The citadel was falling apart in slabs of molten ruin, yet Alter and Val'zaruun moved like the collapse didn't exist. The world had narrowed to one truth: one of them wouldn't walk out.
Alter's gaze hardened. The Radiance inside him screamed for release, Solien's power coiling into every muscle, every tendon, every breath. His stance shifted lower — and then the rhythm began.
The Demon God Killing Martial Arts.
All eighteen strikes.
No hesitation.
No gaps.
Strike I – Fist of Ruin Alter's knuckles became a comet, smashing down on Val'zaruun's guard. The impact sent a crater rippling beneath their feet, chunks of blackened stone flung into the collapsing air.
Strike II – Heaven-Piercer StepA blur — Alter vanished and reappeared above, his heel slamming down past Val'zaruun's horns, breaking through a protective shield of voidlight with a shattering CRACK.
Strike III – Void Fang RendPalm open, fingers hooked like a dragon's claw, he tore through the abyssal plating over Val'zaruun's shoulder. Black smoke bled from the wound, the Radiance inside Alter burning it away.
Strike IV – Bloodlash HowlA spinning kick roared outward, the arc of it throwing Val'zaruun off balance, the sound of it like a wolf's scream through a battlefield.
Strike V – Soulbreaker DiveDropping from above, Alter's elbow slammed into the core of Val'zaruun's chest, aiming for the seat of his abyssal essence. The floor buckled down a full meter under the blow.
Strike VI – Graviton SeverAlter's palm thrust downward — gravity exploded in a sudden spike, pinning Val'zaruun like a star being crushed into a black hole.
Strike VII – Hellpulse EruptionA chi-infused punch detonated on contact, Radiance flaring out in a golden shockwave that blasted the rubble away for twenty meters in all directions.
Strike VIII – Shadowbane TwisterA sweeping arc of his leg carved through the air, cutting the tendrils of abyssal smoke reaching for him, each one dispersing like shredded cloth in a storm.
Strike IX – Demon's Jaw CrushTwin palms clamped over Val'zaruun's head — SNAP! — the abyssal helm cracked, Radiance bleeding in through the fractures.
Strike X – Heaven's DismantleThree rapid strikes into Val'zaruun's pressure points, halting the flow of abyssal energy for the briefest instant.
Strike XI – Seraph Shatter PalmAlter's hand slammed into Val'zaruun's chest, leaving a glowing seal — it detonated as soon as Val'zaruun tried to move, tearing away another layer of abyssal armor.
Strike XII – Requiem Fang BarrageAlter became a storm. Dozens of blows, each one precise, each one forcing Val'zaruun back through collapsing walls. Every hit was a hammer of Radiance against the abyss.
Strike XIII – Voidlock SpiralA spinning roundhouse erupted into a vortex of force, catching Val'zaruun in its grip, slamming him into the ground with enough force to crack reality's surface in glowing fissures.
Strike XIV – Celestial Vein RuptureAn uppercut into Val'zaruun's mana channels — abyssal light guttered and dimmed in his body, his movements slowing for the first time.
Strike XV – Thousand Cross FangFlash-step. Alter became a blur of golden afterimages, striking from every angle at once, forcing Val'zaruun to defend blindly.
Strike XVI – Abysswalker's BrandA palm strike left a burning seal on Val'zaruun's side, cutting his regenerative rate in half. His snarl turned into a pained roar.
Strike XVII – Sovereign Fang CollapseAlter leapt high, higher still — then dropped like a meteor, both fists crashing into Val'zaruun in an explosion of light that split the citadel's floor wide open.
And then…
The final breath.
Strike XVIII – Creator's BanishmentAlter's body moved with perfect inevitability. Every god-tier instinct, every shred of Radiance and will channeled into one hand. Time seemed to hesitate. The air bent inward. The strike landed square on Val'zaruun's core — and the world screamed.
