Chapter 7: The Shepherd's Fury

Chapter 7: The Shepherd's Fury

"So predictably, wonderfully, weak," Hecate Malina repeated, her voice a silken blade that sliced through Jaydon’s exhaustion. The obsidian orb on her staff pulsed in time with some unseen, malevolent heart, casting dancing shadows that made the room feel like it was breathing.

Jaydon pushed himself to his feet, his body screaming in protest. His mana was gone, his Faith drained to a flicker. He was an empty vessel, standing before the storm. "Get away from them," he growled, placing himself between Hecate and the four recovering women.

"Get away?" Hecate laughed, a sound like cracking ice. "My dear Pastor, I am the very thing they pray to you to keep away. And look at you. You spent all your precious light fixing a few broken toys. You have nothing left."

"He's not alone," Simon said, stepping forward. A complex, shimmering blue glyph materialized in the air before him. "I'd reconsider your next move, Malina. The Conclave may not care for my methods, but they take a very dim view of High Priestesses murdering mundanes on a Tuesday."

Hecate's cold eyes flicked to Simon, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. "The rogue and the priest. What an unholy little cabal. You think your parlor tricks concern me, Castor?"

She raised her staff. The shadows in the room didn't just darken; they coalesced, lunging forward like grasping claws. But she wasn't aiming for Jaydon. She was aiming for Martha Gable.

It was a feint. A test. She wanted to see him try to summon a power he no longer had. She wanted to watch him fail.

In that split second, Jaydon’s exhaustion was burned away by a surge of pure, unadulterated fury. It wasn't the righteous anger of before. This was rage. Raw and absolute. He had no power, no light, no mana to give, but he lunged forward anyway, his only instinct to shield the innocent with his own body.

"Now!" Simon yelled.

He clapped his hands together, and the blue glyph exploded in a blinding flash of white light and a deafening sonic boom. Hecate staggered back, momentarily blinded, her shadow-constructs dissolving. Simon grabbed Jaydon's arm, his grip like iron.

"Time to go, Pastor! My illusions don't last long against a master!" he yelled, pulling Jaydon toward the back door.

Jaydon stumbled after him, his heart hammering against his ribs not with fear, but with a terrifying, impotent rage. He had been played. She had hurt his people, drained his power, and then mocked him for his weakness, all to prove a point. He hadn't been a shepherd protecting his flock. He had been a mouse in her maze.

They didn't stop running until the black sedan was screaming down the deserted streets, leaving Martha's small, violated home far behind. Back in the sanctuary of St. Solomon's, the adrenaline faded, leaving Jaydon shaking. The System's warning about the Path of Vengeance felt less like a caution and more like an invitation.

"She won," Jaydon said, his voice a low rasp. He paced before the altar, his fists clenching and unclenching. "She proved her point. I can't protect anyone. Not like this. Hiding behind these walls, waiting for her to pick off my people one by one? No more."

"Don't be a fool, Jaydon," Simon warned, watching him warily. "That's exactly what she wants. She's goading you. She wants you angry and reckless. She wants you to meet her on her terms."

"Then she's going to get her wish," Jaydon snarled, turning to face the wizard. A spark of the golden light he thought was gone flickered in his eyes, hotter and harsher than before. "We're done defending. We're done reacting. We're going to take the fight to them."

"And how do you propose we do that? March up to her front door?" Simon scoffed. "We don't even know where their main temple is."

"No," Jaydon said, a grim certainty settling over him. "But Twitch the gnome didn't just sell us a prophecy. He sold us whispers. Locations. He mentioned a place the Coven's acolytes use for their lesser rituals. A place to 'practice'." He held Simon’s gaze, his own burning with a chilling fire. "We're not going after the head of the snake. Not yet. We're going to start by rattling its cage."

