Later, under the ghostly haze of the Wyrdlight lanterns and the soft hiss of dark snow falling onto frozen tents, the five regrouped in the center of the camp. Their surroundings bustled with life—shouts from the blacksmith's station, murmured prayers from survivors gathered around braziers, the distant shriek of chained beasts somewhere deeper in the Bladed Order's stronghold—but their little patch was quiet, settled, and a little warmer than it had any right to be.
Streng had taken a seat on a cracked stone block near the edge of the circle, legs wide, teeth bared in a grin that wasn't entirely friendly. He growled low in his throat as a trio of grubby children surrounded him, poking at his furs and armor with the giddy innocence of those too traumatized to understand what fear should look like.
"He's so fluffy!" one girl squealed.
"Is he a bear man?" asked another.
"RAAGH—" Streng lunged forward, claws out.
The kids screamed—with laughter.
"I'LL GUT YOU AND USE YOUR TEETH FOR BUTTONS!" he roared.
Artemis, knelt behind him, had her arms hooked under his shoulders, practically in a full nelson hold, holding him back with a casual serenity as if she were restraining a drunk uncle from fighting a tavern goat.
"Play with them. Do not scare them."
"They called me fluffy!" he snarled.
"They're children, Streng."
"They must learn fear!"
Terra, leaning against a support beam with one leg crossed over the other, smirked. "So?" she asked, flicking a twig at Nero. "Did you two find the guy who runs this joyless graveyard?"
Nero, squatting on a chunk of broken masonry with his arms on his knees, gave a sharp nod. "Yeah. Name's Caiven Har. High-ranking knight. He runs the shit show around here."
"Caiven Har..," Terra muttered. "I've heard things, that they worship some god. Veybeth? Veykleth? I forgot. The name is awkward to say."
Nero snorted, grinning. "Close. Veyrhaeth, they call him. The Wound-Saint. Some kind of martyr god, a deity of ruin. They see beauty in the midst of ruin. Like this shitty fog."
Artemis, still halfway restraining Streng, glanced back at the group. "That could be one of our targets," she said softly. "If he's divine… or a fragment."
"Maybe," Nero said. "If someone didn't slaughter the fairy that was supposed to guide us, we might've gotten a clue or two."
Terra turned with a snap, grabbed Nero by the collar, and yanked him forward until they were nose-to-nose.
"It's not my fault!" she shouted. "It came at me screeching like a pissed-off kettle! What do you expect me to do, hug it?! I'm scared of fairies!"
Cain, seated a little ways off, arms crossed and mood unchanging, cut in coolly. "Caiven Har wants us to help them. There's a demon in the Fog nearby. Killing it clears the mist. It's the source for this region."
Streng stopped trying to maul the children and turned his blood-hungry attention to the conversation.
"Finally. Some damn action. About time. This place is depressing. Let's crack something open already."
Nero nodded. "I didn't want to help at first because there's too many healthy knights around for Caiven Har to take with him. But..I guess that's not the case. For some reason their god has been weakened, and they are getting weaker as well. In reality, we are the strongest ones here. We'll get more answers with a blade than standing around here. If we can clear this damn Fog out, we'll move around faster than trying to struggle navigating through these cursed lands."
He turned toward Artemis and Terra. "You two get any info? Like… where here even is?"
Artemis let go of Streng, who immediately began baring his teeth at a ten-year-old that barked back at him.
"We're on the continent Vraelund," Artemis began. "A frost-raked, mineral-rich northern land. Jagged cliffs. Iron-blooded clans. Sunless winters. And people carve their graves into mountainsides. There are three kingdoms here, each with their own weirdness. Whole world's like a basket of mixed rotten fruit. They keep talking like this is just one piece of a bigger puzzle."
Nero digested that, nodding slowly. "Alright then. So… we in agreement?"
He looked to each of them.
"We help 'em. We kill this demon. Clear the fog. Maybe get some leverage."
One by one, they nodded. But Cain didn't.
Streng cracked his neck. "About time."
Cain didn't even look at them—just kept his gaze on the snow beyond the tents, but he gave the faintest of nods.
Then Terra turned her eyes toward Nero, and something unreadable passed between them. Her voice dropped low.
"…Hey. Nero. Can we talk? Alone?"
The space between them grew still. He stared at her for a second longer than the others noticed, then gave a simple nod.
"Yeah...I guess."
'What could she possibly want? Gonna apologize for almost ripping my neck off with her sharp teeth?'
