The scent of wet iron and rotting parchment filled the underground cistern. Adrian's corrupted arm pulsed in time with the bioluminescent fungi clinging to the walls, their blue glow revealing the truth of this place—the standing water wasn't water at all, but a viscous liquid that clung to his boots like diluted blood. Across the submerged platform, Kaelis was performing surgery on himself with a rusted dagger, peeling back the necrotic flesh of his demon arm with clinical precision.

  "Hold still," Kaelis growled as Adrian's flaming claws cast flickering shadows across the cavern. The firelight illuminated what lay beneath the corruption—a brand seared deep into the meat of Kaelis' shoulder. The numeral VII gleamed with unnatural silver sheen, its edges too geometrically perfect to be anything but Sanctum work.

  Adrian's new instincts recognized it immediately. The mark thrummed with the same resonant frequency as his own chest brand. "You weren't just a hunter," he breathed. "You were their prototype."

  Kaelis' dagger stilled. "We were the seventh generation." His voice took on the cadence of reciting rote memory. "The Eclipse Cohort. Perfect balance of human and demon." He plunged the blade into the crimson water, where the metal twisted into a hook-shaped abomination. "First group to survive long enough to need numbers."

  A droplet fell from the ceiling. In its distorted reflection, Adrian saw—

  —a younger Kaelis strapped to a bone altar, screaming as molten silver filled a VII-shaped mold—

  —six other hunters with identical brands, their bodies half-consumed by different demonic traits—

  —a shadowed figure whispering "Seven seats require seven sacrifices"—

  The vision shattered when Kaelis seized his wrist. "Don't trust reflections here." His remaining eye flicked toward the cistern's far end, where a corroded gate stood slightly ajar. "Mordriss' influence seeps through the—"

  The gate exploded inward with concussive force.

  Three figures emerged through the dust, their movements synchronized to an unnatural degree. They wore modified Sanctum armor, but the insignias had been replaced by a single eye weeping blue fire. The scent of charred flesh and ozone burned Adrian's nostrils.

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  "Eclipse hunters," Kaelis spat, his demon arm morphing into a serrated executioner's blade. "Vaulk's personal hounds."

  The lead figure removed its helmet with mechanical precision. Adrian's stomach lurched—the face beneath was a perfect replica of Kaelis', down to the scar bisecting the missing eye socket.

  "Hello, brother," the clone said in Kaelis' voice. "The Inquisitor wants his favorite prototype returned."

  The Memory War

  Combat erupted in eerie silence.

  Adrian's flaming claws met the clone's sword in a shower of sparks, but the impact sent conflicting memories flooding his nervous system—

  —training in a Sanctum courtyard he'd never seen—

  —eating tasteless gruel from a bowl stamped with VII—

  —watching a younger version of himself dissected on an alchemical table—

  "Don't look at their eyes!" Kaelis was battling two clones simultaneously, his movements growing sluggish. "They're memory echoes!"

  Adrian rolled as the clone's blade bit into stone, leaving a glowing scar in reality itself. Through the fissure whispered fragments of conversations that hadn't happened yet:

  "—when you reach the Stormscar—"

  "—the Lightning Lord remembers your face—"

  "—don't trust what Kaelis becomes after the seventh brand—"

  He lunged for the clone's VII brand. When his claws made contact, the world inverted.

  The Eclipse Vault

  Adrian stood in a circular chamber lined with seven glass tanks. Six contained grotesque hybrids frozen mid-transformation—part human, part demon, their faces twisted in eternal screams. The seventh tank stood empty, its label pristine:

  ADRIAN CROSS - GENERATION VII-OMEGA

  Kaelis' voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere. "They've been cultivating us like crops. I was the first successful hybrid." A pause filled with the sound of dripping liquid. "You were designed to be the final harvest."

  The clones weren't copies at all. They were earlier iterations—failed prototypes dredged from the Eclipse Vault's archives. The true horror dawned when Adrian noticed the dates on the tanks:

  The oldest specimen was labeled 300 YEARS POST COLLAPSE.

  Aftermath

  Adrian awoke with his claws buried in the last clone's chest. The body dissolved into blue ash, leaving only a Sanctum pendant behind. Kaelis loomed over him, his brand glowing faintly.

  "We find Mordriss before Vaulk does," he said, crushing the pendant underfoot. "The Rotting Lord holds the key to the Eclipse Vault."

  As they fled the cistern, neither spoke of the shared vision. Neither acknowledged the terrible truth etched into their flesh:

  The Seventh Brand wasn't a mark of honor.

  It was a countdown to annihilation.