Wallace stood at the threshold of his office, radiating an energy both awe-inspiring and unsettling. Pale light flickered off the newly-formed wings at his back, and the air itself seemed to hum with power. The sheer force of his presence pushed back the creeping cold emanating from Sofia’s corruption, creating a small island of warmth in an ocean of encroaching frost. Gone was the weariness etched into his features; in its place shone the steadfast determination of someone who had gone beyond mortal limits.

  “I appreciate your help up ‘til now,” he said, voice resonating with new authority, “but this time, stay inside.”

  No room for argument lingered in his tone. Wallace’s gaze briefly locked with Iris and Charles before he slipped into the hallway, preparing to confront the frenzied beast alone.

  Charles exhaled, turning to Iris. “You recognized that book, didn’t you?” he asked, brow furrowed in worry. “You’ve seen it before.”

  Iris hesitated, her eyes clouded with concern. “I don’t know the full price he’ll pay for using it,” she admitted quietly, her voice trembling at the implications. “But I’m afraid it may be more than he can bear.”

  Charles nodded, glancing at the door Wallace had just disappeared through. “I’ve got a thousand questions for you,” he said, grim but hopeful, “but we’ll have to wait. Right now, we can only trust him.”

  Outside, the air crackled with tension. Sofia—once a fierce enemy—stood at the far end of the corridor, warped into a towering monstrosity of ice and sinew. Shards of frost glistened in the pale light, refracting her cold, malevolent stare. Each ragged breath she took caused the temperature to plummet further, forming spectral clouds that billowed from her lips. She raised a trembling arm fused with jagged crystalline growth, summoning needle-sharp icicles that hovered menacingly at her command.

  “So, we’re doing this?” Wallace muttered under his breath, tightening his grip on the spear materialized by the artifact. A strange, electric current of power coursed through his veins, sharpening his senses. “Alright then—show me what you’ve got.”

  With a guttural snarl, Sofia unleashed a barrage of ice shards. They hissed through the air, embedding themselves in the walls and floor. Upon impact, each projectile detonated in a spray of frozen shrapnel, forcing Wallace to duck and weave beneath their lethal arcs.

  “That’s new,” he remarked wryly, sidestepping another volley of razor-sharp crystals. “Cryokinesis with a bang—lovely.”

  But Sofia did not respond; any vestige of humanity had vanished, replaced by unbridled fury. Another cascade of explosive ice erupted toward Wallace. He met the onslaught head-on, unfurling his angelic wings in a dazzling sweep. Feathers radiating ethereal light shielded him as shards exploded, buffeting him with shockwaves that splintered the ground beneath his feet.

  Wallace narrowed his eyes, sensing Sofia’s power swell once more. “Can’t let her keep this up,” he muttered under his breath. He raised one hand, the spear’s butt clenched firmly in the other, and the frozen floor shuddered at his command. “Briar Seal!”

  A lattice of dark, thorny vines erupted from beneath the ice, twisting in sinuous arcs. They snaked around Sofia’s legs, barbed tips biting into the fused plate of ice and flesh. A malevolent energy pulsed through each briar, dulling Sofia’s strength and forcing her cryokinetic power to falter. She let out an ear-splitting, inhuman shriek, thrashing against the tendrils until razor-sharp shards of ice shattered uselessly around her.

  For a moment, Wallace allowed a flicker of relief to cross his features. The briars tightened, draining the frenzy from her limbs—but then, with a surge of unnatural force, Sofia tore free, ripping vine and flesh alike. Before Wallace could react, she hurled another barrage of exploding ice.

  Wallace crossed his glowing wings in front of him, bracing against the impact. The blasts knocked him backward across the slick ground, ice splintering beneath his boots. A dull ache ricocheted through his arms, but he pushed the pain aside with grim resolve.

  “All right,” he said, exhaling sharply, “looks like I’ll need more firepower.” He straightened, eyes narrowing as he tapped into his next ability. “Sunflower!”

  Instantly, bright golden sunflowers burst from the frozen floor. Their petals shimmered with a fierce inner light, rotating in unison to lock onto Sofia. A moment later, beams of condensed brilliance seared the air, cutting through ice and scorching the walls with white-hot intensity.

  Sofia roared, staggering under the assault. Steam rose where the beams scorched her ice-laden flesh, halting her rapid regeneration. Still, her monstrous form endured. Fragments of crystal sloughed off her limbs, only to reform moments later, driven by the relentless madness coursing through her veins.

  “You’re not making this easy,” Wallace muttered, a note of genuine respect filtering into his voice. “But I can’t afford to lose. Not with their lives on the line.”

  He tightened his grip on the spear, feeling a sudden jolt—like a heartbeat of raw power resonating through the metal. A name coalesced in his thoughts, whispered by the weapon itself. “Joan of Arc,” he murmured, his voice reverent. Energy pulsed through the spear’s shaft, illuminating the crimson flag attached to it. “A warrior’s name for a warrior’s fight.”