They slipped off, boots crunching over frost and ash, vanishing behind a row of tents stitched with silver thread and lantern flame.
Artemis watched them go, folding her arms. Streng bumped her with his elbow, still grinning like a goblin with a meat tooth.
"They might've got something going on," he said, voice oily with suggestion. "She did bite him."
Artemis rolled her eyes. "I doubt it."
Cain, still apart from them, said nothing. He turned away slightly, eyes hidden beneath his brow.
Nero and Terra sat behind a blacksmith's hut on a worn bench of split stone, tucked away in the dark curve of a ruined arch. The green lantern hanging above barely lit the snow, but the silence here was fuller, heavier, almost sacred.
Their breath hung in the air like ghosts. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then, slowly, they both sat.
The snow whispered against stone and iron as Terra exhaled, slow and heavy, her breath pluming in the frozen air like a ghost fleeing her mouth. She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, boots crunching against the frost-bitten earth beneath the ruined arch.
"…Godfrey," she muttered under her breath, almost like a curse, almost like a prayer. "Little guidance wouldn't kill you."
Then she groaned and raked her hand through her hair. "Tch. This is so damn annoying."
Nero turned his head, brows knitting as he leaned against the stone beside her, arms folded. "What are you even on about?"
Terra stared ahead at the cold mist beyond the camp wall, her voice low, more weary than usual. "I just… wanna make something clear."
She sat up straighter but didn't look at him. "This has been clawing at me for a while now. I've been trying to distract myself often so I won't think about it. I don't know why I drank your blood. Why I left that mark on you. Yeah—my affinity's blood-based. I was a blood mage, back where I came from. So maybe it makes sense. Too much sense. Like the universe is playing some kind of sick joke. A joke I'm definitely not in on."
Nero raised a brow. "You think it was fate or something?"
"No," she snapped, then caught herself. "I don't know. I just need you to believe me. I didn't plan it. It wasn't… that kind of thing."
He tilted his head. "You scared nobody here's gonna trust you? Is that why you're freaking out about this?"
Terra scoffed, but it was hollow. "I don't care what anyone thinks of me. Or you, for that matter."
She stood up suddenly, then sat back down with a sigh, wrestling through her words like they were barbed chains wrapping her throat. "I only care about his approval. Godfrey's. I feel like I'm suffocating.." Her voice softened. "There's no room in me for romance. Or connection. Or… whatever this mark did to us. I don't want it."
She looked at Nero now, and there was nothing coy or bratty in her gaze. Just something bruised, deeply hidden, pressed under a layer of pride.
"I hate feeling trapped," she said. "Doesn't matter if it's a cage, or someone's expectations, or my own feelings—if it starts to feel like something I can't get out of, I panic. Always have. Before Godfrey… before the faith… I was just a girl every man wanted. Not because I was special. Because I was pretty. Soft. Easy to look at. They stalked me. Took pieces of me without ever laying a hand. I was stuck in a loop, in a world that only wanted me for the wrong reasons. The world took advantage of me, and I panicked."
She paused. The wind rustled her hair.
"Then I got literally trapped. Some noble took me. Locked me in a gilded cage like a beast. Thought I was his. I escaped. I ran. And I was lost."
Her voice shook now.
"My whole family followed Godfrey. When I found the temple again, it was in ruins. I was the last. So I became the temple. Ughh that sounded cringe. Forget I said that part."
She turned away.
"And if I stop believing.. I have nothing left."
Nero was silent for a moment, eyes narrowed. "You say you hate being trapped… but you're trapped in this religious thing. You've built your whole damn cage out of prayers and guilt. Starving yourself. Denying anything that might make you feel like more than a tool."
Before he could finish, Terra stood up abruptly, wiping at her eye with the heel of her glove. "Forget it," she muttered. "I got carried away."
'I'm not trapped…'
She sniffed, slapped the cold out of her arms, and turned her back to him.
"But…" she added, almost reluctantly, "after I bit you… I felt stronger. Like something inside me stopped screaming. Did you feel the same?"
Nero blinked, watching her. "I did.
Terra chuckled dryly. "And I don't even know if I can keep doing it. Hopefully this was a one time thing."
But then she got a little serious again. She turned to face him, arms hanging at her sides. "I've got nothing else. After this war, after this mission—killing gods in this land—I've got nothing but Godfrey left. I was lost until I was found by him. If I let go of that… I don't know who I am. Or what comes next." Her gaze faltered. "…I'm not ready to find out."
