SSS- Rank Awakening: Soul Devourer

Edward looked at the princess. At the unwavering conviction in her eyes. And at the tip of her gleaming rapier.

Surrender. The word was alien to him. Every instinct in his body, honed by years of being hunted, screamed against it. To surrender was to die. The "justice of the crown" was a rigged game. A show trial followed by a slow, painful execution.

Yet he saw the necessity of the bargain. This was not a negotiation of terms. It was a test of his character. For her to even consider his warning, to take the monumental risk of aligning herself with the world's most wanted man, she needed a guarantee. She needed to believe he was not the mindless monster the Inquisition painted him to be. She needed to believe he was, at his core, a man who possessed a code.

His own life was a small price to pay for the lives of millions. His vow demanded no less.

"You have my word, Princess," Edward said. His voice was quiet but firm. "When this is over, I will surrender."

A flicker of surprise crossed Seraphina's face. Quickly suppressed. She had expected him to argue. To bargain. His immediate acceptance was not the response of a desperate criminal. But of a man confident in his own principles. She gave a single, sharp nod. The alliance, as fragile and temporary as a spider's thread, was forged.

"Then we have work to do," she said. Her tone shifted immediately from a judge to a general. "Your information is a starting point, but it lacks a crucial detail. The location of the ritual. My Royal Guard can begin investigating the names on your list. But it will be a slow, delicate process. We do not have time."

"There is another way," Edward countered. "A faster, more direct route." He looked at her. His plan was already forming. "They are hunting you. Let them find you."

Seraphina's guards stiffened. Their hands tightened on their swords. Seraphina, however, did not react with alarm. Her eyes narrowed. The mind of a strategist instantly grasping the dangerous logic.

"You want me to be the bait," she stated. Her voice was flat.

"You are already the bait," Edward corrected. "I'm suggesting we attach a hook."

The plan they devised in the cold, dusty observatory was one of breathtaking risk. Seraphina would create an opening in her own security. A deliberate, calculated vulnerability. She would attend the evening's Royal Masquerade Ball. But would arrange for a momentary lapse in her guard's patrol route in the palace gardens. A subtle invitation. An opportunity the cult would be unable to resist. She would allow herself to be captured. A tracking beacon, a tiny artifact the size of a grain of sand, would be woven into the hem of her gown.

Meanwhile, Edward and his elite team—Fenris and Selene—would shadow her. Hiding in the periphery. They would not intervene during the capture. They would follow the cultists back to their sanctum. Learn their location, their numbers, their defenses. Only then would they strike. A plan that required perfect timing, unbreakable nerve, and an absolute, terrifying degree of trust between two sworn enemies.

That night, the Royal Palace was a sea of light and music. From a high, dark spire, Edward watched through enchanted binoculars. He saw the nobility of the kingdom, clad in silks and jewels, dancing and laughing. Oblivious. He saw Seraphina. A vision in a gown of midnight blue. Her face hidden behind a silver domino mask. She moved with her usual regal grace. But he could see the tension in her shoulders.

As planned, she slipped away from the ballroom. Into the moonlit gardens. She walked along a secluded path. A solitary, vulnerable figure. Edward, Fenris, and Selene moved through the shadows of the palace rooftops above. Their movements were silent as drifting smoke.

The cultists were good. They emerged from the darkness without a sound. Figures in black robes. Their faces were hidden by blank, porcelain masks. They moved with a chilling, disciplined speed. No struggle. A single, gloved hand pressed a cloth filled with a powerful anesthetic over Seraphina's mouth. She went limp in their arms. They bundled her into a waiting, unmarked carriage and disappeared.

The next phase began. Edward and his team took to the rooftops. A trio of ghosts racing through the night. Selene held the receiver for the tracking beacon. A small, silver disc that pulsed with a faint, green light. Guiding them through the maze of the capital.

The carriage did not lead them to a slum or an abandoned warehouse. It took them directly back to the Royal Palace itself. To a forgotten, sealed-off service entrance in its deepest foundations.

"Clever," Selene whispered as they watched the cultists carry the unconscious princess inside. "The one place no one would ever think to look."

The infiltration was a descent into the forgotten history of the kingdom. The passages were ancient. Pre-dating the current palace. Carved from a darker, older stone. The air grew cold and damp. Thick with the smell of earth and decay. Edward led the way. His Sovereign blade Resolve in his hand. The combat was silent. Swift. Brutal. Cultist guards patrolled the corridors. Edward's team dispatched them with ruthless efficiency. Edward would emerge from a shadow. His dagger finding the gap in their armor. Fenris would use a single, crushing blow to the back of the head. Selene was a wraith. Her twin daggers a blur. Her victims fell without a sound.

They moved like a perfectly oiled machine of death. Their teamwork was honed by countless battles. Each one knew their role. Anticipating the others' movements. A single, three-headed predator, hunting in the dark.

Finally, they reached a pair of massive, stone doors. Carved with the symbol of the unblinking eye. Faint chanting and a sickly, sweet smell of strange incense drifted from within. This was it. The sanctum.

Edward signaled to his team. He would go in first. He took a deep breath. Braced himself. And pushed the heavy door open.

The chamber beyond was vast. A natural cavern reshaped into a grotesque cathedral. A pulsating altar of what looked like living flesh and stone dominated the center. Bathing the chamber in a nauseating, red light. Seraphina lay upon it. Now awake but bound by shadowy tendrils.

Standing before the altar was the High Priest of the cult. A tall, imposing figure in ornate, blood-red robes. His face was hidden by a golden mask carved into a serene, smiling face. He was in the middle of a guttural chant. Raising a jeweled, obsidian dagger above the captive princess.

Edward prepared to charge. This was the moment.

But then, the High Priest stopped his chant. He slowly lowered the dagger. He turned. The serene smile of his golden mask seemed to mock them. His head tilted. And his masked gaze looked directly into the dark alcove where Edward and his team were hiding.

"Welcome, Princess," the High Priest said. His voice echoed. Smooth and filled with a chilling amusement. "And welcome to you too, Soul Devourer."

The smile in his voice widened.

"Did you really think we didn't know you were coming? The All-Seeing Eye showed us everything."

The stone doors behind them slammed shut. A deafening boom. Torches flared to life around the cavern. Revealing dozens upon dozens of elite cultist warriors. Their weapons were drawn. Their porcelain masks all turned towards them.

It had never been a plan. It had always been a trap. And they had just walked right into it.