  Across from him, Sofia—now little more than a vicious tangle of ice and sinew—bared her fractured jaw in a snarl, ragged breaths steaming in the frigid air. The gouges and burns carved into her flesh were already knitting back together, guided by the twisted power that consumed her. To Wallace, the sight was a terrible reminder of how far she had fallen.

  Wallace felt the press of time like a knife to his throat. Every second risked giving Sofia a chance to recuperate, and he refused to let the battle spiral out of control. With a sudden burst of speed, he lunged forward, wings beating powerfully against the cold air. Sofia’s twisted claws slashed in a blur, each stroke aimed to rend flesh and bone, but Wallace twisted in midair, narrowly slipping past her lethal reach.

  He drove Joan of Arc straight toward her, the spear’s tip pulsing with an otherworldly glow upon impact. A surge of energy raced through Wallace, and ghostly outlines began to form along Sofia’s distorted figure—a pattern of weak points shining like faint embers amid her ice-laden flesh.

  “There we go,” Wallace muttered under his breath, a note of triumph in his voice. “Let’s light those up.”

  Sofia roared, her inhuman scream thick with rage and agony. Her rapid regeneration strained against the glowing targets that continued to multiply across her body. She retaliated with another barrage of exploding ice, but Wallace vaulted backward, wings straining. He summoned Sunflower again, golden blossoms bursting from the frozen earth in a dazzling array. Their petals swiveled like sentries, and in unison, they unleashed concentrated beams of light that streaked toward Sofia’s new weaknesses.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  A maelstrom of scorching brilliance tore into her, searing through layers of frost and sinew. She howled as the beams bored deeper, each impact chipping away at her icy armor and disrupting her healing. Yet, the madness within refused to surrender, knitting her wounds almost as quickly as they formed.

  Wallace clenched his teeth, refusing to give her any moment’s respite. He drove the base of the spear into the cracked floor, invoking Briar Seal once more. Thorny vines erupted around Sofia’s limbs, barbed spirals latching onto her with a dark, pulsing energy that sapped her strength and bound her volatile power.

  Sofia thrashed, every twisted muscle trembling as she fought to break free. Her voice—a guttural snarl of defiance—reverberated through the corridor. But the combined assault of Sunflower and Briar Seal proved overwhelming. More beams of light pounded her weak spots, each searing strike pushing her regeneration closer to its breaking point.

  “Come on,” Wallace hissed, sweat beading at his temples as he kept the barrage steady. “Just a little more.”

  He could see the cracks widening in Sofia’s icy armor, could feel her power starting to buckle under the unrelenting onslaught. But he also sensed the razor’s edge they all danced upon—one slip, one moment of hesitation, and the tide could shift against him. Determination set his jaw, and he pressed forward, forging on until he finally broke her, or perished trying.

  Sofia’s movements slowed, her ragged gasps echoing through the icy corridor. Where once her healing knitted wounds in seconds, the relentless assault of weak spots and scorching light had finally begun to overwhelm her. Cracks spiderwebbed across her frost-laden armor, and with each breath, she seemed on the verge of collapse.

  Seizing the moment, Wallace thrust himself forward with a hoarse cry, wings flaring as he raised Joan of Arc high. The spear glowed with a brilliant, piercing radiance, and he drove it straight into the largest weak spot on Sofia’s chest. In that heartbeat, time felt suspended; the corridor went utterly still, as though even reality had paused to witness the final blow.

  Then, a flash of blinding light tore through the space. The weak spots erupted in a violent chain reaction, shards of ice and spears of warped flesh exploding outward. Sofia’s body convulsed, her final scream echoing before she slumped to the ground—a broken, ravaged form freed at last from the madness gripping her soul.

  Wallace hovered over her fallen figure, lungs burning, wings sagging under the weight of exhaustion. He watched as her monstrous features melted away, leaving behind only a human husk. The woman she once was—Sofia—lay there in quiet tragedy.

  A long exhale escaped him as Joan of Arc’s glow dimmed. “Rest in peace, Sofia,” he whispered, voice ragged and laced with remorse. “I’m sorry it came to this.”

  The crimson aura from the Book of Future Miseries faded as swiftly as it had appeared. Wallace felt his celestial transformation unravel, the wings dissolving into motes of fading light, the spear vanishing from his grip, his hair reverting to its usual length. Exhaustion slammed into him like a tidal wave, robbing him of strength. He hit his knees, gasping for air, every muscle throbbing in protest.

  From a nearby doorway, Iris and Charles darted out the moment they sensed the storm of violence had subsided. Alarm was etched into their faces as they hurried to Wallace’s side, hands trembling with relief and worry in equal measure.

  “Kids, cover your ears,” Wallace panted, still catching his breath.

