The cold had settled over the ravaged battlefield, but it was not the usual Antarctic cold. This was something else, something that seeped into the bones and twisted the soul—an echo of death and despair that hung heavy in the air. This had not been just a battle. What had happened here would be remembered in history, marked by the blood and sacrifice of those who had fallen.
The losses for humanity were immeasurable. It no longer mattered which side the dead had belonged to; they had all been warriors, and they had all died for something greater than themselves. But such was war—merciless, blind, indifferent to both glory and tragedy.
Somewhere in that frozen hell, two young Masters had done the impossible. They had slain a Saint. At their feet lay the proof of their victory, his imposing body sprawled across the blood-soaked snow. His eyes, once burning with rage, fury, and determination, were now lifeless, empty, devoid of the spark that had made him such a fearsome opponent. His death was a testament to their achievement, but also to the sheer brutality of war.
In another part of the battlefield, a fierce battle between brothers raged. Two elite warriors, clashing with everything they had, their weapons colliding in a duel that, if witnessed by others, would have been worthy of legend. This was not just a fight between two combatants, but a collision of ideals, of intertwined fates now seeking to sever their bonds through the edge of their blades.
Not far away, a blind girl had done the unthinkable. Cassie, with terrifying precision, had slain a handful of Ascended warriors in her attempt to protect Saint Tyris. Her hands, delicate yet deadly, had spilled blood without hesitation. Her eyes, blind to the world, saw more clearly than anyone.
And all across the battlefield, smaller fights raged—battles that might never be sung in poems or recorded in the annals of history, but that were no less significant. Unknown warriors fought with everything they had, knowing they would likely not survive.
For most of them, this was their final day.
The massacre had been absolute. More than half of the combatants on both sides had been slaughtered. Over six hundred bodies lay upon the snow, drenching it in crimson. The once-pristine Antarctic landscape had been ruined by war, tainted by human brutality. The only witnesses to this carnage were the silent moon above and the weeping sky.
Because it had begun to rain.
As if the heavens themselves mourned the loss of so many warriors, the rain fell upon the lifeless bodies, washing away the blood but never the tragedy. And the battlefield... oh, the battlefield was a nightmare pulled straight from the mind of a madman.
Screams of agony and terror echoed in the distance.
The labored breaths of the dying, the shallow gasps of the wounded, the crunch of snow under the feet of those still able to stand. Tears hidden by the rain, faces twisted in grief. Some had lost their friends, others their brothers, others their very own family.
The corpses formed a grotesque path.
If one wished, they could walk across them without ever touching the snow.
The stench was unbearable.
Death. Rot. Blood soaking into the ground, shattered remains of human bodies scattered in all directions. Torn limbs, disemboweled torsos, frozen faces locked in expressions of horror. A battlefield was not beautiful. It was nothing like the glorious images painted in epic tales. It was ugly, cruel—a sight no man, not even the most hardened healer, should ever have to witness.
Only one thing was missing.
The nightmare's final touch.
And as if fate had willed it, it appeared.
Something like this would change and shape the fate of humanity.
Above the battlefield, reality itself was torn apart.
If that phenomenon had a sound, it would have been unbearable—an agonizing shriek that would make ears bleed, a chorus of screams from something that should never have existed.
It was just a Nightmare Gate.
It appeared amidst the destruction, beside five Saints and the most powerful warriors of humanity.
How bad could it be?
—
Nephis could hardly believe it.
They had done it.
Her legs trembled under her own weight, and though her wounds had mostly healed thanks to her Aspect, her body was still drenched in blood. Her hair, once silver—a symbol of her lineage—was now crimson. Her ragged breaths were proof of her exhaustion, each inhale like swallowing ice shards. She could barely move, but still, she smiled.
She and Sunny had done the impossible. Once again.
Beside her, Sunny held her with unexpected gentleness, as if afraid she might break. His arms wrapped around her firmly, warm despite the freezing air and the blood covering them both. Nephis didn't pull away.
That embrace, that brief moment of calm within the chaos, was more comforting than any rest.
Too bad there was no time to celebrate.
A shiver ran down her spine, freezing her skin in a way that had nothing to do with the Antarctic cold. It wasn't just a physical sensation. It wasn't just the Spell warning her of impending danger.
It was something more.
Something primal.
She instinctively looked up at the sky.
And then, she saw it.
She felt it.
Not with her Aspect, not with her Essence. She felt it with every fiber of her being, with every instinct, with every part of her soul.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
The sky was torn open.
