From publisher blurb:
The galaxy is vast, cold, and indifferent to the struggles of its inhabitants. Among the glittering cities of the core worlds and the desolate reaches of forgotten star systems, tales of horror weave themselves into the fabric of civilization. Whispers grow louder of a shadow moving through the expanse—a specter known only as The Sculptor. A name that is both a curse and a prophecy, it speaks of atrocities that defy understanding, of lives extinguished in grotesque artistry, bodies arranged like the mocking remnants of ancient rituals. Where the Sculptor walks, silence follows, the void itself recoiling from the unholy tableau left behind. This is no ordinary murderer. The Sculptor’s work spans systems, worlds, and species, a trail of death that challenges the very institutions meant to keep order. The Galactic Concord, strained by political fractures and economic unrest, has declared the Sculptor the most wanted criminal in known space. Bounties rise, investigators burn themselves out, and yet, the killer remains a phantom, leaving behind only a chilling signature: geometric arrangements of the deceased that baffle even the most advanced minds. Some call the Sculptor an artist, others a mad prophet. A few whisper a darker truth—that the killings are not the actions of one but the bidding of an ancient force older than the stars themselves. The hunt for the Sculptor has led many to Voralis IX, a dying industrial moon where the air stinks of rust and despair. Here, the factory districts crumble under their own weight, and the surviving inhabitants whisper of shadows that move where none should be. Voralis IX is a place abandoned by hope, a perfect hunting ground for a predator of the soul. The Galactic Concord’s Crimson Judiciary has sent its agents, bounty hunters stalk the alleys, and shadowy factions pull strings from the void, each seeking the Sculptor for their own reasons. Yet, the deeper one delves into the heart of Voralis, the more the question grows: is the Sculptor the hunter, or are they merely the herald of something far worse? This story begins in the decaying bowels of Voralis IX. You are among the few with the courage—or the recklessness—to tread these haunted streets. Perhaps you seek justice for the lives stolen. Perhaps you crave the fortune offered for the Sculptor’s head. Or perhaps, like so many others drawn to this place, you are running from your own ghosts. Whatever brought you here, the path forward is shrouded in darkness, where truth and terror intertwine.