"Finally… Mother."
The words, cold and absolute, struck the chamber like a death knell. A dreadful silence followed, so heavy it pressed on the lungs of all who heard it. The worshippers froze, their mouths trembling open but no sound escaping. Morganna's eyes widened, her hand instinctively brushing over her stomach as though to shield what lay within. Astrid's breath caught in her throat, her knuckles white against her weapon. The surviving robed men stared in blank terror.
Only Takashi moved, his body rigid, his gaze locked on the altar. His mind whispered a single, merciless thought. I failed.
The pool of elf blood that stained the altar began to stir. It shimmered, rippling violently as if alive. Droplets rose, trembling in the air before being wrenched upward into a single, swirling vortex. The crimson liquid twisted unnaturally, tearing at the very fabric of reality, until a gaping portal of black and red yawed open above the altar.
Kibo, holding onto Isilwen, could not move. His hands gripped her tightly, turned white, but fear, raw and absolute, locked his body in place. What is this… what have they brought here?
From the portal came the first abominations: souls, countless and tormented. They clawed their way out, skeletal visages twisted in eternal agony. Some bore the faint shapes of humans, others beastkin, elves, demons, orcs, ogres, and dwarves. Each screamed with voices that shredded the heart, cries of suffering so deep they seemed endless.
At first, they wailed of freedom, rushing into the chamber as though they could scatter into the world. "We are free! At last, we are free!" their hollow voices cried. But in an instant, the pull began. An unseen force dragged them back toward the portal. Their jubilation collapsed into terror.
"Help me!"
"Save us!"
"Forgive me!"
"Do not leave me here!"
The chamber filled with their desperate pleas as they thrashed against the pull. Some flung themselves toward the living, arms outstretched in blind hope. A ghostly hand passed straight through Astrid's shoulder, the sensation like ice cutting into her very soul. She gasped, clutching at the spot instinctively, but there was nothing there. The souls' hands slipped through every body they tried to seize, their cries rising to a hysterical pitch.
One beastkin spirit, its face still twisted with fangs, reached for Kibo, its claws sliding uselessly through his chest. He flinched, though the touch left no wound. The soul screamed in despair as it was yanked backward, vanishing into the abyss of the portal.
The horror intensified as dozens more were ripped back into nothingness, their shrieks blending into one dreadful chorus. The chamber shook with their misery until the air itself seemed to thrum with despair.
The portal flickered, shrinking rapidly, its surface closing like a wound. Hope sparked faintly in the hearts of those who watched—until a colossal hand, black as pitch, tore through the closing rift. Its shadow spread across the chamber like a storm, and with its grip the tear was forced open once again.
The pressure struck immediately. Worshippers collapsed to their knees, gagging for breath. Some clutched their throats, eyes rolling back, and a handful simply fell lifeless, their hearts crushed by the weight of the darkness.
Morganna's body spasmed violently, her pregnancy reacting to the unholy surge. She doubled over with a cry, but her healing light flared instinctively, barely holding her steady. Astrid staggered, her chest heaving, eyes locked on the elves who whimpered in terror. Stay strong… we can escape this.
Kibo tightened his grip on Isilwen, pulling her close, his Self-Healing knitting the damage as fast as it came. Still, blood trickled from his lips. Takashi, unmoving, weathered the wave, an unseen shield shimmering faintly around him. His jaw clenched, his silence heavier than any shout.
The priest, lay trembling for a heartbeat before pushing himself upright. His face was pale, but his eyes burned with wild devotion.
Then it came.
The Shadowy Figure stepped through, towering and dreadful. Its body was a silhouette of flowing ink, its form rippling as though barely anchored to this world. No features marked its face save for one thing: a smile, perpetual and unsettling, carved deep into its faceless shadow.
The portal snapped shut behind it with a thunderous crack. The blood that had sustained it splashed to the ground, running in rivulets across the stone.
And then, as swiftly as it had come, the suffocating pressure vanished. Every survivor in the chamber gasped, lungs burning as though they had just surfaced from the depths of the ocean.
The priest rose to his knees, staring up at the figure. His lips trembled, but his voice carried with an eerie strength.