She turned again and walked ahead, back toward the campfires and noise.
Nero watched her go, scratching the back of his neck, looking away, saying, "So you're not…like mad at me or anything?"
"Mad at you? Should I be?"
"I mean, you just kinda went the hell off on me—."
"I have no reason to be angry with you, Nero. Shut up."
"You shut up."
"Mm. I'm not expecting you to understand me at all, but I felt like getting that off my chest."
"Though…I can't guarantee if you bite me again, It won't be a fight. I can't keep having you bite the shit out of me, especially if we don't know what it is."
"You would try and kill me for something I can't control? Something I know nothing about?"
"It's not you, first off. It's for my safety as well, and for my survival. I don't know any of you at all, or what this world has to offer, gods and goddesses. I always fought alone, I ran off alone because everyone got in my way. I'm reckless. I move fast because I don't wanna be late anymore. I have to be quick about everything, no matter what it is. If I slow down, then I'll lose. No matter the situation, I'll throw myself into the deepest parts of it, so I won't hesitate. I don't wanna lose myself due to my inability to not be fast enough to win. To outrun fate and defeat itself, failure is my biggest enemy. I don't think when I fight, I just go. So I'm trapped too. Trapped in an endless fucking battle with fate and failure. I'm reckless as to one day outrun them both and finally win. Died too many times, and most of the time I don't know if I should be alive."
"Why do you do that?"
Nero thought of his family, dead on the ground in a battlefield covered in blood, and Nero kneeling near them with tears in his eyes.
Nero stood, saying, "Nothing. I said too much anyway. Let's head back."
"Okay."
Nero glanced at the sky, thinking, 'I started explaining all that without hesitation. That's a fault of mine. I'm lore dumping my situations on people recklessly without a second thought. I have to stop doing that.'
They returned to the center of camp as the green-glow lanterns flickered gently in the night. The others were already waiting—Artemis, Streng, Cain, and the knights Anon and Carmine standing beside a tall figure clad in rune-steel, his cape soaked and blackened like a banner of ruin.
Caiven Har stood with authority, his helm tucked under one arm. "An honor," he said, "to walk beside ones marked by the blood of fate."
Nero walked past without looking him in the eye.
"Let's get this over with."
No one questioned him.
The group followed Caiven, Anon, and Carmine to the camp's main gate. Past it, the world seemed to grow darker, as if the Fog had been waiting just beyond reach. The twisted forest beyond groaned and shifted, black trees spattered with frost and silence.
Only the three knights' lanterns held any light—green flames flickering within glass bowls etched with sigils. The breath of the Black Fog stirred, unseen but felt.
Together, they stepped into the woods.
The black snow continued to fall like ash across the rotting canopy.
The forest devoured light as they moved deeper, cloaked in a cold so unnatural it seeped beneath armor and skin, like frost growing on the soul. The trees were ancient, bloated things—some twisted into frozen screams, gnarled like withered torsos locked in eternal agony. Their trunks oozed ichor instead of sap, black veins pulsating faintly. Branches reached down like claws, brushing shoulders and helmets as if hungry for warmth, for flesh.
Dead creatures littered the path: mythic beasts warped by some unnatural force—an elk with a dozen shattered antlers growing from its ribcage, its eyes still weeping tar; a wolf the size of a cart, its body covered in human faces stitched together by sinew; the half-sunk remains of a winged serpent wrapped around a stone monolith carved with unintelligible runes. Each one buzzed faintly with cursed residue, like they had died screaming into the bones of the world.
Caiven Har's voice cut through the oppressive silence. "We'll follow the pressure in the dark magic," he said. "The stronger it gets, the closer we are to the demon. It warps the land around it like a sinkhole."
Nero squinted past the veil of black snow, his breath misting. "Caiven." His voice was sharp, cutting the dread with heat. "Are there more gods in this world? And if there are… where the hell do they even hide?"
Caiven didn't break stride. "Ah, the gods…" he said, with reverence. "They rarely linger on this mortal plane. They hide themselves away in unseen folds of Kalhalla—deep within veiled sanctuaries, lost heavens, pocket realms tethered to our world by blood, faith, and sacrifice. Or even the souls of those who worship them." He smiled faintly. "But their devout…They speak to them. They touch them. That's where you look if your aiming to pledge your souls to one of them."
Artemis, wings faintly shimmering with golden seams, furrowed her brow. "How many gods are we talking about?"
