The second sector was better guarded.

  Not because they were smarter—

  but because they were more afraid.

  The Provenance leader—Kore—ruled through calculated cruelty. She didn't just demand loyalty; she bought it in blood.

  Children vanished in this sector. Parents worked until they collapsed on the concrete. Anyone who raised their voice disappeared into locked vans and burning trash heaps.

  She never dirtied her hands. She had others do it for her—louder, messier.

  I was going to change that.

  Desire chose my targets—I didn't care who they were or what they'd done. Good, bad—it didn't matter. They were stepping stones toward Adam and Eve. Conveniently, they happened to deserve it.

  The enforcers guarding her estate were armored, armed, alert. They moved in packs. No cigarettes. No chatter. No one dropped their guard.

  Still, they died.

  One by one.

  I tore through the first patrol with speed they couldn't track. One guard raised his rifle—my knife went through his eye. Another reached for his comm—I shattered his jaw with the butt of the blade. Two tried to run.

  They didn’t make it far.

  I moved like smoke.

  Like vengeance.

  Blood soaked the marble stairs leading to Kore’s compound. Her banners—gold on black—hung limp in the wind, her name etched arrogantly into stone, her face plastered across every holo-screen in this block.

  But when I kicked down her reinforced doors, I found her exactly where I expected—waiting.

  A calculated smile spread across her lips as her guards formed a wall between us.

  "So," she said coolly, her voice sharp as a blade. "You’re the monster everyone’s whispering about."

  I didn’t answer.

  I let the bodies speak for me.

  I stepped forward. Her guards opened fire.

  Bullets tore through the air, but I was already moving.

  The world blurred—my limbs stretched, black tendrils snaking out, catching bullets mid-flight, flinging them aside like insects. My blade found throats, knees, hearts. I danced between them, untouchable. Unstoppable.

  One guard screamed.

  Another fell without a sound.

  I carved my way through them like rot through wood.

  Kore didn’t flinch, even when the last of her enforcers dropped, twitching on the marble floor, blood pooling around her boots.

  "You think you’re righteous?" she sneered. "You’re just a freak. A rabid dog. A filthy street rat."

  I stepped over a body, eyes locked on hers.

  “Shut up.”

  She moved—fast.

  Faster than fear.

  A hidden blade flicked from her sleeve, aimed at my throat.

  I caught her wrist.

  Squeezed.

  Something in her arm snapped.

  She screamed.

  I lifted her off her feet with one hand, fingers wrapped tight around her throat. She kicked. Scratched. Her blade clattered uselessly to the floor.

  I didn’t loosen my grip.

  And that's when I noticed—

  The crowd.

  They were already there. Lined along rooftops, peering from broken windows, standing in streets with necks craned and eyes wide.

  They'd been watching from the start.

  From the moment my boot hit Kore’s rooftop, they had come. Word had spread.

  The Empress was here.

  And they were ready.

  But they misunderstood.

  I wasn't here for them. Kore's cruelty meant nothing to me. Their presence meant nothing to me. Her death was useful; her sins were incidental.

  I stood on the ledge, Kore dangling from my grasp, her body twisting, gasping, struggling for breath.

  The wind ripped through the air, carrying the scent of blood, of change.

  The crowd below was silent—

  But not out of fear.

  In reverence.

  They knew who I was.

  And they knew what was coming.

  Kore choked, her hands clawing desperately at my arm, nails scraping uselessly against my skin. Her eyes darted toward the streets below, then snapped back to mine.

  Panic bloomed beneath her rage.

  The fear in her eyes.

  It felt…good.

  The way her body understood.

  She was going to die.

  She was dying as a message.

  Euphoria blossomed within me.

  I lifted her higher, wind whipping her hair around her face, boots kicking uselessly at empty air.

  And then—

  Desire appeared beside me, perched like a gargoyle on the rooftop’s opposite corner, his silver eyes glinting brightly.

  He grinned.

  "Well? Your people are waiting."

  I glanced down.

  So many faces.

  So many eyes.

  They watched, breathless.

  I met Kore’s gaze one last time.

  Dragging her—gasping, twitching—to the edge, I paused, letting the crowd see.

  They remained still, waiting.

  I took the same steel wire from my belt—the same one I'd used before.

  Kore’s breath hitched. Her lips parted, some last defense, a final lie—

  Her lips trembled.

  “You…you’re gonna pay for this.”

  Wrapping the wire tightly around her throat, I pulled—

  Tight.

  Tighter.

