Chapter 10: Detroit Divinus

Chapter 10: Detroit Divinus

The grand concourse of Michigan Central Station was a cathedral of decay, and tonight, it was Hecate Malina’s temple. The blood-red light of the eclipse poured through the colossal arched windows, illuminating the swirling dust and the thirty black-robed witches chanting in a circle on the marble floor. Their voices were a low, guttural drone that seemed to pull at the very fabric of reality.

At the circle's center, suspended ten feet in the air by writhing tendrils of pure shadow, was Elara. A vortex of violent purple energy, the amplified power of her own bloodline, swirled around her. Her eyes were closed, her face a mask of agony as she fought a battle no one else could see. On a raised dais of pulsing shadow-stuff, Hecate stood with her staff held high, her face ecstatic as she conducted her unholy orchestra.

Jaydon didn't wait for a signal. He strode through the station’s main archway, the fury in his heart now forged into a cold, unwavering spear of purpose.

"Hecate!" His voice, amplified by a flicker of divine will, boomed through the concourse, momentarily breaking the Coven’s concentration. "The Shepherd has come for his flock."

Hecate turned, her lips curling into a triumphant sneer. "The Fallen Shepherd," she corrected. "You are just in time. Your broken faith will be the final key to unlock the gate."

Before she could finish, Jaydon raised his hand. "Simon, now!"

Smite. A lance of blinding golden light shot across the concourse, not at Hecate, but at the keystone of the arch above the chanting witches. The stone vaporized. With a groaning shriek of stressed metal and mortar, tons of debris rained down, shattering the ritual circle's integrity and scattering the acolytes in chaos.

Simultaneously, Simon stepped from the shadows, slamming his hands together. "Corvus, obscure!" he commanded. The raven launched from his shoulder and exploded into a churning cloud of impenetrable, magical darkness, engulfing half the witches. From within the cloud came screams of confusion and the crackle of Simon's lightning bolts finding their marks.

The battle had erupted. Monstrosities, summoned in the witches' panic, began to claw their way out of the shadows. They were things of bone and solidified despair, the same parasitic magic Hecate had used on his congregation, now given horrifying physical form.

Jaydon became the tip of the spear. He moved with an economy of motion he didn't know he possessed. A witch threw a bolt of green, corrosive energy; he sidestepped and answered with a Word of Rebuke that sent her and two of her sisters flying.

[Enemy Defeated! +150 EXP] [Enemy Defeated! +150 EXP]

A despair-beast lunged, its claws dripping with misery. Jaydon met it head-on, his fist wreathed in the light of a Smite, punching straight through the creature's chest and turning it to ash.

[Unholy Entity Destroyed! +300 EXP] [Level Up! Level 5 Reached!]

He was a whirlwind of divine judgment, but for every witch he struck down, another took her place. He was powerful, but he was one man. Behind him, Simon was a master of control, his illusions making witches attack each other, his wards of force deflecting curses, his fireballs incinerating the shadow-beasts. They were a bizarre but brutally effective team: the holy hammer and the arcane scalpel.

Jaydon fought his way toward the dais, his eyes locked on Elara. He could see her body spasming, the violet energy around her darkening, thickening. She was losing. The song of the Ashen King was drowning out her will. But then, for a moment, the vortex flickered. Elara's head snapped up, her eyes flying open. They glowed with a soft, defiant silver light.

"NO!" Her voice was not a scream, but a telepathic roar that echoed directly in the minds of everyone in the concourse. The violet energy recoiled from her, if only for a second.

She was fighting back. Using her own latent power, her own soul, as a shield.

Hecate snarled, enraged by the girl's defiance. "Stubborn little vessel! You will break!" She poured more power into the ritual, and the tendrils of shadow holding Elara tightened, making her cry out in pain.

That cry cut through Jaydon's battle focus. He broke through the last line of witches and leaped onto the dais, his eyes blazing with a light that made Hecate flinch.

"This ends now," he declared.

"Indeed," Hecate hissed, turning her full attention to him. The power of the eclipse, channeled through her staff, washed over him. It felt like being submerged in a cold, dead ocean. "I offered you the chance to be my weapon. Now you will simply be the final sacrifice!"