Reality distorted, like a shattered mirror whose fragments trembled before collapsing.
From the void, a Nightmare Gate emerged.
But it was not like the others.
Nephis knew it instantly.
Everyone knew it.
It was too big.
Too real.
For a moment, her mind went blank. It was as if her own brain refused to process what her eyes were seeing.
A Category 4 Nightmare Gate.
If she could have stammered in her thoughts, she would have.
A shudder ran involuntarily through her body. Her mind tried to rationalize it.
There were five Saints here.
They could—
Her own thought was cut off.
Not by her will.
But because the world screamed.
Despair consumed the battlefield.
Fear seeped into every crack of reality.
The black skull that had once been the battlefield was surrounded by two more Category 4 Nightmare Gates.
Like a poorly written tragedy, a cruel irony of fate, they were trapped.
Not that it made much of a difference.
From the first gate, grotesque fingers emerged from the void.
No, they were not fingers.
They were columns of flesh and bone, the size of towers, twisting as if searching for something.
The very air whimpered as those monstrous fingers grasped the edge of the gate and forced it open wider.
And then, it emerged.
A Titan.
Or a Terror.
Or something that should never exist.
Nephis didn't know what it was, and deep down, she knew she didn't want to know.
No one was prepared for this.
The Saints stopped fighting.
The weaker Awakened collapsed to their knees, their minds unable to withstand the call of the Gate.
It was horrifying.
Like being trapped in a nightmare that was becoming real.
From the second gate, grotesque tentacles of flesh emerged, dripping with a black substance that evaporated the snow upon contact.
The aura they exuded was worse than death.
It was pure terror.
The tentacle of flesh moved with impossible speed, a grotesque abomination that defied all logic. There was no warning, no time to react.
A single instant.
That was all it took.
A blink.
And Saint Madoc, the leader of Clan Valor, was erased from existence.
The monstrous limb wrapped around him as if he were nothing more than an insect, and in less than a second, his body was crushed, his essence dissipated into the void, his existence reduced to nothing.
The man who had led his clan to countless victories.
The warrior who had slain more nightmare creatures than days he had lived.
The leader many believed to be invincible.
Gone.
The Antarctic was lost.
And with it, all who had fought in this war.
Nephis felt her body tremble, not from exhaustion, not from the wounds still burning across her skin, but from something far deeper.
Fear.
Not fear of losing.
Not even fear of death.
Fear of what stood before her.
These things—these horrors—hadn't even fully emerged from the nightmare yet.
And they were already wiping out the strongest among them as easily as one might crush an ant beneath their foot.
Their chances of survival were zero.
All her plans.
All her ambition.
All her friends...
Sunny.
Kai.
Effie.
Cassie.
All of them were here, All of them were going to die,And no one could stop it.
She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, but there was no time.
Not yet.
With the last ounce of control she had left, her voice rang out with authority, louder than she had ever shouted before.
—"Everyone, to the Dream Realm!"
It was the only way.
Masters and Saints could still access their anchors in the Dream Realm. Maybe not all of them, but some might escape.
Those who couldn't... Those who were already too weak...
Were already dead.
The creatures had yet to act at their full potential, but their mere presence was already destroying minds and bodies. The weaker Awakened had already collapsed.
Nephis took a shaky breath, her heart hammering against her ribs, and then she turned.
Without realizing it, she and Sunny had ended up in the same place.
Right in the center of the three doors.
Surrounded.
Of course, it had to be like this.
As if fate itself was mocking them, as if the gods had decided this would be their end.
For a moment, their eyes met.
Gray and black.
They didn't need words.
Nephis wanted to say something, but the words got stuck in her throat.
Before she could react, she heard him.
Sunny's voice, calm, serene.
Even now, in the middle of the end of the world, he was smiling.
—"I love you." I'll wait for you on the other side.
Nephis stared at him, lips slightly parted, unable to respond.
Not because she didn't know the answer.
But because she didn't want to leave.
She didn't want to be apart from him.
But he was right.
She couldn't die here.
Not yet.
She still had things to do.
She still had to destroy the Spell.
She still had to bring down the Sovereigns.
And now...
She still had to live.
Not for her destiny.
Not for her ambition.
Not for the war.
But for him.
Because she wanted to be with Sunny.
Because if she died here, that would never happen.
A new reason had been added to her list of reasons to survive.
To live.
Not just to fight.
But to be with him.
And with that thought, she found her anchor in the Dream Realm.