  Then, with deliberate, slow precision, I lifted her limp body over the neon-lit abyss.

  I let her fall.

  The crowd watched her sway, watched the message swing gently in the breeze:

  "DEATH TO ADAM AND EVE."

  There was no cheer this time.

  Only silence.

  Then—

  A sound.

  Soft at first.

  A single voice whispering into the stillness:

  "Empress."

  Then louder:

  "Empress."

  And louder still, until the entire sector roared it in unison:

  "EMPRESS! EMPRESS! EMPRESS!"

  Fists raised. Voices raw.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  No longer just reverence—

  Loyalty.

  Worship.

  Something within me awakened.

  Desire laughed, ecstatic, arms thrown wide in triumph.

  The Whisper pulsed within me, trembling with joy.

  And I—

  I smiled.

  Because it was true.

  I wasn’t just a weapon anymore.

  I was a symbol.

  A storm.

  A reckoning wrapped in flesh.

  And this was only the second name on the list.

  The crowd’s chant echoed in my bones, vibrating deep within my chest:

  "EMPRESS! EMPRESS! EMPRESS!"

  They screamed it like a prayer—like a promise. Their fists raised, their voices hoarse.

  They weren’t afraid anymore.

  They belonged to me now.

  But then—

  The air shifted.

  It began with the wind—still one moment, then rippling, as if stirred by the breath of something enormous. Clouds split apart overhead—unnaturally clean, unnaturally fast.

  The lights flickered.

  And then—

  They arrived.

  Descending from the sky like gods.

  Adam and Eve.

  Wreathed in gold and white, bathed in impossible light.

  They needed no wings, no machines. They simply appeared, stepping onto the rooftop opposite mine as though they'd always belonged there.

  The crowd fell silent, as if the city itself had forgotten how to breathe.

  Adam stood tall, draped in silver-trimmed robes shimmering like liquid starlight, a calm, gentle smile gracing his lips. His hair was pure white, his eyes glowing like the edge of a dying sun.

  Eve stood beside him—stunning and strange, her beauty so perfect it almost hurt to look at. Her skin gleamed like porcelain, her eyes endless. When she spoke, her voice was soft thunder.

  The crowd fell to their knees instantly, as if the gravity of Adam and Eve had pulled every soul to the ground.

  Bowing.

  Even those who had cheered for me.

  Even those who had watched me kill.

  Their heads bowed. Their backs bent. Their voices. swallowed by silence.

  “Stand,” Adam said, his voice not booming but settling—deep, final, like truth itself.

  Still, they remained bowed.

  Because that was what he demanded.

  Not obedience.

  Worship.

  My stomach twisted.

  Adam turned his gaze to me then, his expression unreadable—not angry, not cruel.

  Just… disappointed.

  “My, my,” Eve murmured, her voice velvet-wrapped poison. “Such brutality. Such chaos. Is this the world you wish to build, little Empress?”

  Her golden eyes glimmered in the darkness.

  “This city belongs to us,” she continued softly. “And violence like yours will not be tolerated.”

  The Whisper stirred violently within me—snarling, hissing, furious.

  They were here.

  They dared to come here—

  Pretending they were pure. Divine. Just.

  After everything they’d done.

  After what they'd made me.

  After what they'd taken from me.

  Fury rose inside me like fire. My teeth bared, limbs burning, bones stretching painfully. The black ink curled violently up my arms, my jaw distorting into something monstrous.

  They wanted a monster?

  I'd show them one.

  I launched myself forward, rooftop to rooftop, leaping, flying, howling with rage.

  The Whisper screamed alongside me.

  Eve flinched.

  Adam didn't.

  He didn't even move.

  And then—

  He was gone.

  And then—

  He was there.

  Directly in front of me.

  Too fast.

  Too silent.

  I hadn't even seen him move.

  Before I could react—before I could strike—his hand shot out—

  And closed around my throat.

  Not glowing.

  Not burning.

  Just his hand.

  His real, physical hand.

  He slammed me onto the rooftop.

  The impact stole the breath from my lungs, tiles shattering beneath my spine. My limbs spasmed violently. My vision flickered, blurred.

  The world spun.

  I gasped desperately, claws scraping against his wrist, teeth bared, legs kicking uselessly—

  But he didn’t even flinch.

  He stared down at me, expression calm. Almost bored.

  His grip tightened.

  I choked.

  His voice was quiet. Cold.

  “Stand down, vile creature.”

  The crowd gasped.

