The Veil District twisted around Kain like a living thing.
Every alley was a dead end. Every street a silent threat. He moved carefully, his body low, his steps precise. The address from the holo-chip pulsed in his neural interface.
One location. One answer.
But the moment he arrived, he knew something was wrong.
---
The Hideout
The coordinates led him to a collapsed cathedral at the edge of the district. Its stone walls were cracked, its stained-glass windows shattered long ago. Shadows stretched deep within, untouched by the flickering neon outside.
Kain hesitated.
There were no guards. No tripwires. No signs of life.
Just silence.
This isn't right.
But he stepped forward anyway.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and something metallic—blood.
At the center of the ruined cathedral was a single wooden chair.
And in that chair—
A man, bound and unmoving.
Kain's breath slowed. His fingers twitched toward his dagger as he took careful steps forward. The figure didn't react.
His throat was slit.
Blood soaked his shirt, dripping down his arms. His head hung forward, concealing his face. But there was something carved into his chest.
A symbol.
One Kain recognized.
Cipher script.
It read: "You are too late."
A whisper of air—movement behind him.
Kain spun, dagger flashing—but a hand caught his wrist mid-swing.
His vision blurred.
In the span of a second, he was flipped, thrown backward, and pinned against a broken pillar.
A blade pressed to his throat.
And then, finally, he saw them.
The Wraith.