The first sign of the slaughter was the silence. No alarms, no screams—just an unnatural stillness creeping over the lower levels of Skylance like a black tide. By the time the rebels received word, it was already too late. Lucius Cipher had moved faster than anyone expected.

Alastor’s boots pounded against the cracked pavement as he sprinted through the maze of smoke-choked streets, Selene and Aurora close behind. Every corner reeked of blood and ruin. The slums, home to the people they’d sworn to liberate, had become a graveyard.

The Pyramid had sent its response—an army of elite assassins, their faces hidden behind polished masks, moving with the precision of specters. They descended into the lower districts like a storm, killing indiscriminately—men, women, children. Anyone who had ever dared raise a hand against the Pyramid was cut down without mercy.

Lucius wasn’t trying to suppress the rebellion. He was making an example.

Alastor’s pulse hammered as he tore through the smoky ruins of the slums, his mind reeling at the scale of the devastation. The narrow streets, once filled with the sounds of life, were now silent save for the crackling of burning wreckage. Bodies littered the ground—thousands of them. Some lay in crumpled heaps against shattered walls, others sprawled across doorways where they’d tried to protect their families.

He forced himself to move faster, even as the images burned themselves into his memory. He had prepared for betrayal, prepared for sacrifice. But nothing could have prepared him for this.

Aurora’s voice crackled over the encrypted comm-link, sharp with anger and disbelief. "It’s a massacre. They didn’t come to fight—they came to slaughter."

Selene moved like a blade through the wreckage, her violet eyes burning with rage. "This isn’t war," she growled. "It’s extermination."

Alastor clenched his fists so tightly that his nails bit into his palms. This was the cost of defying Lucius—a brutal reminder of what it meant to fight against gods who refused to be challenged. He had known the war would be ugly, but this… this was a message written in blood.

They rounded a corner and stumbled upon the remnants of the first resistance cell—a ragtag group of fighters who had tried to hold the line against the assassins. Their bodies lay broken in the dirt, weapons scattered at their sides. They had fought to the last breath—but it hadn’t mattered.

Selene knelt beside one of the fallen fighters, brushing a lock of bloody hair from the woman’s lifeless face. Her jaw clenched so tightly Alastor thought she might shatter her teeth.

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Aurora scanned the streets ahead, her neural interface buzzing with interference. "There’s no one left. The assassins didn’t leave survivors."

"Not yet," Selene muttered bitterly. "They’ll come back to finish the job."

Alastor’s chest felt tight, a knot of anger and grief twisting inside him. This wasn’t just about killing rebels. Lucius had known exactly what he was doing—killing civilians, slaughtering innocents—to sow fear, to remind the people of Skylance that resistance would be met with annihilation.

Aurora's hands shook slightly as she pulled a shattered transmitter from the wreckage. "They tried to signal us," she whispered. "We were too late."

Alastor gritted his teeth, the weight of failure settling over him like a crushing weight. All these people had died because they believed in his message. They had risen up, trusting that Alastor could free them from the Pyramid’s grip—and Lucius had wiped them from existence without hesitation.

"We should’ve seen this coming," Aurora muttered, guilt and frustration lacing her voice. "He wanted us to rally the people. He let us spread the message just so he could make an example of them."

Alastor’s heart pounded, rage bubbling beneath his skin. Lucius hadn’t just struck back—he had made their rebellion into a spectacle. A warning broadcast through blood and ash, telling every other would-be revolutionary what happened to those who defied the Pyramid. This wasn’t just a battle. It was psychological warfare.

Selene stood slowly, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade. Her fury was barely contained. "We can’t let this stand, Alastor. If we back down now, everything we’ve fought for dies here—with them."

Alastor knew she was right. But every step forward would come at a higher cost. There was no way to fight a war against gods without losing pieces of yourself—and everyone around you. Lucius had made sure of that.

Aurora stepped up beside him, her expression hard. "What’s the play? If we go after Lucius now, we risk everything. But if we wait, we’ll lose whatever support we have left."

Alastor scanned the devastation around them, forcing himself to meet the empty stares of the fallen. There were no words for what had happened here. No promises he could make that would bring these people back.

But if they let this massacre go unanswered, Lucius would win before the war even began.

"This is the price," Alastor whispered, his voice heavy with the weight of the truth. "This is what it costs to defy the gods."

Selene stepped closer, her eyes locked on his. "And?"

Alastor’s jaw clenched, his scarab buzzing beneath his sleeve as if urging him forward. There was no turning back now. They would fight until there was nothing left—or until the Pyramid itself crumbled beneath their feet.

"And we pay it," Alastor said quietly, the steel in his voice leaving no room for doubt.

He looked out over the smoking ruins of the slums, the bodies strewn across the streets, and the ashes of lives extinguished too soon. This was the cost of rebellion—and it was only the beginning.

"This is the price of defying the gods," he whispered, his fists clenched so tightly that blood dripped from his palms.