Adrian's body tore through strata of dissolving hospital flesh, each layer a living museum of the Eclipse Program's atrocities. A researcher's half-digested skeleton waved fungal-coated fingers as he passed; infant-sized prototypes floated in amniotic sacs, their VII brands already glowing; finally, the heart of the nightmare—a pulsating spore organ the size of a cathedral, its surface studded with thousands of preserved hunter eyes.
Kaelis' voice vibrated through the tumbling chaos, stripped of humanity and buzzing with spore-distorted harmonics:
"You still don't understand, Omega. We're not the experiment."
A ribcage of blackened bone caught them—each curved spire wider than a city gate, its surface carved with seven names. The last one read ADRIAN CROSS in letters that dripped fresh blood.
The Chamber of Seven Sins
Light came from impossible angles here. The vault had no ceiling, only an inverted replica of itself stretching infinitely upward. Along the circular walls, seven arched windows flickered with scenes:
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Window of Wrath
Kaelis as a young man screaming under the branding iron, his pupils dilating as the VII-ALPHA seared into his flesh. Behind the torturer, a shadowed figure with Vaulk's posture watched—but the hands holding the iron were Adrian's own.
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Window of Gluttony
The car crash that "killed" Adrian, now showing a plague doctor standing beside the wreckage, collecting drops of his blood in a vial labeled OMEGA PRIME.
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Window of Pride
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
An empty surgical slab under a shaft of blue light, its restraints shaped to fit Adrian's exact proportions.
The other six Alphas emerged from the darkness between windows.
Alpha-1 (Kaelis) moved first, his right side eternally burning with Ignarax's blue fire. Where his left eye should have been, a fungal growth pulsed with stolen memories.
"The brands aren't marks," he said, maggots spilling from his lips. "They're hourglasses." His claw—half-demonic, half-crystallized lightning—tapped Adrian's chest. "Yours just ran out."
The Ritual of Unmaking
First Movement: The Unbinding
The Alphas formed a trembling circle, their brands emitting a harmonic whine. Adrian's skin split along old scar lines as his own VII-OMEGA brand unfolded like a grotesque flower, revealing layered flesh beneath—each stratum a different hunter's face screaming in silent agony.
Second Movement: The Revelation
Alpha-3 tore open her fungal chestplate, showing ribs fused with Mordriss' spores. "They told us the lords were demons," she laughed, "but we're the ones who made them." Her skeletal fingers pointed to Window of Wrath, where the branding iron now clearly bore the Lightning Lord's insignia.
Third Movement: The Choice
A surgical rig descended, its bone clamps still dripping with previous Omega candidates. The central console offered two options:
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Assume the Throne (Merge with the six Alphas' remains to become the new Demon King)
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Shatter the Cycle (But erase every Eclipse Hunter from existence, past and future)
The Seventh Deception
Adrian reached for the console—
—as Kaelis' body abruptly convulsed. His Alpha brand ruptured like overripe fruit, disgorging a miniature plague doctor mask that scuttled spider-like toward Adrian. The other Alphas recoiled in genuine terror.
The mask leaped onto Adrian's face before he could react. Cold porcelain fused to his skin as Vaulk's voice whispered directly into his auditory cortex:
"Liar. Thief. Inheritor. You think this is the first time we've had this conversation?"
Then the real torture began.
The mask wasn't a mask at all—it was a memory excavator. And it had just triggered Adrian's oldest, most carefully buried recollection:
A sunless room. Seven surgical tables. And the Demon King wasn't a corpse on a throne...
...he was the one holding the scalpel.