  Iris and Charles exchanged a quick glance before nodding, hands clamping over their ears. Only then did Wallace allow a low mutter to escape his lips—“Fuck yeah, it’s over. Goddamn, that was draining.” Relief mingled with quiet triumph in his voice, though neither child could hear him. What they could see was the tight coil of stress easing from his shoulders and the flicker of renewed life in his eyes.

  With a tired half-smile, he motioned them closer. “All right, you can uncover your ears now.”

  Both complied, stepping forward to help steady Wallace when he staggered back to his feet. He rolled his neck, still feeling the aftershocks of the battle echo through every muscle.

  “So,” Charles ventured, concern tightening his tone, “what’s the plan? Based on that announcement earlier, I bet this place is swarming with people like those two.”

  Wiping sweat from his brow, Wallace shook his head. “I doubt it,” he said, voice laced with a quiet certainty. “I know Nikolai too well. He’s ambitious, but also a strategist. He’s hitting multiple facilities, but only aiming for the key targets. He’s spread thin.”

  “Key targets?” Iris echoed, worry flashing across her face.

  Wallace nodded. “He probably sent strike teams for me, your teacher, and maybe one or two for the Slayer if he caught wind that she’s here. Four or five more people, tops. The rest of his forces? Likely lower-level Awakened—easy enough to handle.”

  Charles studied Wallace, brow furrowed. “You sound so sure. How exactly do you know Nikolai so well?”

  The question cast a sudden shadow over Wallace’s expression, like old scars flaring to life. “He was once part of A.E.G.I.S. with me,” he began quietly. “That was before the Invidia raid. His fiancée died during that mission. Afterward, he—like many others—lost faith in the organization’s leadership. They all left in one wave, too many for us to manage or regulate anymore.”

  An uneasy hush fell. Iris, who had remained silent, suddenly asked, “Was his wife’s name Emma?”

  Wallace froze, his eyes widening as if he’d taken a physical blow. For a long moment, he looked ready to collapse under the weight of old memories. “Yes,” he whispered, voice raw. “Her name was Emma.”

  Silence welled up, thick and suffocating. It was plain to them all that Wallace’s link to Nikolai was deeper than mere friendship. Past tragedies—buried but never gone—bubbled to the surface.

  His gaze swept to Iris, apprehension darkening his features. “How do you know that name?” he asked, voice nearly lost in the tension-charged air.

  Iris lowered her eyes, choosing her words with deliberate care. “When you were trapped in that nightmare, you kept apologizing to her,” she explained softly. “After that, I just… suspected.”

  Wallace’s shoulders sagged, a heavy sigh escaping him. “You’re too perceptive for a kid,” he muttered, pressing a hand to his temple as though trying to stave off the storm of memories. “During the Invidia raid, Emma… she Frenzied. I had to stop her before she hurt anyone—I couldn’t let her live as a monster… But I never told him I was the one who did it—I never told Nikolai I killed his soon-to-be wife.”

  The torment in his voice cut deeper than any blade, and a tear traced a slow path down his cheek. “We were best friends,” he continued, voice catching. “I was going to be his best man. But the thought of telling him… it broke me. So I kept it to myself.”

  Wallace forced himself to stand upright, wiping away the errant tear with a trembling hand. The weight of memory still hung heavily over him, but he refused to let it stall them any further. “We have to move,” he said softly, voice hoarse with lingering guilt. “Stay behind me, and I’ll handle anyone else we run into.”

  Iris and Charles fell into step behind him, the hallway’s icy gloom stretching before them. Each corridor felt like a gauntlet of shadows, every faint noise carrying the promise of danger. Wallace led the way with a soldier’s focus, masking his emotional pain under a veneer of unyielding vigilance.

  They rounded a corner and abruptly, Wallace stopped dead. His eyes flared in shock, and before either child could protest, he placed firm hands over their faces, blocking their view.

  Sprawled on the blood-spattered tiles was the mangled corpse of Calum. The body was riddled with countless punctures, scarcely recognizable as human remains. But what seized Wallace’s attention most was the delicate butterfly brooch driven viciously into Calum’s eye—a grim calling card of the Bookkeeper’s work.

  “So he got here first,” Wallace muttered under his breath. A chill ran along his spine, even as he forced a calm into his tone. “That’s… one less threat to worry about.”

  His voice remained steady, but the sight rattled him. He had witnessed the Bookkeeper’s power before, but seeing its aftermath so starkly was another matter. Tightening his grip on Iris and Charles, he guided them away from the gruesome scene.

  “Don’t look,” he said gently, steering them past Calum’s final resting place. The command carried an undercurrent of tenderness, as though he were trying to shield them from the world’s harshest realities. “It’s not something you need to remember.”

  He kept their eyes covered until they turned another corner, shutting out the blood and twisted remains behind them. Even so, the memory of Calum’s ruined body stained the silence, a reminder that horror now lurked around every bend. Yet Wallace pressed on, determined to spare the children whatever he could of this twisted reality, even if he could not save himself from it.