"Glory to the Void. Praise to the endless suffering. For granting you passage, my lord… for granting me flesh and purpose. The chains of the living realm are brittle before your will!"
He pressed his forehead to the stone, his smile one of ecstatic terror as the shadow above him loomed.
The shadowy figure lifted his hands, turning them slowly as though examining a foreign shape. Wisps of darkness curled around his fingers, his entire form shrouded in that unsettling, half-real haze. His voice, low and edged with frustration, rumbled through the chamber.
"Ah… I see. I could not retain my true form. And still… these chains of the world bind me." His head tilted, that smile never wavering though his tone carried a growl. "I cannot fight with my full strength. This will not do. No… this will not do."
The Priest, too consumed by awe to notice the frustration, pressed his palms into the stone and cried out, voice quivering yet fervent. "Our God! Now that you are here, you shall rule the world and claim it as your own! Your influence spreads already across all lands!"
But the Shadowy Figure was not listening. His voice dropped to something almost intimate, like a whisper for himself alone. "Oh, Mother… no matter how you turn the pieces, no matter how you twist the fates in your favor… I, your son, will always strive to end you." His chuckle was soft, but it carried the weight of blasphemy.
The Priest, emboldened by the presence of his lord, raised his face again. His tone was desperate, almost pleading. "Have mercy on your faithful, Lord! Grant us immortality!"
The Shadowy Figure's head cocked, his grin stretching wider, more grotesque. He spoke loudly now, his words cutting through every corner of the chamber. "Immortality?"
The Priest faltered, his lips trembling into a nervous smile. Still, he pressed on. "Yes, my Lord! Your followers… they have done all that was asked. They worshipped, they sacrificed, they carried out your will. You offered them gold, and a life beyond their wildest dreams. But now… they seek more. The fruit of immortality… to worship you for eternity!"
The Shadowy Figure's smile deepened into something monstrous. A laugh burst from him, not a sound of mirth but of madness, reverberating with the same chaos that had spilled from the Void itself. The chamber trembled with the echo of it, and several followers covered their ears, eyes wet with terror.
Then, without warning, he vanished.
A flicker of shadow, and he stood before a female worshipper. He bent close, almost tenderly, and tapped her lightly on the forehead. His voice was velvet and venom. "Was it her that wanted it?"
Her scream never came. Her body detonated in an eruption of blood and shadow, raining crimson mist across those nearest her.
Before the horror could settle, he was gone again. Shadows trailed in the air as he reappeared behind a trembling man. "Or was it him?" A touch, a whisper of contact, and the man exploded, reduced to gore and dust.
He did not stop. With unnerving playfulness he appeared and disappeared, ending three more lives in the blink of an eye. Each body burst apart, each death sudden and merciless.
Kibo's heart thundered in his chest, his body screaming with instinct. I need to move… His thoughts faltered as the chill of death brushed against his skin. He turned, and the Shadowy Figure was there—smiling, his shadowed face inches away.
"Was it him?"
Kibo's blood froze. Isilwen clutched at him, eyes wide with terror, her body rigid with the same paralyzing dread. Kibo knew this was his end. He could not will his body to move, but Ignis could.
Brat!
The voice roared through his mind, wrenching his body into motion. He rolled, frantic and desperate, away from the figure. But the reprieve was thin; as Kibo found his footing, the Shadowy Figure was already there, impossibly close again, that smile unshaken.
"You are fast," the figure purred, his tone as casual as a predator playing with prey. Then, he vanished once more.
Brat! What is wrong with you! You almost got us killed! Ignis raged inside him, his fury sharp enough to make Kibo's hands tremble.
Kibo and Isilwen panted, lungs straining, bodies quaking in fear. Kibo's lips parted, his voice rough. "Thank you, Ignis."
The massacre continued. Worshippers screamed, scattering in blind panic as more were torn apart. Blood sprayed across the stones, the stench of death choking the chamber.
And then, as though this slaughter was no more than a game, the Shadowy Figure appeared again at the altar. He settled himself down, sitting heavily on the Priest's back. The Priest gave a startled cry, trying to rise, but the figure pressed him flat, even delivering a mocking smack against him like a child scolding a toy.