A flash. A sound like the tearing of an infinite tapestry. Reality warped and stretched around the point of impact, Val'zaruun's form shuddering as the Banishment clawed at his existence itself.
The abyssal king staggered back, smoke and light spilling from the wound, his steps uneven for the first time.
Alter stood there, chest heaving, Radiance still burning through his veins — the Sovereign's Last Fang delivered.
The air inside the rift's deepest wound was heavy with ash and molten black mist, a void-light that gnawed at the edges of perception. Alter stood at the lip of the jagged descent, golden eyes fixed on the silhouette below.
Val'zaruun staggered, abyssal armor shattered, ichor the color of fractured starlight running from wounds that refused to seal. His once-imposing wings hung in tatters, voidfire dripping like molten obsidian from their torn edges.
Yet his voice still carried."Prime Dragon…" he hissed, the words like broken glass over steel, "you've only severed the crown… not the abyss it rules."
Without a word, Alter leapt.
The fall was silent save for the whiplash crack of displaced air. Ignivar's essence flickered faintly across the tribal sigil on his brow, lending his descent a streak of sovereign flame. The abyss swallowed sound, light, and heat — but Alter's momentum was absolute.
The sealed chamber opened before him — an impossibly vast circular vault carved into the bedrock of the void itself. Its walls were layered in runes older than mortal speech, each pulsing faintly as though aware of his presence. In the center, Val'zaruun stood upon a dais of obsidian thorns, head lowered.
Then he raised it — and the Crown of the Abyss emerged.
A halo of spined shadow unfolded from behind his skull, each jagged spoke dripping raw void essence. The air buckled. Shadows became liquid. The runes on the walls dimmed, as if recoiling.
He moved first.
Abyssal talons scraped stone as Val'zaruun lunged, every strike a collapsing spiral of gravity and shadow. Alter met him head-on, Starsever whistling in a blur of golden arcs. Sparks of compressed light shattered into the air with each impact, ringing like struck crystal.
The rhythm became relentless.— CLANG.— CRASH.— The chamber shuddered with every exchange.
Alter wove between the abyssal strikes, his form slipping through razor-thin openings, responding with precision counterblows. Every strike he landed tore gashes in Val'zaruun's carapace, spraying ichor that hissed where it struck the floor.
But for every wound, Val'zaruun's laughter deepened."You think this form is my last?"
The moment his guard faltered, Alter broke through — a palm-strike to the sternum, then a Heaven-Piercer Step that drove Val'zaruun to his knees.
Breathing ragged, the abyssal king lifted his head and smiled."…It's never the last."
He sank his claws into his own chest. With a guttural, otherworldly roar, Val'zaruun tore free the remnants of his heart — a swirling knot of voidlight, pulsing like a black sun.
The runes lining the chamber ignited at once, flooding the air with searing violet. The ground split beneath the dais, revealing a gaping fissure of nothingness.
"You'll regret this," Val'zaruun whispered, voice thick with amusement. "For what awakens… will not stop."
Before Alter could strike, Val'zaruun crushed his own heart in both hands. The explosion of voidlight ripped through the chamber, shattering every rune at once.
The entire abyss realm quaked.
From far below — deeper than the vault's floor should have allowed — came a sound like stone continents grinding, then breaking. A deep, endless inhalation rumbled upward, pulling the shadows toward the fissure.
Alter's instincts screamed.
The air was being pulled into something massive. Something ancient. Something… hungry.
Above, fissures tore through the black sky of the abyss, shedding fragments of reality into the pull. Below, the fissure widened, revealing teeth the size of mountains.
The Abyssal Maw was waking.
Its first breath stole the light from the chamber.Its second pulled the horizon itself toward its throat.
The abyss realm began to collapse in on itself — drawn toward that impossible mouth.
Alter clenched Starsever tighter. He had seconds.
And the Maw was still rising.
The fissure's roar deepened, the chamber trembling as if the very bones of the abyss were being torn apart.
The Abyssal Maw rose.