  I heard them clearly—not chanting, not cheering.

  Just watching. Silent.

  Because Adam hadn't used divine power. Not miracles. Not holy fire from the sky.

  He had used his body.

  And it was enough.

  I stared up at him, my fury unraveling into bitter humiliation.

  He hadn’t needed the hand of God to stop me.

  He hadn’t even needed to try.

  I was nothing to him.

  I had risen—and he'd swatted me down like a child throwing a tantrum.

  The Whisper whimpered.

  Desire went silent.

  The rooftop was cold beneath me.

  Adam’s hand remained steady, unmoving, as though I were already dead.

  His grip never trembled, fingers still locked around my throat—not in rage, but in absolute indifference.

  I thrashed beneath him, fury boiling in my veins. Black ink still crept along my skin, still warped, still begged to be unleashed—

  But none of it mattered.

  He didn’t even see me as a threat.

  His fingers tightened.

  I choked.

  Then—

  He leaned closer. Too close. His breath brushed warm against my ear as he whispered:

  “You’ll never be strong enough to stand against me, little one.”

  My blood ran cold.

  He wasn’t mocking me.

  He was certain.

  His words slid into my skull like ice:

  “But I’ll allow you to grow,” he murmured. “I'll let the Whisper feed you. Let it twist your bones, poison your thoughts, shape you into something interesting.”

  His gaze swept over me, dead calm.

  “I’ll make it stronger. I'll let it swell inside you—until the moment I rip it out with my own hand.”

  I gasped, limbs burning, vision blurring into darkness.

  “And when I do,” he said softly, “you’ll carry the tyrant the prophecy spoke of—because that’s all you were ever meant to do.”

  Then—

  He released me.

  I collapsed to the rooftop, coughing, gasping desperately, fingers clawing into shattered tiles as I tried to ground myself.

  He turned his back as if I were already forgotten.

  “ADAM!” Desire’s voice cracked through the air, desperate, furious—trembling with something close to panic. “ADAM, YOU SON OF A—”

  Adam paused, turning his head slightly.

  “And who are you?”

  The words struck like thunder.

  Desire flinched.

  His smile faltered, eyes widening in stunned disbelief. Shattered.

  “Ah,” he said mildly, as if recalling a forgotten memory. “Lustreth.”

  Desire’s expression cracked. That name hadn’t been spoken in—how long?

  Adam continued thoughtfully, voice cold and detached:

  “I remember now. A minor function. A failed vessel of passion. Useless. Decorative. Weak.”

  Each word fell like a hammer.

  “Why are you still alive?” Adam asked, genuinely curious. “Did I not already dispose of you?”

  Desire didn't answer.

  He couldn't.

  Adam’s lips curled into a small, cruel smile. Final.

  “Filth.”

  Then he turned, walking calmly back to Eve.

  The crowd remained motionless.

  No one dared move.

  Even those who'd been chanting my name moments ago now stared in silent awe and fear.

  Adam faced them again, his voice louder now, ringing out like judgment:

  “You call this creature your Empress?” He gestured toward me, still gasping on the rooftop. “This beast who tears through your streets with bloodied hands and a serpent coiled in her chest?”

  He stepped forward, arms outstretched—not angry, but grieving.

  “This is not the way of Ventura.”

  The crowd lowered their heads.

  Some cried.

  Some nodded.

  None bowed to me now.

  Adam’s gaze swept slowly across them.

  “You will not follow her,” he declared, his tone absolute. “You will not worship violence. You will not kneel to a parasite masquerading as salvation.”

  He turned away again, Eve silently matching his steps.

  “Choose peace,” he said. “Choose us.”

  Then—

  He was gone.

  Just like that.

  Vanished.

  The light dimmed.

  The sky returned to stillness.

  And I—

  I lay broken on the rooftop, the Whisper silent within me.

  Desire stood a few feet away, his silver skin dimmed, golden eyes distant.

  He didn’t look at me. He didn’t look at anyone.

  He only stared at the empty sky, where Adam had disappeared.

  And for the first time—

  He looked pathetic.

  The rooftop was cold beneath me, the tiles cracked beneath my back. My lungs still burned. My limbs still trembled.

  Below, the crowd began to disperse. Quiet footsteps. Awkward silence.

  No more chanting. No more cheers.

  Only the rustle of shame.

  Desire hadn't moved.

  I didn't care.

  I stared up at the sky, Adam’s voice still echoing in my skull, cold and certain:

  “You’ll never be strong enough.”