Anon, the silent knight with the hollow voice, spoke up. "At least fifty."
Nero and Terra, walking side by side, let out matching groans, stumbling slightly against each other like children who'd just been told to clean fifty blood-soaked altars.
"Fifty?" Nero muttered.
Terra leaned closer, whispering, "How are we supposed to know which ones are Mirethel's damn kids? Or are all of them?"
Nero's jaw tensed. "Good question."
He glanced forward and asked, louder, "You ever heard of a goddess named Mirethel?"
Caiven paused—not long, but enough that it was noticeable. A beat. His head tilted slightly. "Where did you hear that name?" he asked, voice calm but tight.
Nero opened his mouth to speak—
—but Artemis was already there, her hand wrapping tightly around his arm, shaking her head silently, eyes warning. Don't.
Nero caught her expression and read the danger. He didn't say anything.
They walked in silence for a moment, deeper into the abyss.
The trees thickened, pressing close like a noose. Strange low growls echoed now and then, guttural and wet, always just beyond the lantern light. The black snow never stopped falling. It clung to their clothes, to their hair, to their weapons. In the distance, the silhouette of a toppled temple loomed—its spires broken, draped in skeletal vines that pulsed faintly as though they were still alive.
Lagging behind, Cain walked several paces apart from the group, brooding as always. His boots crunched the black frost with a rhythm that said I'm not part of this.
Streng glanced over his shoulder, grinning, his teeth flashing under the hood of his cloak. "Oi," he muttered, "what do you think of our creepy little trio up there?"
Cain gave him a side glance, eyes flat. "Why are you talking to me?"
Streng chuckled, low and feral. "Because I can. I like poking the grumpy ones. Eventually, I get a good bloody fight out of it."
Cain didn't take the bait. "They're not what they seem."
Streng leaned in, voice lowering. "Should we blitz 'em now?"
Cain scoffed. "That'd be idiotic. They're still useful."
Then—
"So are we taking them out or what?"
Terra's voice appeared behind them like smoke, and Cain actually jumped slightly, fists tightening as if by reflex. He shot her a glare.
"Dammit, don't sneak up on me."
Terra grinned like she'd won a bet.
Up ahead, she whispered loudly, "Pssst!"
Nero glanced back and saw her motioning frantically for him to come over.
He shook his head. Hard no.
She shook hers in return. Yes. Yes.
He shook again. No.
She doubled down—Yes.
They went back and forth like children caught in a silent tantrum until—
All three knights at the front—Caiven Har, Anon, and Carmine—turned to stare at them with hollow expressions.
Terra immediately waved. "Hello."
Streng barked out, "Alert, aren't they?"
Cain, deadpan, said nothing.
Nero fake-coughed into his arm, utterly unconvincing.
Artemis, always the shield between them and real trouble, stepped forward quickly, golden wings unfurling slightly from her back with a mechanical hum. "Sirs," she said smoothly, "we had questions. We're not from this continent. Vraelund's history is… unfamiliar."
The knights slowed, allowing her to approach as the lanterns' green flame pulsed softly between shadows.
The forest groaned.
The forest deepened. The further they pressed on, the more surreal the world became, as if Kalhalla itself were breathing in the dark. Trees stretched and leaned unnaturally, like they were listening. Snow continued to fall—black, clinging, not cold but greasy to the touch, like it was weeping down from a corpse moon veiled in cloud. The pressure in the air was mounting, thick and humid despite the frost, like the sky itself was waiting for something to snap.
Artemis, walking a few paces behind the knights, called ahead, her voice firm but laced with innocent curiosity.
"How many continents does the Bladed Order operate in? Are there sanctuaries elsewhere?"
Carmine answered first, his tone smooth but distant, like a scholar reciting a dream.
"All of them," he said. "We are sanctioned in each continent of Kalhalla. This one—Vraelund—and also Segrheim and Norrvalen."
He walked forward as if pulled by invisible chains, green light from his lantern casting sharp shadows across his armor.
"Segrheim," he continued, "is a vast semi-arid expanse—endless steppes, salt-choked deserts, and cliffs the color of jade. The winds never sleep there. They drag with them the memories of fallen civilizations buried beneath layers of windblown silence. At dusk, the skies bleed red for hours. Like the continent itself is remembering."
"And Norrvalen," Anon added, eyes hollow. "The jewel of Kalhalla. Modern. Civilized. Covered in slate cities and golden wheat fields. Rivers so wide the bridges vanish into mist. They say it is the heart of warcraft and philosophy—yet its wounds run deeper than its history books dare to mention."