It did not simply emerge — reality recoiled to make space for it. A horizon of teeth, jagged as fractured worlds, encircled a mouth so vast that the eye could not find its edges. Behind it, there was no throat — only a black spiral that seemed to swallow distance itself.
One breath, and the abyss realm screamed.
The cities of the void — floating fortresses of demon gods and their legions — were wrenched from the horizon like leaves in a gale. Towers twisted and shattered, their debris spinning helplessly into the Maw's dark spiral. The ground itself cracked apart, continents dragging toward its hunger.
Alter shot upward, wings of sovereign flame bursting from his back, cutting through the collapse in streaks of gold. Ignivar's essence flared in his mark, lending speed beyond mortal measure. He slammed his palm into the nearest collapsing seal-rune, channeling a shockwave of Creator's Authority — a desperate attempt to anchor the realm's structure.
It bought him three seconds.
Three seconds before the seals themselves were torn from the rock and devoured whole.
Above the chasm, the divine gates of the abyss — bridges of light linking to the Divine Realm — burst open as war gods and celestial legions surged forth. Seraphina herself descended in radiant armor, Solien at her side, their weapons ablaze with Creator's Blessing.
They didn't hesitate.
Seraphina's blade carved arcs of golden brilliance through the collapsing darkness, severing dozens of void tendrils before they could ensnare the fleeing divine host. Solien, wings of pure radiance spread wide, unleashed a barrage of spears made of condensed sunlight, each strike detonating like a dying star.
It didn't matter.
The Maw inhaled.
The shockwave of that pull hit harder than any divine blast. Seraphina was the first to falter — her form dragged forward despite her armor's thrusters burning white-hot. Solien roared her name, seizing her wrist — but the force doubled, ripping them both into the spiral.
"NO!" Alter's voice split the air, golden aura surging as he tried to dive after them — but now the pull took him.
Across the abyss, demon gods who had survived the earlier war screamed defiance, hurling their final reserves of voidfire into the Maw's teeth. The Maw didn't even slow — its bite collapsed their realms into nothing, erasing them without so much as a sound.
The Divine legions broke formation. Gods and soldiers alike were ripped from the sky, spiraling helplessly toward the infinite black. The screams of the dying mixed with the guttural, grinding breath of the Maw until there was no telling them apart.
Alter pushed against the pull with every shred of his being — Creator's Authority blazing in full force, Draconian Prime's seven elemental auras roaring in defiance. He hurled chains of sovereign flame into the surrounding ruins, anchoring himself to entire city blocks. The blocks shattered, pulled from their foundations as if made of ash.
There was no winning this.
The moment his last anchor broke, he was hurled forward, straight toward the Maw's impossible horizon of teeth.
Impact never came.
Instead — silence.
Utter, suffocating silence.
Alter floated in a blackness so complete it felt solid, pressing against his skin. Then came the voices.
First a whisper, curling behind his ear like a secret meant to rot the mind:you will never leave.
Then another — a thousand more — overlapping, screaming, laughing, begging, weeping. Every voice was a different agony, yet they spoke in unison, like the breath of something that had swallowed countless realms and remembered every death.
Images flickered in the darkness — Seraphina's face dissolving into ash, Solien's light snuffed in an instant, cities screaming as their towers bent into the spiral.
The black pressed tighter, and the voices grew sharper.
You belong here.All do.Forever.
Alter gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing as the mental assault pressed deeper, searching for cracks in his will. The darkness bent toward him like a tide, whispering his name.
His heartbeat slowed.
And in that pitch void — the Maw's voice finally spoke for itself.
You are mine now.
The black was not absence — it was substance. A suffocating ocean of shadow pressing against Alter's skin, filling his lungs, crawling under his armor.
And it moved.
Shapes formed in the dark — not seen, but felt. Each one carried a weight that bent thought itself, as if their presence had a gravity no star could match.
The first figure emerged from the void like a reflection climbing out of black water. It was Seraphina. Her armor cracked and molten, her eyes hollow void orbs. She whispered his name — not with love, but with hunger.