"Nah, nah, nah," he said, the playful cadence laced with death. His voice alone froze every attempted escape. "If you leave this place… I will kill you."
His chuckle was light, but it made the blood of every living soul run cold.
A beastkin wolf, madness and fear overtaking his mind, broke into a frantic sprint toward the exit.
The Shadowy Figure laughed, raising his hand and shaping his fingers into a mockery of a weapon. His tone dripped with cruel amusement. "I did warn you."
A jagged spike of shadow ripped through the beastkin's body. The creature shrieked in agony, black thorns tearing him apart from the inside. A heartbeat later, his form exploded in a violent spray of blood and shards of bone.
Everyone went silent. Breathless. The chamber, once filled with frenzied screams, was now as still as stone.
The Shadowy Figure laughed, slow and unhurried, the sound echoing like it came from the pit of eternity itself. He licked the tips of his shadow-draped fingers as if savoring a fine meal.
"It never gets old," he murmured, his grin twisting wider. "Humans… always so very predictable."
He let the silence stretch, feeding off their terror. His shadowy eyes drifted across the chamber, savoring each pair of horrified eyes that dared meet his. "Why so quiet? Wasn't this what you wanted? The immortality you begged for?" His voice rose mockingly, playful and cruel. "You wanted to worship me, yes? So… why the silence now?"
He chuckled darkly, then straightened, his voice sharpening like a knife. "What were you expecting? For me to add a few more years to your pitiful lives? To bless you with a reward for your servitude? Humans. Such gullible creatures."
His smile flattened into cold contempt. "You worshipped me because of the gold I tossed at your feet. A few trinkets, the illusion of power. You sold your souls because the world is rigged against you, and you wanted the easy way out. You wanted shortcuts instead of strength." His voice thundered, filling every corner of the chamber. "You even sacrificed elves…lives more innocent and pure than your own…just to drag me here. And for what? For the promise of more?"
His laughter rang again, louder this time, until it cracked into a snarl. His voice dropped to a guttural roar that shook the walls.
"Why, why, why are you all so foolish? Did none of you know? Did none of you understand what it was you summoned?"
His smile split unnaturally wide. "I AM ME. THE FALLEN ANGEL. DEATH GOD."
The words struck like thunder. The worshippers flinched as if struck by a physical blow, their eyes widening, their voices strangled in their throats.
His tone grew heavier, more suffocating. "And from the very first day you were born, from the moment you drew your first breath, you were destined… to meet me. Life is nothing but a road that ends at my feet."
He laughed wildly, the sound spiraling into madness before cutting off in a sudden, jarring silence. His voice returned in a whisper that was more terrifying than the scream.
"I do not give life. I take it."
The horror on their faces was a feast for him. He licked his lips, savoring it like nectar.
"But do not despair," he purred. "You shall have your immortality. Oh yes, I will grant it… but not as you dreamed. No, your eternity will be in the bottomless pit of horrors. A place where you will never wake, never rest, never stop seeing the weight of your sins. That… is where your worship will continue."
The Priest trembled beneath him, his eyes rolling back, yet still he whispered prayers through quivering lips. His devotion was blind, but even in his faith, tears streamed down his face.
The Shadowy Figure rose from the Priest's back, moving with a graceful, unnatural elegance. He gave a mocking, sweeping bow, like an actor on a stage.
"Thank you for your services," he said sweetly, his tone dripping with venom. "But this… is where we part ways."
He raised his hand, and at his fingertip gathered a dense, black sphere of solidified void mana, so dark it seemed to drink in all light around it. The very air recoiled from its presence.
"I will take joy… in killing you now."
No one moved. No one breathed. The worshippers stood transfixed, their terror pinning them to the ground.
Morganna, her hand trembling over her stomach, felt the cold certainty of death pressing in. She closed her eyes, whispering silently into the darkness of her heart. Thorn… I am sorry.
The Shadowy Figure hissed, his voice playful and final. "Bye bye."
And then—
The ceiling not far from the altar erupted. Stone shattered, a cataclysm of dust and rock raining down. The sheer force crushed and killed several worshippers instantly, their screams snuffed out beneath the collapse.
