselessly beneath his skin.

Ying stood between him and Hana.

Her stance was wounded but unyielding – blade levelled, boots braced wide on the cracked stone. Blood still leaked from the gash at her ribs, soaking her side in slow pulses. But she didn't lower her sword.

Hana didn't advance. Not yet.

She was still kneeling in the ashes, cradling the cracked mask like a corpse in her lap.

Then something changed.

Her shoulders stiffened. Her breathing slowed.

And she looked up.

Cold.

"You took something that wasn't yours to take," Hana said.

Max opened his mouth – to explain, to plead, to scream the truth.

But she kept going.

"He didn't choose you to end him."

The charm left her fingers before the sentence finished.

It hit Max in the chest like a branding iron – no weight, just searing purpose. Not to wound. Not to bind. But to cleanse. His body spasmed violently as light tore through his soul like a serrated wire.

He screamed.

Ying moved.

Steel rang. Sparks burst.

Her blade intercepted Hana's prayer knife an instant before it could carve Max open. The blow shoved her back a full step. She caught herself, barely.

"Hana, stop!" Ying barked.

But she didn't.

Hana was already casting again – faster this time, hands a blur of ritual ink and movement. Another charm ignited in her palm. Her eyes blazed – not with sorrow now, but with vengeance carved hollow.

Max gasped, trying to rise. His wrists trembled under the invisible weight of the binding.

"I didn't mean for him to die!" he choked. "He was my friend!"

Hana threw the second charm.

It slammed into Ying's shoulder – sent her staggering sideways, blade clattering across the floor.

Max screamed again.

"He begged me!" he shouted. "It was his dying wish! He knew what she was turning him into!"

Hana stalked forward. Her footfalls made no sound – just pressure, like reality folding around her.

"You don't speak for him," she said, voice flat as snow.

Max's face broke.

"I tried to save him!"

"Then you should've burned with him," Hana said. "Not lived by killing him."

Her jaw tightened. The grief boiled under her skin – then ruptured.

"You took him from me."

She stopped trembling. And began casting. Her hands moved again – slower this time.

Not from doubt.

But ritual.

Max's heart sank. He recognised the script now. The flow. This wasn't a curse.

It was an execution.

The charm she cast shimmered pale blue – the colour of annihilation. A soulcutting verdict meant to sever the corrupted from existence.

Max didn't resist.

He just closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

Then Ying moved.

Not fast. Not clean.

Just desperate.

She threw herself between them – not with a blade this time, but her body.

The charm struck her back dead-on.

She crumpled instantly. Limbs buckled. Blood sprayed from her mouth as her knees hit the floor. Her breath fled in a wet gasp.

Max's bindings shattered at the same moment – not from release, but from Hana's loss of focus.

He lunged forward, caught Ying before she collapsed fully, held her against his chest.

"Ying—" he gasped.

She didn't answer. Just winced. Shaking.

The silence that followed wasn't peace.

It was held breath.

Hana stood frozen. Her hand still outstretched. The last charm flickering dead in her palm.

Her face twisted – rage, grief, shame all fracturing in her eyes.

And then…

Her hands dropped.

Not in surrender.

Just in exhaustion.

Her blade lowered.

Her mouth opened like she wanted to speak.

But no words came.

Just one tremble – the kind before something breaks for good.

Then silence.

…………………

Ying lay in Max's arms, her blood soaking into his jacket. Her breath came shallow and ragged. Every inhale sounded like it scraped across broken glass.

Max gritted his teeth, pressing his hand to the wound in her back. Soulfire flickered along his fingertips – trying to heal, trying to do something – but the charm had gone deep. It wasn't just physical. It had sliced her spirit.

Ying coughed once. "Still breathing. Not your fault." Her voice was weak, dry. "Just bad luck. Again."

Max stared at her, helpless. The same way he'd stared at Liz's pod. The same way he'd stared at Ferron's mask.

"You jumped in front of it," he whispered.

Ying smiled faintly. "I knew you'd just take it like an idiot."

He swallowed. The heat behind his eyes threatened to spill. Not again. Not her.

Behind them, Hana stood stiff. The fire in her hands had gone out, but the tension hadn't. She watched them like she was waiting for a reason to strike again – or maybe just waiting to see if she already had.

Max didn't look at her. Not yet.

He focused on Ying. On her pulse, faint but there. He gripped tighter.

"You're going to be okay," he said.

Ying rolled her eyes. "Don't start lying now."

He exhaled, almost a laugh. Almost.

The silence stretched.

Then, finally, Hana's voice came. Quiet. Frayed.

"She shouldn't have done that."

Max didn't answer.

"I didn't mean to kill her," she said.

Now he looked at her.

Hana stood alone. The cracked mask still lay near her feet, half-buried in ash. Her hands were trembling – not from cold. Not even from rage now. But from the weight of what had just happened.

"What did you think that charm would do?" Max asked. His voice was low. Hollow.

Hana's jaw clenched. "I thought you were corrupted."

"She knew I wasn't," Max said, nodding at Ying. "And you nearly killed her."

A pause.

"She's a Contractor," Hana muttered. "Your kind don't die easy. Doesn't mean she deserved it."

Then, softer – but edged with steel:

"You still killed Ferron."

Max didn't flinch.

"I did."

The words felt like stone dragged across his ribs.

"But he asked me to. He was going to turn. You saw the mask."

Hana's eyes flicked away – just for a second. That was all it took.

