Chapter 5: Whispers of the Prophecy

Chapter 5: Whispers of the Prophecy

The air in the Rust Quarter grew thick with menace. Grokk’s piggish eyes were locked on Jaydon, his massive form a wall of granite and ill-intent. The patrons of the Veiled Market, sensing the coming violence, began to form a loose, eager circle. This was entertainment.

Before Jaydon could even process the threat, Simon stepped smoothly between them, a placid smile on his face that didn't reach his cold blue eyes.

"Grokk, my friend," Simon said, his voice a low purr. "Always so hospitable. But you and I both know your boss, the Iron Baron, still owes me for that little poltergeist problem in his foundry. A debt of considerable value." He let the words hang in the air. "I'm sure he wouldn't want his… head of security… to complicate our arrangement over a simple misunderstanding. We’ll be in and out."

Grokk’s brutish confidence faltered. He grunted, his gaze shifting from Jaydon to Simon. The name ‘Iron Baron’ clearly carried weight, and the implication of a debt was a language every creature in the Market understood. He sneered, showing yellowed tusks. "Five minutes, wizard. Then your holy man is fair game."

He lumbered to the side, clearing the path to The Crow's Nest. The crowd murmured in disappointment and began to disperse.

"Don't look so grateful," Simon whispered as they pushed through the tavern's swinging doors. "I just put my reputation on the line for you. Informants cost money. Informants who know you’re on the clock cost double."

The Crow’s Nest was a pit. The air was a cocktail of otherworldly smoke, cheap alcohol, and despair. A three-eyed bartender polished a glass with a greasy rag while patrons with shadowed faces and glowing eyes gambled with cards that seemed to shift and writhe. In a dark corner booth, hunched over a collection of whirring cogs and tangled wires, was a gnome. He was old, with a beard that reached his knees and skin like wrinkled parchment. His gnarled fingers moved with startling speed, assembling some tiny, incomprehensible device. This was Twitch.

As they approached, the gnome froze. He sniffed the air, his long nose twitching violently. "Ugh! What is that smell? That awful, clean smell! It burns!" He looked up, his large, paranoid eyes fixing on Jaydon. "Sanctimonious static! You brought a church into my tavern!"

"Relax, Twitch," Simon said, sliding into the booth. "He's with me. We need information. The Coven of the Ashen Serpent. Their prophecy."

Twitch recoiled, pulling his greasy coat tighter around himself. "No, no, no. Not that. Bad business. Bad for the lungs. Bad for continued existence. They have ears everywhere."

"And you have a price for everything," Simon countered, placing a small, velvet pouch on the table. It clinked with the sound of something heavier than coin.

The gnome eyed the pouch, but then looked back at Jaydon, his face screwed up in discomfort. "He's too bright. The glare is giving me a migraine. It… itches. My thoughts itch." Twitch pointed a trembling finger at Jaydon. "I'll tell you. But not for coin. I want… a moment of quiet."

"Quiet?" Jaydon asked.

"Yes, quiet!" the gnome squeaked. "Your soul is screaming, Pastor. It's so loud! All that… faith. Take a piece of it. Just a little piece. Put it in this." He scurried under the table and produced a small, lead-lined box. "A sliver of pure, divine energy. It'll fetch a fortune from the right buyer. A single, perfect truth in a bottle. Worth more than all the gold in a dragon's gut."

Simon looked at Jaydon, raising an eyebrow. The System screen flickered in Jaydon's vision.

[Barter Offer Detected: Exchange 50 Faith for 'Prophecy of the Ashen Serpent'. This is a high-risk, high-reward transaction. Faith is the core of your power.]

To trade away a piece of his soul's strength… it felt like a violation. But they were on the clock. He thought of Elara, alone in the church. He nodded.

"How?" Jaydon asked.

"Just… think of peace," Twitch whispered, opening the box. "Focus on it. And push."