Caiven finished their thought, slow and reverent.
"Each continent holds three kingdoms. In every one, the Order has its sanctuaries. High Knights oversee them in the name of our god… Veyrhaeth…"
Then suddenly, all three knights fell silent. Mid-sentence. The rhythm of their words faded like a song abruptly cut off. Their gazes dulled again. Their lanterns swayed.
They simply kept walking.
Artemis slowed her pace, brow furrowed. She drifted backward to rejoin her group, her metal legs crunching softly in the snow-ash.
"…They just stopped," she whispered.
"Yeah," Nero said, eyes narrowed. "Something's definitely up."
"Should we just leave 'em?" Terra asked, her voice casual but alert. "Let the zombies walk themselves off a cliff?"
"No," Artemis said firmly. "That's dangerous. They might need our help. They're clearly weaker than us. We might be the only thing keeping them alive."
Nero scoffed, stepping beside her. "Tch, look around. We're deep in some cursed graveyard forest following knights who don't talk and blink like they forgot how to breathe. This is all fucked up."
"Maybe they don't feel like talking right now," Artemis said. "It doesn't mean they're enemies. I say we stay and help. I don't like always resulting in the same worst options.."
"You're too caring for your own good, Artemis."
Then, Streng chuckled behind them, his grin wild and sharp as ever. He stepped beside Artemis and placed a hand on her shoulder, whispering in a tone that oozed menace. "They started acting weird right after Nero mentioned Mirethel. Yeah they're out of it."
Nero cracked his knuckles, eyes hard. "I can take care of them before they even draw their blades or whatever they got."
"That's murder," Artemis said, shocked.
Terra snorted. "You serious right now? We've been sent to kill gods. But this is where you draw the line? You killed some random warriors back in that pit just to stay alive and functioning. Like the rest of us."
Artemis peered at her. "I had to. I hated every second of it. But if I didn't fight… I would've been erased."
She looked away, her voice quieter now.
"I even buried the ones I killed. I made graves in that world that didn't deserve them."
She stood still for a long moment, staring at her metal-covered hand. The light from the lanterns cast long shadows across her fingers. Her voice was soft, like the trembling of a threadbare lullaby.
"I'm not afraid of battle. If it threatens us, I'll fight again. But I want to go home. I survived Purgatory because I thought if I could just make it out, maybe I could feel something again. Maybe find ways to fix myself in this world."
She turned toward them.
"I'm not cold. I'm not unfeeling. But my 'emotions'… they're like shadows. I remember how it's supposed to feel. I study it. Mimic it. I watch how humans comfort and spoil and love, and I do it too—like I'm learning how to be real again. It's not manipulation. It's…" She paused. "…longing."
She looked down at her hand again, the golden edges of her mechanical wing glinting.
"This was forced into me. And sometimes… I think dying would have been kinder than waking up and realizing I'm still alive, but I don't feel alive. People cry. They laugh. I record every pattern. Every tone. Every rhythm. Why can't I join them without pretending?"
The group was silent. Even Terra said nothing. Streng's grin was gone. Cain watched her from the edge of the gloom, arms crossed, unreadable.
Caiven Har. Carmine. Anon.
All three of them stood motionless, their lanterns held like offerings to something unseen.
Not a word was spoken.
Then the group looked up—and saw it.
High above, almost blending into the ceiling of forest, was a massive light-brown cocoon, hanging upside-down from the twisted limbs of a colossal black tree. It was veined with amber lines and faint pulses of green light, like breath. Wrapped in spider-silk strands that glittered in the gloom.
Inside was a butterfly—but no butterfly ever born of any sane god it seemed like.
Its wings were vast, like rotting vellum etched with ancient runes and countless human eyes, half-lidded and twitching. Its thorax pulsed with veins that glowed faintly, and its head… its head was female.
Humanoid.
Pale, smooth, haunting.
She had no mouth. Just a thin seam like a surgical scar where lips should be. Her nose was absent, like it was never shaped. But her eyes—void-black, wide, unblinking—watched the group below with something ancient and inquisitive, like a predator learning how to pray.
Sticking out from the cocoon—pierced through it like trophies—were the bodies of Bladed Order knights.
Four of them.
Their armor twisted. Helmets crushed inward. Blood seeped through their mouths and neck joints in streams. One's torso was split open, ribs peeled like flower petals. Another had been folded backward, spine bent the wrong way, bones crunching with every sway of the cocoon. Their arms dangled like broken marionettes. Their mouths moved.