The Shadowy Figure's head snapped up, and for the first time, a flicker of genuine surprise crossed his smile.
From the hole above, two overwhelming pressures descended, radiant and immense, pressing down on the chamber like the weight of the sun and the storm combined.
Kibo felt it, he saw them. A warmth he knew, familiar and grounding, burned in his chest. His eyes widened. His voice trembled. "Grandpa…"
Morganna too looked upward, tears stinging her eyes as recognition and relief warred within her.
Through the settling dust came a booming voice, sharp and commanding. Thorn.
"How did you know the place was here?"
Another voice answered, smooth and confident, carrying with it a dangerous calm. Subaru.
"Didn't I tell you? I had help who told me."
From the smoke they descended, framed in a shaft of sunlight that pierced the broken ceiling. The light clung to their forms, making them seem almost divine as the chamber fell silent once more.
The Shadowy Figure stared, his smile deepening, curving into a grin of pure, unholy delight. His voice rolled out, brimming with hunger.
"Subaru."
~~~~~~~
Five Minutes Before
The desperate shuffle of bare, weary feet echoed through the damp stone tunnels. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of mold and sweat, yet hope still flickered faintly in the eyes of those who ran. Lily and Syl moved like twin flames at the front, their focus unwavering as they guided the frightened stream of freed slaves. Behind them, Cassien's broad frame anchored the rear, his presence a shield of both flesh and will.
Up ahead, the tunnel split into three jagged paths that disappeared into darkness. Syl's voice cut sharply through the din, her tone edged with urgency. "Cassien! Which way?!"
Cassien's booming voice answered, steady despite the ache in his lungs. "Left! Take the left tunnel! Knights are waiting down that path!"
The words rippled hope through the exhausted crowd. Lily glanced back at them, her sharp eyes softening for just a heartbeat. The panic in their faces was beginning to give way to something heavier—exhaustion that went bone-deep. They had already fought their way past scattered robed men, but the true battle now was not against blades. It was against the weakness of their bodies. Hold on. Just hold on. We're almost out, she told herself, forcing the thought to burn brighter than her own fear.
They swung left, their ragged breaths filling the narrow tunnel. Cassien's voice rose again, firm and commanding, carrying strength for those who could not summon their own. "Hold fast! Do not falter! Safety is just ahead!"
And then, without warning, a voice colder than the deepest abyss brushed directly against Cassien's ear, intimate and mocking.
"Cassien… you can do better than this."
Cassien froze mid-step, his heart seizing in his chest. The voice was not real, could not be real—yet it coiled around his mind like chains of ice. How…?
A limb erupted from nothingness, faster than sight. It punched clean through his stomach—not to pierce, but to grip, clamping cruelly around his very core. With a sickening pull, it lifted him into the air, his feet dangling.
Cassien roared in agony, a raw, primal cry that tore through the tunnel.
The line of slaves stopped as one, their cries strangled. Lily and Syl whirled instantly, their weapons flashing into their hands, instincts faster than thought. Lily's dagger gleamed silver in the dim light, and Syl's twin blades caught the tunnel's faint glow like fangs bared against the dark.
Vielwalker emerged, his form spilling out of the shadows, a smile like a crescent of cruelty etched on his face. Without a word, he flung Cassien aside as though discarding a broken toy. Cassien's body smashed into the stone wall, then slumped heavily to the floor.
"Cassien!" Lily's cry tore from her throat, raw with fear. She charged low and fast, her dagger a streak of steel aimed straight for the hollow beneath Vielwalker's eyes.
He moved as though her speed were nothing. Effortless. He tilted his head back, dodging with inhuman grace, and as she passed, his hand snapped out. A casual backhand cracked against her skull. The sound was sharp, sickening. Lily's body slammed against the wall and crumpled, her breath escaping in a shuddering gasp.
"Lily!" Syl's voice broke with fury. She lunged, her twin blades crossing in a vicious X, all vengeance and precision. Vielwalker stepped lightly aside, almost bored. His hand rose, intent to swat her away as well. But Syl twisted mid-air, bending low, contorting her body so her second blade sliced toward his gut.