Behind her came Solien, half his face gone, the wound spilling not blood, but drifting tendrils of screaming souls.
"Stay with us…" Seraphina's voice curled in his mind like a chain."You can't save them…" Solien's tone was heavy, resigned — almost inviting.
Alter's grip on Starsever tightened — but when he raised it, the blade wavered. The darkness had weight. His thoughts felt thick, tangled in whispers.
From every direction, more shapes came — gods, soldiers, demons — each twisted by the Maw's essence. They dragged chains of broken realms behind them, the links forged from their own bones.
Then the ground formed beneath his feet — not stone, but an endless spiraling plane of teeth, each one the size of a mountain, rotating slowly into the deeper dark.
From the spiral's center, it rose.
The Maw's inner form was no longer the horizon-mouth he'd seen outside. Here, it was a crown of black suns orbiting a core of writhing void-tentacles, each eye-like sphere opening to reveal screaming faces — millions of them — all locked in the moment of their final breath.
Its voice was everywhere at once.You are within me now. You cannot kill what you are inside of.
The void twisted again.
Suddenly, Alter was standing on the battlefield of the Forbidden Vein — except every dragon was dying in mid-flight, their bodies dissolving into ash before they hit the ground. The ash swirled upward and was inhaled by the black sky above.
Then the scene shifted — Seraveth's capital burning, Selene standing alone amid the ruins, Starsever broken in her hands. Her lips moved — but the words were the Maw's:This is the truth. You are nothing without what I have taken.
The images struck harder than any blade. They weren't illusions meant to fool his senses — they were impressions, raw emotional scars meant to unravel him from the inside. Every image was soaked in despair, meant to plant the seed of surrender.
Alter's aura flared — but the darkness ate it, stripping away the heat and leaving only the cold.
That was when the first attack came.
A tide of shadowlike wraiths poured from the spiral's edge — not screaming, but whispering. Each one carried the voice of someone he had failed to save. The weight of them slammed into him, clawing at his mind, tearing through his mental defenses like frost through glass.
Every strike he countered was another memory dredged up, another wound forced open. His footwork faltered — the ground itself was tilting inward, pulling him toward the spiral's core.
And from that core, the Maw's voice grew sharper, its tone shifting from calm inevitability to a command.
Fall.
The plane buckled. He slid forward, boots scraping against the shifting teeth beneath him. The black suns turned, and the faces within them screamed in perfect unison — a sound that bypassed his ears and carved straight into his mind.
Pain bloomed behind his eyes. His heartbeat faltered. His grip on Starsever loosened.
And for the first time in centuries, Alter felt the edge of something he had not tasted in all his ascensions.
The brink of breaking.
Somewhere far beyond the nightmare void where Alter fought to keep his mind intact, the Maw's physical form continued its feast.
The Abyss Realm was gone. Not shattered — erased. Its cities, gods, demons, the very concept of its horizons — swallowed into the spiral mouth and left as if they had never existed.
Now the Maw turned.
Its horizon-sized head tilted slowly, the black spiral of its throat locking onto the nearest source of vitality — the Mortal Realm.
The transition was instantaneous. One moment it loomed in the nothing where the abyss had been, the next it was spilling from the sky above the Mortal Realm like an eclipse that bled shadowfire.
Everywhere, day turned to night.
In Drakareth's capital of Veyr'Zhalar, the people froze mid-step as the sunlight fractured overhead. A great shadow swept across the volcanic walls, the streets, the Aetherflame Palace. The air turned heavy, pressing against the lungs.
Within the royal citadel, King Vael'Zarion rose from the war council table, silver eyes narrowing."…That is no storm."
Beside him, Queen Elanra clutched the edge of the map table, the sapphire in her crown trembling with a resonance only she could feel. "It's feeding," she whispered. "On everything."
