Pain.

Kael had known pain before—wounds from battle, the sting of betrayal, the slow burn of exhaustion.

But this? This was something else.

It was as if fire had been carved into his very soul, burning from the inside out. His veins felt like molten iron, his bones like they were splintering apart and reforging themselves in the same instant. He gasped, collapsing onto all fours as the ruins of Vael’Thalos spun around him.

The Mark had awakened.

Through blurred vision, he saw Taron Valcrosse standing at the head of the gathered Inquisitors, sword drawn, unreadable beneath his black helm. The shattered dagger that had once been pressed to Kael’s throat still lay in the dirt, its blade broken beyond repair.

"Restrain him!" Taron commanded.

Two Inquisitors surged forward, iron chains clinking in their hands.

Kael barely had time to react before instinct took over.

They reached for him—and he moved.

He twisted, faster than thought, his body acting on reflex. One of the Inquisitors swung his chain—Kael ducked, then countered, driving his elbow into the man’s ribs. The force sent him flying backward, crashing against a stone pillar with a sickening crunch.

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The second hesitated, eyes wide in fear.

Kael lunged.

His fingers closed around the man’s wrist before he could retreat.

Something surged through him—a strength he had never possessed before.

The Inquisitor barely had time to scream before Kael twisted.

A sickening crack.

Bones snapped like dry branches.

The man crumpled to the ground, motionless.

Kael staggered back, staring at his own hands.

They were shaking.

This power—it wasn’t his.

"What… have you done to me?"

The whispering returned, curling around the edges of his mind like smoke.

"You were never meant to be a pawn. You were meant to be more."

Kael’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. His vision swam between reality and something else—shadows shifting at the edge of his sight, figures that weren’t there.

The Mark was waking—and it wasn’t stopping.

A blade sang through the air.

Kael barely managed to react before steel met steel.

His instincts screamed—he lifted his arm just in time to block, but there was no weapon in his hand.

Yet the impact never came.

The sword stopped mid-air, inches from his throat, held back by an unseen force.

Taron’s eyes widened. His sword trembled, as if caught in invisible chains.

"What—"

The ruins trembled.

The sky seemed to darken, the torches flickering violently against the shifting air.

The Mark—whatever it was, whatever it had made him into—was no longer dormant.

Then, for the first time, Kael heard the Mark’s voice clearly.

"Run."

Kael didn’t hesitate.

He turned and fled into the ruins, leaving the Imperium behind.