Her precision meant nothing. His fist drove into her stomach, merciless and direct. The air left her in a strangled gasp as she flew backward, crashing against the opposite wall before sliding to the ground. She clutched her ribs, fighting for breath, her face pale with pain but her eyes still locked on him.
Cassien groaned, dragging himself upright despite the agony tearing through his core. His vision swam, but his voice cut through the chaos. "Run! Everyone, run!"
He staggered forward, his fist swinging in a desperate haymaker. Vielwalker tilted his head lazily, catching the blow in one hand. With a deliberate squeeze, the sound of breaking bone filled the tunnel. Cassien screamed, the sound choked, but still he tried to kick free.
Vielwalker was ready. His other fist slammed into Cassien's gut, a brutal strike that stole his breath and numbed his legs. Cassien collapsed, barely conscious, as Vielwalker seized him by the throat and lifted him high.
The slaves stood frozen, eyes wide with horror, too afraid to flee, too bound by the guilt of leaving behind the man who had led them this far.
Cassien clawed weakly at the hand around his neck, his remaining strength slipping away.
"Don't even bother," Vielwalker murmured, his voice calm, cruel, intimate. He lifted him higher, his grin twisting. "Your strength is but a—"
The ground erupted.
From the stone beneath his feet, luminous green vines burst forth with a violent crack. They coiled upward like living spears, wrapping hungrily around him, driving him toward the ceiling. The tunnel shook with their force.
But Vielwalker was already gone. His body rippled into shadow, vanishing just before the vines could crush him.
Cassien dropped like a stone, hitting the ground hard. He lay gasping, staring dumbly at the glowing vines still writhing in the tunnel.
He turned his head weakly, his blurry gaze finding Syl. She was forcing herself up, one arm clutched tight around her ribs, her breath ragged but her spirit unbroken. Her eyes locked on his, steady, fierce.
Vielwalker was already behind her. His whisper slid like venom across her skin. "You have been a nuisance." His hand rose slowly, a predator savoring the moment before the strike.
Syl twisted desperately, but her body screamed in protest. She knew she was too slow.
Salvation came instead from Lily. Pale, battered, but unyielding, she threw herself from where she had crumpled against the wall. With a cry torn from sheer will, she slammed her shoulder toward Vielwalker's side.
Her strike met only air. He vanished in an instant, a ripple of darkness swallowing him before she could touch him. Lily stumbled, landing beside Syl, dagger raised, her chest heaving.
Vielwalker reappeared a few paces away, clapping his hands together in slow, deliberate rhythm. The sound was mocking, echoing through the stone. "This is good. I am really impressed, girls." His grin stretched wider, his gaze sliding past them to where Cassien lay bleeding, half-sheltered by the luminous vines. "Even Cassien. I like how you refuse to give up. But you know the truth, don't you? Without healing, you will bleed out like the rest. Even your stubbornness cannot save you."
Syl rushed to Cassien's side. Lily followed, her eyes locked on Vielwalker, dagger held ready. He smiled warmly at her, a gesture that only made her grip tighten. Syl sheathed one blade and placed her free hand over Cassien's bleeding stomach, channeling her Healing Touch. Cassien submitted, his eyes never leaving Vielwalker.
Lily's grip tightened on her dagger, her voice low and dangerous. "What do you want?"
Vielwalker tilted his head, the gesture almost playful. "What do I want?" He let the question linger, his tone curling with amusement. "More than anything… I want to see you grow sharper, stronger. You think I came to snuff you out? That would be too simple. Too kind."
Syl's voice was a strained whisper as she worked, sweat running down her temple. "Ignore him, Cassien. Hold still." Mana pulsed from her palm, threading into torn flesh, weaving bone and muscle back together. Cassien's hand, the one still shattered, trembled violently, but he did not cry out.
Vielwalker's smile softened unnaturally, almost gentle. "But of course, I cannot expect your feeble minds to understand the purpose of pain. Still…" His voice lowered, every word pressing into them like a weight. "Let me tell you something, Eris." His eyes fixed on Syl with sudden intensity.
Her healing faltered for a breath, but she steadied her hand, refusing to meet his gaze.
"I do not want you to die."
The words were a mockery, carrying no warmth.
And then he moved.