Mumbling.
Gibbering.
They were dead, but still whispering.
Like the cocoon used them to breathe.
The group moved instantly.
Nero created his wrecking ball, boots skidding across the snow.
Terra was already spinning her scythe, grinning with that wild delinquent glee.
Streng cracked his neck. "Finally."
Cain, silent, slowly stepped forward.
But Anon, Carmine, and Caiven Har—
—vanished.
They launched toward the cocoon like bolts of lightning—moving not clean, but drunk, sloppy, like puppets pulled by a fraying string. Their swords were drawn, their bodies lethal, but their eyes were still dull.
Not a word from any of them.
Just the coming storm.
In the blink of an eye, Anon, Carmine, and Caiven Har lunged forward, their armor clinking, swords drawn and gleaming with Ruin-infused energy that twisted the air around their blades. But before their deadly strike could connect, the cocoon above shuddered violently. A large, spiked silk thread burst forth like a whip made of midnight steel, shooting through the air with a sickening snap. The strands pierced the three knights brutally, hooking deep into their armor and bodies. They were knocked back hard, bodies crashing to the frozen ground with bone-shattering force, snow erupting in black plumes where they landed. The group gasped, frozen in shock.
"Shit! Those idiots!" Nero blasted out.
Nero was already shooting past them in a blur, his weapon aimed for the grotesque cocooned figure. But then the impossible happened: Anon, Carmine, and Caiven Har slowly rose. Their eyes flickered open—not lifeless, but zombified, soulless yet moving with terrifying precision. In an instant, they zipped past Nero's dragging wrecking ball in a burst of blinding speed, their Ruin-infused blades carving through the cocoon's spiderweb silk and flesh in one brutal, slash after slash, a bloody combo that splattered black ichor and shredded the ancient runes etched into the wings.
Caiven Har's sword, Whistle Fang, sang a deadly aetheric note as it tore through the cocoon's thick membranes, the sound cutting like a scream through the night air. The energy from their Ruin magic exploded in a wave of shattering light and shadow, cracking the forest floor, splintering tree limbs, blood, and leaving scorched runes etched in the bark around them.
Terra's eyes gleamed with a wild grin. "Damn, that was awesome," she said, spinning her scythe casually as she stepped forward, still buzzing from the display of power.
Streng let out a low, menacing chuckle, baring his teeth. "Now that is how you rip something apart. No hesitation. No mercy."
Artemis nodded, her golden wings reflecting the eerie green light of the shattered cocoon. "The Ruin magic they wield is unlike anything I've seen—each slash a perfect, devastating strike. Their synergy is flawless."
Nero thought, 'They moved like zombies. Like they were being controlled. And didn't say anything about it…'
Cain, arms crossed, barely spared the carnage a glance, grumbling, "Let's keep moving."
Caiven Har, sword still humming with a faint echo of the aether's whistle, turned calmly and said in that cold knightly tone, "We proceed."
Without hesitation, the three fallen-then-risen knights marched forward, their movements stiff but determined, the aura of Ruin magic crackling faintly in their wake.
The group fell into step behind them, the heavy snow still falling as they pressed deeper into the strange dark forest.
Artemis walked beside Nero, her sensors quietly humming. "Your heart rate is elevated. I can detect it in your pulse and thermal output. Are you… okay?"
Nero scoffed, glancing sideways. "Really? You're gonna get all nosy now? What, you got sensors in that fancy machine of yours?"
Artemis tried to laugh—a short, forced sound that cracked like brittle glass. She immediately shut it down, her face tightening. Nero caught the awkwardness, raising an eyebrow.
"You okay?" he teased.
She exhaled softly, her voice low. "Forget about it, please." She paused, then added, "I just wanted to make sure you're alright. I'm checking on the well-being of our group."
Nero cocked his head. "You mean after all that… stuff you said? About how you 'spoil' and 'care' for people just to feel something? How am I supposed to know if you exactly give a damn? And aren't doing this because of your emotions?"
Artemis looked down at her metallic hand, fingers flexing softly. "I believe if I hold onto what I was before being placed in this humanoid machine—before alchemy shaped me—there is a chance to regain my feelings. To recover who I once was. It sounds impossible, but I can never give up on what they call hope. Though things in my life..make me want to lose it." Her voice grew quieter, laced with something almost like pain. "But I don't do this just for myself. I was raised to care." She looked at her hand and added, "But… I'm trapped now. And begging for freedom."
