The archway loomed like a scar in the rock, jagged and black, veins of pale green light pulsing through it. Mike ducked beneath the arch, his frame too large to walk without scraping the stone. Hamza followed, his blades pulsing faintly with essence. The air beyond was deathly still.
Behind them, the surviving djinn soldiers approached slowly, eyes cautious but ready. Scorched, bloodied, exhausted, none hesitated. Not now.
They entered the final chamber.
And there she was.
The Mother, last vessel of Hecate, stood in the center of the room. She no longer resembled anything human. Her armor was fused to her flesh. Horns curled from her temples. Her eyes glowed with a pale green brilliance so intense the room flickered in and out of shadow.
The final rune was etched beneath her feet, its glyphs woven in dark blood and soul-ash. Behind her, the gates of Tartarus stood wide open, massive, divine, ancient. What was once myth now yawned like a wound in the earth.
Past the doors on the other side of the cavern, a long sloping tunnel led upward, carved with symbols not seen since before the Fall of Babylon. And now, emerging from that abyss were Giants.
Ten of them, at least. Towering, humanoid monstrosities with twisted limbs and too many eyes. Their flesh was draped in ancient war armor, each piece etched with the mark of the Watchers. They marched upward, toward the surface.
"No…" Hamza whispered.
He turned to the remaining soldiers.
"Take the relics from the doors and statues!" he barked. "They're anchoring the gate. If we don't remove them now, we'll lose everything!"
Djinn rushed to obey, scattering toward the enormous statues of Zeus and Poseidon flanking the gate. Their divine shapes were cracked, defaced with Hecate's sigils. The lunar circlet sat atop Zeus's crown. The ruby ring still burned in the center of the broken trident held by Poseidon. The First Flame Shard pulsed in the center of the door like a heart.
Mike didn't speak. He saw only her.
She tilted her head as he approached, standing atop her rune like a queen before a throne.
"Come, dragon," she said, her voice now threefold, an echo of the Maiden and the Crone with her own wrath beneath it. "Do you like my gift? The gates are open. The world will burn. Kelsey will be among the ashes."
Mike let out a growl that shook dust from the cavern walls. Flames curled between his teeth as he charged.
Hundreds of undead exploded from the shadows.
Wraiths in fractured armor, revenants held together by threads of spirit, beasts stitched from corpses and spells, all poured from the walls, ceiling, and the very ground. The dead screamed as they rushed him.
Mike roared and launched into them.
His claws tore through bone and armor. His black-red fire vaporized the first rows. But still, they came.
Blades raked his scales. Teeth found gaps in his hide. They climbed his limbs like insects. He crushed them underfoot, burned them, flung them across the room. His new power showing as he tore through the undead with more ease than before. Wounds on his body took many more strikes to form. The problem now was the sheer number of undead.
The grotesque creatures appeared nonstop.
Hamza fought alongside the djinn, carving down the few undead that had begun to swarm toward the relics. He moved like lightning, his blades cutting spells and flesh alike, trying to buy the others time.
One of the djinn fell trying to reach the ruby ring. Another was pulled into a pit of shadow and didn't scream again.
Mike staggered. Wounds now opened across his flanks, blood dripping in thick ropes.
"Keep moving!" Bahamut snarled in his mind. "Get to her. Burn through the filth!"
Mike bellowed, sending another wave of fire that scorched a path through the wall of undead. His tail lashed through the air, smashing revenants into paste.
The rune at Hecate's feet began to glow brighter. The pale green energy flared.
Mike surged forward again, bones crunching beneath his claws. He leapt into the air, smashed down into a cluster of undead, sending corpses flying.
The Mother stood still, watching.
Finally, Mike crashed through the last wave. Scorched and bloody, he stood before her, his breath ragged, black smoke rising from dozens of wounds.
She smiled.
"You can't stop it," she whispered. "The gates are open. The Titans are free. The world is over. And your precious wife will break again."
Mike's growl was low. With one massive claw, he reached down and slashed through the rune beneath her feet. The symbols flickered. Then dimmed. Then went out entirely.
Beside her, a crystal orb hovered in mid-air. It pulsed with the same green light that had filled the rune, its surface slick with spiritual energy.
"Cast the witch into Tartarus and remove the relics!" Bahamut roared.
Hamza's voice echoed through the chamber: "THE ORB! DESTROY THE ORB!"
Mike reached for it with one hand and seized Hecate's face with the other.
He squeezed the orb.
It pulsed.
But it didn't break.
Snarling, he flung it through the open gates of Tartarus. The orb vanished into the void beyond.
Then he looked back at the vessel.
"Begone Bitch."
And with one brutal movement, he hurled Hecate's last form into Tartarus.
She screamed as she flew through the air, twisting and writhing. Her body passed through the threshold, and the moment it did, the very walls seemed to shudder.
"NOW! THE RELICS!" Hamza roared.
Mike stepped forward to grab the final relic embedded in the center of the door. His claws wrapped around the First Flame Shard and the floor beneath him lit up.
A glowing green circle of symbols and script burst into existence, etched with glyphs no one alive had ever seen before.
Mike's eyes widened.
There was no time to move.
With a deafening CRACK, light exploded upward.
And he was gone.
"MIKE!" Hamza shouted, but it was too late. The light faded, and the relic he had grabbed clattered to the stone.
Hamza leapt forward and seized it. Behind him, the djinn tore the lunar circlet from the Zeus statue. Another yanked the ruby ring free.
The moment the last relic was removed
The gates groaned.
Then slammed shut.
The thunderous echo rolled for miles through the deep caverns. Dust and debris fell from the ceiling. The chamber flickered as the veins of green light began to fade.
Silence.
Hamza stood there, holding the relic in both hands, chest heaving.
He turned to the remaining soldiers. Half of them were dead. The others stared in stunned silence.
Then he turned to Binyai, who had taken the form of a desert fox, fur darkened by soot and blood.
"Find him," Hamza said. His voice didn't shake, but it was close. "Find Mike. Wherever he's been sent."
Binyai gave a quick nod and vanished into flame.
Hamza looked back toward the sealed gates of Tartarus.
The storm wasn't over.
But it had changed.
And now the last dragon was gone.