The crown remembered him before he remembered himself.
Its jagged edges bit into his temples with the familiarity of an old lover's teeth, whispering in a language that bypassed ears entirely—vibrating directly against the marrow of his bones. The blood running down Kael's face wasn't red. Had never been red.
Black ichor dripped onto the altar stones, each drop hissing as it struck, eating microscopic pits into the rock. The Third Inquisitor's breathing came in ragged bursts, his filed teeth clicking together like a dying insect's mandibles.
*"This wasn't—the calculations—"*
Kael blinked.
The world fractured.
---
**Reality peeled back in layers.**
First, the obvious: the pulsing walls, the screaming acolytes unraveling into threads of stolen light.
Then, the deeper truth:
The Church had never been a place of worship. It was a slaughterhouse wrapped in scripture, a feeding mechanism disguised as doctrine. Every prayer a harvesting chant. Every ritual a butchery.
And at the center of it all—
The crown.
*His* crown.
Kael reached up, fingers tracing the twisted metal. The contact sent another jolt of memory through him:
*A throne of screaming faces*
*A sword plunged through the heart of a star*
*The taste of divinity like ashes on his tongue*
The System convulsed, its usual sterile blue text bleeding into crimson:
**[Welcome home]**
---
**The Inquisitor was on his knees now.**
Not by choice. His body had simply... forgotten how to stand. His good eye rolled wildly, tracking the black veins spreading up his own arms as the chamber rejected him.
*"Please—"* the man gasped, the word wet and broken.
Kael tilted his head. The motion sent another rivulet of ichor sliding down his cheek.
*"You misunderstand,"* he said softly. *"This isn't punishment."*
He stepped closer. The stones themselves recoiled from his shadow.
*"It's simply... realignment."*
His fingertip brushed the Inquisitor's forehead.
---
**The man came apart beautifully.**
Not in gore. Not in viscera.
In *revelation*.
His flesh became liquid shadow. His bones dissolved into strands of forgotten hymns. His remaining eye floated for a perfect moment—a single, staring orb—before popping like a soap bubble.
The System whispered:
**[Assimilation complete]**
**[New directive: Reclamation]**
Kael exhaled. The crown warmed against his brow.
Somewhere deep beneath the cathedral, something vast and hungry stirred in its sleep.
---
**Final Line:**
The first note had been sung.
The chorus would follow.