An hour later, they stood across the street from the abandoned Mark Twain branch of the Detroit Public Library. Rain slicked the asphalt, reflecting the sickly orange glow of the streetlights. To any passerby, it was just another monument to urban decay. But to Jaydon’s Insight, the building was pulsing with a diseased, violet energy. Runes, invisible to the naked eye, were etched into the stone around the windows and doors, warping the very air around them.

This was it. A Coven safe house.

"They'll have wards. Magical sentries," Simon warned, Corvus perched on his shoulder, scanning the building with unnervingly intelligent eyes. "This will be messy."

"Good," Jaydon said. The word was cold iron.

He felt his Faith and Mana pools slowly regenerating, but it wasn't enough. He needed more. He focused on the rage, on the image of Hecate's mocking smile, and let it fuel him. He was tired of being a shield. It was time to be a sword.

The System, ever responsive to his will, chimed in his mind.

[User Intent: Retribution. New Combat Skill available for purchase. Cost: 1 Skill Point.] [Show Skill: Smite? Y/N]

Jaydon didn't hesitate. Yes.

[Smite - Lvl 1: Channel divine power into a focused, concussive blast of holy energy. Effective against single targets. Deals 200% damage to Unholy entities.]

"Stay behind me," Jaydon ordered, and walked toward the library's grand, graffiti-covered entrance.

He didn't try to pick the lock. He didn't wait for Simon to dismantle the wards. He raised his hand, palm forward, and focused all his renewed power, all his burning fury, into a single point.

"Let there be light," he whispered, and unleashed his Smite.

A beam of pure, incandescent gold shot from his palm, striking the heavy oak doors. It didn't just break them. It obliterated them. The doors exploded inward in a shower of holy fire and splintered wood. The dark runes etched around the frame sizzled and vanished with a shriek of tortured magic.

[Ward Destroyed! +50 EXP] [Level Up! Level 3 Reached! All stats increased. All pools refilled.]

The rush was intoxicating. Power, full and immediate, flooded his weary limbs. He strode into the library's main reading room without waiting for Simon.

Inside, half a dozen black-robed figures were scrambling from a ritual circle hastily drawn on the floor. They were young, acolytes and lesser witches, their faces a mixture of shock and terror.

"It's the priest!" one of them shrieked.

They threw curses at him—bolts of sickly green energy, shards of sharpened shadow. Jaydon walked through them as if they were smoke. The curses dissolved a foot from his body, neutralized by his divine aura.

He was no longer just defending. He was hunting.

He pointed at the nearest witch. Word of Rebuke. A shockwave of golden energy sent her flying back into a bookshelf, which collapsed on top of her in a cascade of corrupted texts.

[Enemy Defeated! +150 EXP]

Another witch lunged, a ritual dagger glinting in her hand. Jaydon caught her wrist, his grip unyielding. Smite. A point-blank blast of light threw her across the room, leaving her crumpled and unconscious.

[Enemy Defeated! +150 EXP] [Level Up! Level 4 Reached!]

It was a massacre. He moved through them with brutal efficiency, every action fueled by the image of Martha's terrified face. This wasn't a fight; it was a purge. Simon followed in his wake, using his own magic to bind the unconscious and ensure none escaped, his expression a mixture of awe and deep concern. Jaydon wasn't just walking the fine line anymore; he was dancing on it.

Soon, only one witch remained. She was backed into a corner, her eyes wide with terror, a half-finished summoning circle at her feet. She was young, barely older than Elara.

Jaydon advanced on her, his hand glowing, ready to deliver the final Smite. The righteous fury sang in his veins. He was their judgment. He was their end.

"Jaydon, wait!" Simon's hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Stop! We need one conscious. We need to know what they were summoning!"

The witch trembled, staring up at Jaydon's glowing hand and the unholy fire in his eyes. She looked less at a man of God and more at an angel of wrath, terrible and beautiful in his fury.

"The key," she whimpered, tears streaming down her face as she pointed a shaking finger at the ritual circle. "We weren't summoning a demon. We were making a copy. A copy of the key."