Terra, overhearing this, stiffened. She turned away slightly, tightening her fist. The words hit deep—trapped and freedom were things that gnawed at her like acid.
The group continued on, and soon they emerged onto a wide plateau where a colossal, abandoned stone coliseum rose from the earth like a titan frozen in ruin. It loomed vast and ancient, its cracked walls etched with forgotten runes and towering archways swallowed by creeping vines. Snow still drifted down in thick black flakes, dulling the cold stone, but the place had an eerie, haunting beauty that drew their eyes upward.
Nero's gaze lingered on the coliseum, a sudden flicker of memory washing over him.
He saw himself in another world, a younger man sparring in a sterile training arena, surrounded by cadets and instructors, guns in one hand and magic crackling in the other. His fists moved quick, precise—a Slayer training to fight terrorists who threatened that world's fragile peace. The noise, the clatter of metal and spells, the shouts of his comrades—it all faded in the blink of an eye.
The memory vanished, leaving a soft sigh on Nero's lips.
Streng grinned darkly, eyes gleaming. "I see a battlefield waiting to swallow fools whole. And I'm hungry. Demons gotta be inside right?"
"Of course you're hungry. Damn battle fiend.".
"You know me so well, brat. I'll eat you next."
Artemis folded her arms, calm but resolute. "This place seems to have once held glory."
Terra kept her eyes sharp. "Let's see if it's still got some fight left in it."
Cain stood to the side, expression unreadable.
Together, they crossed the threshold. The coliseum's massive entrance stood open, yawning like a gaping maw with no door to shut out the cold or the darkness beyond.
Their footsteps echoed into the shadowed heart of the ancient arena.
The wind howled low across the open mouth of the coliseum, its song a guttural dirge that dragged through the stone like fingernails across bone. Black snow drifted from the skies like the ashes of a forgotten star, falling slow and whispering against the cold ruinous floor. There was no roof overhead—only a vast, circular void staring up at a dead and swirling sky, where the sun had long since choked and died. The coliseum was massive beyond comprehension, its walls towering high but crumbling, cracked and webbed with ancient runes eroded by time and neglect. Vines strangled its columns, and jagged holes tore through its bones. What once might've hosted divine battles or apocalyptic games of the gods now stood hollow, haunted by breathless echoes and broken promises.
The ground was uneven and half-swallowed in piles of black snow, some packed so deep they buried bones from eras no longer spoken of. As they walked in, each footstep crunched against a graveyard of silence. The darkness was not just above, but beneath and around them, alive in the shadows between stones.
Nero's boots dragged through the snow as he gripped the iron chain of his weapon tight, the spiked wrecking ball trailing behind with a metallic clink… clink… clink that echoed across the still chamber. It scraped the cold stone like a guillotine's whisper. The red crest etched at the side of his neck pulsed faintly, like it too was watching.
Beside him, Terra lifted her arm, slicing it open with a flick of her nail. Blood spilled freely, rich and dark, and with it came the howl of a forming blade—her scythe, rising like a moon from bloodlight. It spun into shape as if summoned from a grave of memory, the weapon vast, its edge jagged and cursed. Crimson tendrils of power leaked from the scythe's teeth, swirling in the wind. The red crest on Nero's neck pulsed violently in sync, and a strange invisible string pulled taut between them. They both felt it. Their eyes locked across the drifting snow—and in silence, they slowly looked away.
A black-red crack split the air near Cain as he extended one gauntlet, summoning his weapon from nothing. His warhammer emerged in jagged flickers, as if carved from a thunderstorm of hate. Electricity—dark, bloody, crackling—danced across its surface, and it groaned like it hated its own existence.
Artemis drew in a quiet breath. Her grimoire hovered in the air before her, pages glowing, golden script flipping open like angelic wings. From its light, she pulled a sword—long and regal, forged of celestial gold. Red runes burned down its blade, and golden-red flames curled around its edge. Her stance was calm. Composed. But her eyes shimmered with something soft—concern, always, for the others.
Streng only chuckled. Low. Crooked. His grin widened, and he flexed his massive claws, the sound of cracking bone and tearing sinew thick in the air. He didn't need spells. He was the weapon.
But then—
Anon, Carmine, and Caiven Har didn't move.
They stood at the center of the coliseum, necks tilted upward, eyes scanning the starless sky. The wind thickened. The snow slowed. Silence expanded.
