My Infinite System.

The vault held its breath.

Eron rose from his chair, his smile brittle now, but still clinging to its edges. The green ward-flames trembled, as if they too knew what was about to happen.

Lucian stood right before him, space bending faint around his shoulders, eyes black and sharp as blades.

”You think you can speak to me like that?” Eron sneered, voice cracking with anger. His hands lifted, the wards in the stone walls flaring alive at his call. ”I am the the head of the Thorne family. This is my house. You’re just—”

Lucian’s fist cracked across his jaw before the words finished.

The sound echoed like thunder, bouncing through the chamber. Eron staggered sideways, blood spilling from his lip, his head snapping toward the chains that bound Reia. The smug grin had shattered.

Lucian’s voice was calm. ”That’s for Marius.”

Eron spat red onto the stone floor, his eyes wide with disbelief. ”You dare—”

Lucian grabbed his collar and slammed him back into the wall. Stone cracked, dust spilling down. The wards sparked faintly but didn’t respond fast enough. Lucian’s fist drove into his gut, the impact deep, folding him over.

Eron gasped, choking for air.

”That’s for my parents,” Lucian said coldly.

Eron snarled, fire flashing in his palms. He shoved his hands forward, unleashing a torrent of raw green fire. It tore across the chamber, engulfing the spot where Lucian stood.

For a moment, the flames roared, drowning everything in their light.

Then they parted.

Lucian’s hand cut the fire in half, space folding into a seam that split the blast, redirecting it into the ceiling. Stone rained down, sizzling from the heat. Lucian stepped forward, untouched.

Eron’s eyes widened. ”No—”

Lucian’s palm closed around his face. With a twist, he folded the space behind him, slamming Eron headfirst into the floor. The stone cracked, spreading fissures outward like a spiderweb. Blood streamed from his nose, his muffled cry echoing under Lucian’s grip.

”That’s for Lucy,” Lucian whispered, pressing harder.

Eron flailed, his arms sparking with wild energy. He managed to shove Lucian back for a heartbeat, the wards in the walls screaming, sending chains of green fire whipping toward him.

Lucian folded sideways, space bending around his body, and the chains struck empty air. He reappeared right behind Eron and slammed his elbow into the back of his skull. Eron stumbled forward, spitting blood, his knees buckling.

Reia’s eyes widened in shock. Silas managed a faint grin through cracked lips. Even Vyn, barely conscious, let her shadows flicker with a pulse of satisfaction.

Eron turned, his face smeared with blood, eyes burning with madness. ”I made him! I made Marc! He belongs to me!”

Lucian’s jaw tightened. ”No. You stole him.”

He struck again. His fist smashed into Eron’s cheek, snapping his head sideways. Another blow followed—ribs this time. Something cracked under the impact.

Eron screamed, half in pain, half in fury. He tried to summon his fire again, but Lucian folded space around his wrists, bending them backward. The flames sputtered and died, crushed by the distortion.

Lucian yanked him closer, their faces inches apart. ”You don’t get to speak his name again.”

And then he drove his knee into Eron’s chest. The man wheezed, collapsing to his knees, clutching at broken ribs.

Marc, from the floor, watched with wide eyes. For the first time in years, he saw Eron not as a father, not as a master, but as a man broken under someone else’s hand.

Lucian stepped back, then shoved his boot into Eron’s face, sending him sprawling across the stone floor. The man rolled, coughing, spitting teeth, his hands trembling as he tried to push himself up.

”You think this is revenge?” Eron gasped, trying to laugh through blood. ”This is nothing. I took your brother. I raised him. That’s the wound that’ll never heal.”

Lucian didn’t answer with words. He folded the space under Eron’s body, flipping him violently into the wall. His skull cracked against stone. He slid down, blood trailing in a smear.

”That’s for Marius’s childhood,” Lucian said quietly.

Eron coughed, choking on blood. ”You... you’ll never have him. He’s mine.”

Lucian’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t look at Marc, but his voice carried, cold and unshakable. ”He’ll decide that. Not you.”

He grabbed Eron by the throat, lifting him effortlessly. The man kicked, claws of green fire flaring from his fingers, but Lucian bent the space around them, dissolving the flames before they could touch him.

Eron’s eyes bulged, panic finally cracking through his arrogance.

Lucian slammed him back down again. The floor cratered under the impact.

”That’s for Reia, Silas, and Vyn.”

The chained trio flinched at the violence, but their eyes burned with a grim, shared satisfaction.

Eron groaned, barely able to move now, blood soaking his mouth, his chest heaving. ”You... you can’t kill me. You don’t have it in you.”

Lucian crouched over him, his hand pressing against his broken ribs, space compressing tighter with every word. Eron screamed as the distortion crushed his chest, bones snapping audibly.

”You’re right,” Lucian said softly. ”Killing you would be mercy.”

He released the fold. Eron slumped to the floor, gasping, his body trembling with pain.

Lucian stood over him, his expression flat, his eyes like black fire. ”You’re going to live. You’re going to choke on the pieces you broke. And every day you breathe, you’ll remember this beatdown. That’s your punishment.”

Eron tried to laugh, but it came out as a bloody cough. ”You think... you’ve won. But he’ll never forgive them. Never forgive you.” His eyes rolled toward Marc, still half-slumped on the floor. ”He’s mine. Always.”

Lucian didn’t look at Marc. He just raised his boot and pressed it down on Eron’s chest, pinning him like an insect. The man groaned, his broken body unable to fight back.

”You don’t own him,” Lucian said. His tone was so calm it cut sharper than any shout. ”Not anymore.”

The vault was silent except for Eron’s ragged breathing.

Reia closed her eyes, relief flooding her face. Silas slumped against his chains, exhausted but alive. Vyn let her head rest back, her shadows easing faintly, safe for the first time in days.

Marc, however, couldn’t look away. His whole world had been ripped apart. The man who had raised him, beaten into the floor. The brother he’d been told to hate, standing over that broken figure like judgment made flesh.

Lucian finally pulled his boot back. He turned, his eyes meeting Marc’s for the first time since the fight began.

Marc’s breath caught.

Lucian didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said it all: I’m not your enemy. He is.

Marc swallowed hard, his chest burning with confusion, rage, and something he didn’t recognize—something dangerously close to hope.

And in the silence of the shattered vault, Eron lay broken, a king without a throne, staring up at the son he’d twisted and the boy who refused to break.

The storm was far from over. But for the first time, the balance had shifted.