Jaydon closed his eyes. He thought of the quiet moments before a sermon, the comforting weight of the Codex in his hands. He felt the warm energy within him, the power the System called Faith, and willed a tiny, infinitesimal piece of it to leave him. A single mote of brilliant golden light, no bigger than a firefly, floated from his chest and drifted into the box. Twitch slammed the lid shut with a gasp of relief.

"Ah, much better," he sighed, stashing the box away. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The prophecy. I traded a goblin a memory of his firstborn's laughter for it last week. It's not one prophecy. It's two verses. One they tell the acolytes, and one they only whisper in the dark."

He cleared his throat and recited, his voice taking on a singsong, ominous cadence.

"When the Ashen Serpent sheds its skin, The Key of Lilith turns within. A crown of shadow shall descend, Upon the Shepherd at his end."

Jaydon felt a chill crawl down his spine. The Key of Lilith—that had to be Elara. And the Shepherd… that was him. They were going to kill him to complete their ritual. It was what he expected. But then Twitch leaned in closer, his eyes wide.

"But that's not the real poison, see? That's the lie they tell themselves. The second verse, the one they don't want anyone to hear… this is the truth of it."

"For faith, when broken, burns most bright, A fallen star to bring the night. His righteous fire, twisted, claimed, Shall bless the darkness he once blamed."

The words struck Jaydon with the force of a physical blow. He wasn't the final sacrifice. He was the weapon. They didn't want to kill him. They wanted to break him. They wanted to shatter his faith, to fill him with rage and a thirst for vengeance, and use that corrupted holy power as the final catalyst for their ritual. The satisfaction he'd felt when he destroyed the Bone Sentinel flashed in his mind, suddenly tasting like ash. The creature hadn't been sent just to test the wards; it had been sent to test him. To stoke the fire of his anger.

They weren't trying to extinguish his light. They were trying to turn it into an inferno that would burn the world down for them. A Fallen Shepherd.

A rage, cold and pure, began to build in his chest. A desire not just to stop them, but to make them pay. To make them suffer for their blasphemy. To show them what real righteous fire felt like. The power within him churned, responding to his fury.

Suddenly, a klaxon-like alarm blared in his mind, and the System screen flashed a stark, blood-red warning.

[ALIGNMENT WARNING: PATH OF VENGEANCE DETECTED] [Your current emotional state is empowering abilities aligned with Wrath and Retribution. Continued progression on this path risks corruption of your Divine Core. Your soul is the ultimate battleground.]

[New Priority Quest Issued: The Shepherd’s Path]

Quest: The Shepherd’s Path Objective: The enemy seeks to turn your strength into a weapon of darkness. You must cleanse the Coven's influence from the city, not through vengeance, but through righteous judgment. Purge their dark magic, protect the innocent, and defend the sanctity of your own soul. The shepherd saves the flock; he does not become the wolf.

Rewards:

• Alignment Shift toward [Lawful Good]
• Strengthening of Divine Core
• ???

Failure:

• You become the 'Fallen Shepherd'.
• Your powers will be corrupted and turned to the Coven's will.
• Your soul will be forfeit.

---

Jaydon stared at the text, his anger instantly cooled by a wave of icy fear. The System, his divine gift, was warning him against the very instinct that screamed inside him. The Coven's gambit was more insidious than he could have ever imagined. It was a war on two fronts: one in the shadowy streets of Detroit, and the other within the confines of his own heart.

He looked at Simon, who was watching him with a shrewd, analytical expression. "Let's go," Jaydon said, his voice flat and hard. "We have what we came for."

As they walked back through the chaotic splendor of the Veiled Market, Jaydon no longer felt like a target. He felt like a bomb. Every hostile stare, every whispered insult, was another grain of sand on the scale, tipping him toward the righteous fury the Coven so desperately wanted.

He had to be better. He had to be stronger. He wasn't just fighting for Elara or his city anymore. He was fighting for his own damnation.