A blur of shadow tore across the space, his figure streaking toward Lily. She barely had time to inhale.
The ground in front of her burst open. A shield of writhing vines erupted, Syl's final desperate command to her Nature Control. The barrier surged upward, thick and defiant, blocking his direct path.
Vielwalker's grin sharpened. He twisted mid-charge, gliding around the shield like smoke seeking a crack.
Cassien moved. Summoning strength from reserves he did not have, he shoved Syl hard to the side.
The blow landed on him instead.
Vielwalker's fist smashed into his chest, brutal and precise. The impact lifted him from his feet, flinging him backward. He struck the ground near the terrified cluster of people, blood streaking from his lips.
Vielwalker's eyes glowed with a farewell of pure malice. "Bye bye."
A pulse of his aura swept outward, a wave of suffocating dread. The tunnel shuddered, stone groaning as if the earth itself bowed to his will. Air thickened into a choking weight, pressing on lungs and hearts alike.
Cracks split across the ceiling. In a roar of stone and dust, the roof collapsed. Massive slabs of rock and soil thundered down, forming a wall between the two girls and the man who had shielded them.
Everything went dark with dust and rubble.
"Princess!" Cassien's voice ripped through the chaos, hoarse and desperate. He clawed at the stones, his fingers bleeding as he tried to dig through the unyielding wall.
Vielwalker's voice carried through the rubble, smooth yet edged like a blade. "Cassien… live now… or else."
Cassien froze mid-motion, his bloodied hands still clawing at the mountain of stone. His chest heaved, his mind tearing itself apart. Leave them? How could I? They are still in there. They are still fighting.
Then came Lily's voice. Muffled by the rock but steady. "Mr. Cassien… you can leave us. Me and Syl can handle ourselves."
Syl's weaker, but no less resolute, voice followed. "She is right."
Cassien's heart clenched at the sound of their determination. For a moment, relief flickered in him—only to be buried under the crushing weight of regret.
Vielwalker chuckled beyond the barrier, the sound a cruel echo against the stone. "You heard them, Cassien. They have chosen."
Cassien rose unsteadily, his body trembling from wounds and exhaustion. He looked at the petrified faces of the people behind him, their eyes wide with terror and expectation. His voice cracked with both command and grief. "If we don't move… we will all die!"
At last, fear overcame their paralysis. The people obeyed, shuffling forward, clinging to survival. Cassien followed after them, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed ahead. He did not look back. Forgive me… both of you. I chose the many over the few.
On the other side of the collapse, Lily and Syl stood close together, their blades ready. Lily's grip on her dagger was white knuckled.
Syl whispered, her breath shallow. "Lily… the moment I create an opening, we run. We cannot fight him."
"I know." Lily's voice was low, her dagger steady though her hand trembled. Her eyes searched the shadows. "But… I don't think we can run from him either."
The space where Vielwalker had stood moments ago was now empty. Only a faint distortion of shadow remained.
Lily's eyes widened. "Syl…!"
Too late.
He reappeared in a blur, his open palm striking across Lily's face with a sickening crack. She was flung aside like a ragdoll. In the same motion, his other hand whipped across Syl's cheek, sending her crashing into the stone wall.
Both girls hit the ground hard, groaning through the pain.
Vielwalker loomed over them, chuckling softly, as though he had all the time in the world. "Heal yourself."
Lily blinked through the haze, her cheek burning, unsure she had heard correctly.
Syl coughed, her eyes wide. "What…?"
Vielwalker's shadow thickened, his tone sharp enough to freeze the blood in their veins. "Did you not hear me?" He took a slow step closer, darkness coiling. "Heal yourself. Or did you think I was joking?"
His presence pressed down like an iron weight, his voice vibrating in their bones. "I am going to toughen you both up. You will heal… you will fight… and you will break. Again and again. Until you understand." His grin was merciless. "And do not even think you can escape me."
The girls stared up at him, breathless and trembling, blades still in hand though their strength was waning. In the bottomless cold of his gaze, they saw no jest, no hesitation—only truth. He meant every single, brutal word.
The silence stretched, heavy with the promise of suffering.
Then Vielwalker leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for them. "We are running out of time… Your training begins now."