She thrust her staff forward. A torrent of pure shadow, filled with the whispers of every doubt and fear Jaydon had ever felt, rushed toward him. You're not strong enough. You let your church fail. You enjoyed the slaughter at the library. You are already fallen.

He met the torrent with a Smite. Gold and black light collided in a blinding explosion that cracked the marble floor. The duel had begun. Hecate was a master sorceress at the apex of her power, weaving intricate curses and summoning blades of solidified night. Jaydon was a raw, explosive conduit of divine energy. He was stronger, but she was more skilled, turning his own momentum against him, forcing him to expend massive amounts of mana to defend.

"See?" she taunted, as he blocked a volley of shadow spikes. "You fight with rage! You are already mine!"

He was losing. He could feel his power waning against the relentless tide. And worse, Elara was fading. A horrifying, alien shadow was beginning to superimpose itself over her form. A second set of arms, long and thin. A crown of jagged darkness. The Ashen King was breaking through.

Hecate saw her chance. With a final, triumphant cry, she channeled all her power not at Jaydon, but into Elara. "BECOME YOUR THRONE!"

The possession was happening. The shadow began to wear Elara's skin. To destroy the King now would mean destroying the girl.

This was the choice. The final temptation of the Fallen Shepherd. He could unleash the most powerful Smite he could muster. It would annihilate the half-formed entity and Hecate along with it. It would be a righteous, vengeful, and absolute victory. And it would murder the innocent girl he had sworn to protect.

Hecate’s laughter filled his mind. Strike us down, Pastor! Fulfill the prophecy! Become the butcher you were meant to be!

Jaydon looked at the horrifying fusion of girl and monster. He saw the flicker of silver light in Elara’s eyes, a final, desperate plea. And in that moment, the rage died. The thirst for vengeance vanished. There was only the calm, absolute certainty of the shepherd. He would not sacrifice the lamb to kill the wolf.

He dropped his offensive stance and closed his eyes.

I am the shield.

He opened them, and they were pools of pure, untainted gold.

[Ultimate Skill Activated: Aegis of Solomon] [Cost: 90% of Faith Pool. Are you sure?]

Yes.

His soul screamed as his Faith, the very core of his power, was ripped from him in a single, agonizing instant. It erupted from his body not as a weapon, but as a statement. A perfect, silent, incandescent dome of golden light expanded from him with impossible speed.

It washed over Hecate, who screamed as the divine energy touched her—not burning her with fire, but unraveling her with truth, dissolving the shadows she was made of. It washed over Elara. The shadowy form of the Ashen King shrieked, a sound that existed outside of hearing, as the pure, unassailable light cleansed it from her soul, casting the entity back into the void from whence it came. The dome expanded, catching the remaining witches and their monstrosities, and they too were not burned, but simply… unmade. Purged.

For thirty seconds that stretched into an eternity, the grand concourse of Michigan Central Station was not a place of darkness, but a beacon of holy light, silent and absolute.

Then, as quickly as it came, the light vanished.

Jaydon collapsed to his knees, spiritually shattered. He felt hollow, empty, the vibrant connection to his divine power reduced to a single, fragile thread.

Hecate Malina was gone. Only her gnarled staff lay on the dais, the obsidian orb cracked and lifeless. The remaining Coven members had either fled or been erased. Elara, free from the shadows, fell from the air into Simon's waiting arms. She was unconscious, but she was alive. She was whole.

Simon carried her over to where Jaydon knelt, his face pale and grim. "You did it, Pastor," he said, his voice holding a note of disbelief and awe. "You actually did it."

Jaydon looked up, through the shattered skylight. The eclipse was ending. A sliver of the true sun peeked past the blood-red moon, casting a single, clean ray of light down into the desecrated hall. It fell across Jaydon, Elara, and Simon—the shepherd, the saved, and the sorcerer.

He had won. He had saved her soul. He had defended his city. And in the process, he had remade himself. The supernatural underbelly of Detroit had a new player on the board, one who wielded not the chaotic power of magic or the viciousness of curses, but something far older, far purer.

Detroit Divinus had a new guardian. And his work was just beginning.