The storm hadn’t broken when they reached the old cathedral. It split open now, directly above them.Thunder cracked, a sound like God’s own fist hitting granite, rattling the remaining stained glass. Rain hammered the stone roof, filling the hollow space with the raw, metallic scent of wet ash and cold iron. Evangeline’s candlelight flickered in gasps, casting their shadows long and grotesque against the broken altar.She finished the last of the blood-and-ink rune, the copper taste of power sharp on her tongue.Xander watched her, still as a statue but coiled like a spring. His expression was a storm she couldn't name: reverence, primal hunger, and a deep-seated fear — not of her, but of the abyss she was willingly stepping into. Of the creature she was allowing herself to become to survive.She opened her mouth, a simple word of thanks already forming - and the wards shattered.Not hers, but theirs.A wave of concussive pressure rolled through the cathedral, sharp and invisible as
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