Max saw the crack.

"He fought it," he said. "Right until the end. But he was breaking. And the demon— Zagan… she wanted him holy. Not dead. Not gone. Used."

Another silence. The shrine walls pulsed faintly – like the mountain was still listening.

"He didn't want that," Max added. "He died as himself."

"I should have been the one to end it," Hana said. Her voice cracked. "Not you."

Max nodded. "You weren't there."

She winced. Turned away.

Ying coughed again, shifting slightly. "Can we maybe… stop arguing over the ashes of the guy we all loved?"

Max looked down at her. She was pale. Too pale.

Ying tried to smirk, but it failed halfway. "Either help me up… or finish me off. This lying around thing sucks."

Max started to lift her but stopped when Hana stepped closer.

She didn't raise her blade.

She held out a charm.

"For the wound," she said. "It won't heal the soul damage, but it'll stabilise her."

Max hesitated – then took it.

Their fingers brushed. Brief. Cold.

He applied the charm gently to Ying's back. It flared, gold and pale blue, before settling into a dull glow. Her breathing eased.

Very few could stabilise a soul wound like that. Even Dan, with all his gifts, couldn't have managed it. Ferron could – but only with effort, pain.

Hana had done it with a single charm. Max finally understood why they needed her.

She muttered something. Probably a swear. He let it pass.

Then, finally, he turned back to Hana.

"Are we done fighting?" he asked.

Hana didn't smile.

But she nodded.

"For now."

Behind her, the shrine seemed to exhale again but this time, not in satisfaction.

In warning.

A faint vibration trembled through the bones of the walls. The floor twitched. Somewhere deeper in the mountain, something had shifted.

Max felt it in his spine.

"She's not done," he said.

Hana's eyes darkened. "That demon… Zagan… never is."

The scene ended with them standing in the smoke – three wounded, broken figures in the house of a dead god – and something waiting in the dark below.

…………………

The three of them stood in the shrine's hollow heart.

Ash still lingered in the air. Ferron's ashes. They clung to everything – robes, skin, soul.

Ying sat slumped against a beam, holding her side. Her breathing was shallow but even. She was alive. Barely. A cut that deep would've killed anyone else.

Max remained on his knees, palms open, head bowed. The last of the Soulfire had dimmed. His voice was gone. His grief had weight now – an anchor pressing into every joint.

And Hana stood apart. Her back to them. Hands trembling at her sides. One still gripped the mask shard, edges sharp with dried blood. The other hovered near a charm pouch, but she didn't reach in.

The silence was not peaceful.

It was the silence after the scream – when all that's left is the echo.

Ying coughed once. "We need to move," she said. "This place isn't done."

Max didn't look up. "Let it finish."

"Max," Ying snapped, forcing herself upright, one hand on the beam for balance. "You said you'd protect Liz. That doesn't stop now."

A beat passed. Then Max rose.

Slowly. Mechanically. Not from resolve – but duty. Like his body remembered the shape of purpose, even if his heart didn't.

He turned to Hana. She hadn't moved.

He took one step toward her. Then another. Not close – just enough that she could hear.

"I can't undo what happened," he said. His voice was frayed but steady. "But I meant what I said. He died himself. Not some monster."

She didn't answer.

Ying looked between them. "We still need you," she said to Hana. "We came here to find you. To save a girl. Liz. This man's daughter. Someone Ferron was protecting. You're the only one who can exorcise her fully."

Hana flinched.

"You came here for her?" she said quietly. "And Ferron just… what? A footnote?"

"No," Max said, stepping forward again. "He came for you. He died believing you'd help."

That made her turn.

Slowly. Face streaked with ash and salt. Eyes rimmed red. But her jaw was locked. Her anger, compressed now. Cold steel. Not flame.

"You ask me to help you. After this."

Max didn't blink. "I ask you to honour him."

A long silence stretched between them.

Then Hana lowered her eyes to the cracked mask in her hand.

Her fingers tightened.

And finally – she let it go.

The shard hit stone. Didn't shatter. Just lay there. A broken piece of a man neither of them could bury.

Hana stared at it. Then at Max.

Her voice, when it came, was low – but not soft.

"I should let you die out here."

Max didn't argue.

"I should leave you both to rot in this cursed shrine, like all the others who made contracts and thought it gave them purpose."

Still, Max said nothing.

Hana took a slow step forward. The fury hadn't faded. It had just cooled – sharp now, not burning.

"But he came back," she said. "After everything. After exile. After losing everything. He came back – and he died."

Her eyes locked on Max. Cold. Unrelenting.

"For you."

She spat the word like it tasted foul.

"For your daughter."

Another step.

"So tell me, Contractor – what the fuck is so special about her?"

Max's mouth opened – but Hana didn't wait.

"I'll come," she said. "Not for you. I don't trust you. But I need to know…"

A breath.

"What the hell made my cousin die for your daughter?"

Max met her gaze. And nodded.

But the damage was already done. The words were ash between them. And neither of them would forget.

Ying exhaled – a sound between relief and exhaustion. "Then let's get out of this hellhole."

She turned toward the path. Max followed, one step at a time, as if the floor might vanish beneath him. Hana moved last.

As they passed the altar, none of them looked back.

But the shrine did.

The masks shifted – not with breath, but with hunger.

A crack rippled through the altar stone. Beneath it, something opened one eye.

Still watching. Still waiting.

And now – awake.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.