The street was silent.
Only the crackle of broken Ether lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of what Aion had just done.
The Inquisition squad lay scattered—unconscious or worse. Their weapons, once glowing with pristine Law energy, now lay inert like shattered relics from another age. Aion hadn't touched them. He hadn't needed to.
The Null had done it for him.
Aion stumbled back, clutching his chest. His pulse was unsteady, erratic. The surge had drained him deeper than he expected, like he'd poured his soul into the void just to survive.
From the shadows, Kael stepped forward slowly.
"You… deleted their power." His voice trembled. "That's not a Law. That's blasphemy."
Aion didn't answer.
He wasn't sure himself what he'd done. There was no flash, no explosion—just stillness. Emptiness. And the world bent around it like it was afraid to exist in the same space.
---
Later that night, Aion sat at the edge of the Spine, overlooking the furnace-lit city.
Everything had changed.
Scoria was locked down. He was a fugitive. And worst of all, he couldn't control whatever was inside him.
Seln said it wasn't meant to survive.
But it had.
And now it was growing.
He opened his hand. For a second, the Ether in the air dimmed, like light behind thick glass. Then it snapped back, retreating as if it had touched something toxic.
He clenched his fist.
"I need control."
---
Meanwhile, in the Inquisition Citadel, alarms blared across the upper sanctum.
High Seer Maelrik, a man of silver eyes and woven Ether robes, stood before a fractured viewing mirror.
"Confirm it," he said coldly.
A technician bowed nervously. "The boy suppressed six active Law cores within a 20-meter radius. Without casting. Without known Law resonance."
Maelrik turned slowly, his face unreadable.
"The Null Line is active."
He raised a gauntleted hand and pressed it to a glowing crystal sigil.
"Summon The Ash Cardinals. The war has started."