Nero stopped first. Everyone else followed. A tension like a blade-edge dragged itself across their spines.
"…Why are they just staring?" Terra asked under her breath, fingers tightening on her scythe.
"They're… trembling," Artemis said quietly, stepping forward.
The three knights began to shake. Softly. Then harder. Like something inside them was cracking from the inside. Their bodies jittered in unnatural pulses.
Blood began to weep from their eyes.
Cain tensed, muttering, "They're not corrupted. They're breaking. I can hear their bones cracking—."
"Me too." Nero added.
The ground began to rumble. Winds howled low and circular, spiraling around the trio. The lanterns tied to their belts flickered once—then went dead.
Artemis stepped forward. "We have to help them. Now."
Nero grabbed her arm. "Wait—"
Cain grabbed her other side with a growl. "Don't. Move."
"What if it's the snow?" Artemis snapped, her voice sharp, cracking from panic. "What if it's been corrupting them this whole time? What if the lanterns never worked to begin with?"
Terra stepped beside her, shaking her head. "No… That doesn't feel right. This… this is something older. Something that waited."
'She's still caring about them? Even when they're like this?'
Then, from the mouths of Anon, Carmine, and Caiven Har, a thick black ooze and shadow began to pour—slow, agonizing, like their lungs were coughing up oblivion itself. The blood spiraled unnaturally, warping in mid-air, conjoining with the shadowstuff into a swirling mass above them. It twirled faster, spinning and morphing into a cyclone of gore and void, pulling in the snow, the sound, even the light. A sickening sound—wet, grinding, celestial—filled the air as the mass began to form.
A body.
A shape.
Something alive.
The shadow began to stretch into limbs. Veins of glowing blood traced its frame as it took shape. Bone cracked into alignment. Skin knitted like broken cloth. It was tall—colossal—nearly seventeen feet in height, but felt larger by sheer presence. A man, if he could be called that. His black hair, shoulder-length, draped in wet strands, matted with blood and shadow. His skin was dark gray, like ash marbled with obsidian, with glowing red wounds etched across his flesh that pulsed like old scars refusing to close. His eyes opened slowly, glowing red beneath a heavy brow.
A black, spiked halo hung over his head—jagged, barbed, spinning slightly as if affixed with cursed gears.
He was shirtless. He was naked with no private parts. But his presence clothed the world in terror.
The very air was agony now—cutting, slicing—thin cuts opened across Nero's arms just from looking at him. The others bled too. Streng was snarling in disbelief. Terra hissed through gritted teeth, eyes flicking red. Artemis' knees buckled, and Cain glared, breath heavy.
The god opened his mouth.
His voice was slow. Lazy. But soaked in menace.
"…Mother."
The word oozed like sap from a dying tree.
"She… gave us everything. And then she abandoned us. Left us to bleed. To rot. Said it was for the cycle. Said it was for the First Engine."
He flexed his clawed fingers. Every movement spilled more blood from his body.
"But I remember her hand. I remember the moment it betrayed me. I remember the magic she used. The First Engine…"
His eyes scanned Nero's group.
"I feel her… touch on you."
He smiled—a grin that had no joy, only resentment made divine.
"Mirethel… can't come here. Not truly. Her soul would burn this place. And I will not let her burn me again. Like she did the others…what did we do wrong?"
Nero couldn't move.
His legs refused to budge. His heart pounded, but his muscles locked.
'Why am I hesitating? Move. You've always moved. Always rushed in. Didn't matter if you got torn up. Didn't matter if you lived. You moved. You were reckless on purpose. Brave because you hated stopping. You can't stop now. You'll be too late again. Like always. Too late to save them. Too late to save yourself. Too late to be anything but broken and slow and late and— This is it, right? You wanted to prove to the world that you could be happy? Then MOVE…'
His knees shook. Just slightly. Terra saw it.
She didn't say anything. But her jaw clenched. Tight.
The god lifted his arms. The winds obeyed.
"I am Veyrhaeth," he said. "The Wound-Saint. The god of ruin. Of martyrdom. Of things never allowed to die. I was meant to perish. To rot in some divine ditch so the cycle could spin. But I refused. And that refusal is ruin." His voice cracked the ground beneath him. "I will not lose again. I hid. I waited. And now, you come with her scent on you. With her blessing."
He lifted a finger and pointed, red eyes scanning through the group.
"Which among you…"
"…is the most ruined?"