From the palace balconies, Princess Alyxthia stumbled back, hands gripping the railing as her dragon-sight flared unbidden. Her breath caught — she could see beyond the clouds, into the Maw's spiral, and it stared back.
In Seraveth, the 14 Commanders were already mobilizing. Selene Virellia stood on the central spire of Mythral Dawn's citadel, Starsever's twin resting at her side, her golden hair whipping in the unnatural wind. She didn't blink as the black horizon expanded across the sky."…Alter."
Finn Whiteshadow and Mira Whiteshadow appeared at her side, wind and lightning curling around them. "That's not something we can fight," Finn said quietly — but his hands tightened on his weapons anyway.
In the Divine Realm, what gods remained watched from the upper gates as the Maw pierced the boundary between worlds. Seraphina's absence was already a wound — and now, they felt her light consumed within that spiral. The High Thrones rang with divine panic.
Even in the far deserts of Terravane, the hermit Takayoshi paused mid-step, feeling the weight of the sky change. He looked upward without surprise, but with the weary calm of one who had already seen the end once before.
"Of course," he murmured. "It wasn't finished."
Then came the pull.
It began subtle — the rustling of leaves in every forest bending the same way, the shifting of tides toward a point on the horizon that no one could see. Then stronger — birds falling mid-flight, rivers tilting uphill, mountains shedding stone as the world itself leaned toward the Maw's hunger.
From inside its throat, Alter felt the shift — the new target. Even through the psychic assault, he knew the pull had changed direction. The mortal realm was in its sights.
And there was nothing between it and them.
Not anymore.
The Maw Descends on Drakareth
The sky broke.
Not in light, not in thunder — but in absence.
High above Drakareth, a fissure of pure black split the heavens from horizon to horizon, spilling no light, no color, no sound — only a pull. From that wound in the firmament, the Abyssal Maw pushed through, its vast spiral mouth blotting out constellations, mountains, and the very sense of distance.
The black teeth turned, and the pull deepened.
In the royal city of Veyr'Zhalar, the volcanic walls groaned as the stone itself leaned toward the sky. Market stalls overturned, carts rolled uphill, fountains poured water into the air in smooth, twisting streams. The people screamed, clutching at doors, posts, and each other — but their feet still slid forward.
Inside the Aetherflame Palace, the throne room shook as ancient dragon-bone pillars strained against the pull.
King Vael'Zarion slammed his gauntleted hand on the war table. "Signal every shrine and every skyguard garrison. Mobilize all divisions." His voice cut through the roar like steel. "No one holds position — evacuate the high districts first!"
Queen Elanra moved to the scrying dais, her voice weaving through crystal conduits to every allied court. "This is not a siege. This is annihilation. Prepare for skyfall."
On the high balcony, Princess Alyxthia stood rooted, her dragon-sight burning through her irises. She saw it — the Maw's horizon, impossibly far yet close enough to swallow the palace in moments. Her fingers gripped the railing so tightly that scales began to form across her knuckles.
From the royal training grounds, the Dragoons broke formation before the alarm finished sounding. Rhed Velgroth was already dragging civilians into the shadow of the barracks. Talia Fenreith vaulted over rooftops to reach trapped merchants, her braid whipping in the vacuum wind. Selin Varrow vanished from sight entirely, reappearing only to cut loose support beams holding collapsing bridges. Vellmar Dreadmoor anchored himself against the pull, his massive frame shielding a cluster of children, his armor creaking under the strain. Elira Mistshade dispersed into shadow and reformed along the outer wall, marking evacuation routes with glowing runes. Jaris Tenvahl sprinted between towers, placing runic anchors to slow debris sliding toward the abyss above.
Overhead, the 14 Commanders deployed from aether-gates. Selene Virellia landed first, her celestial armor flaring with gold as she shouted orders. "Secure the palace heart! Anyone who can anchor—anchor! The rest—get the civilians to ground level!"
Finn and Mira Whiteshadow soared in on streaks of wind and lightning, weaving barriers to hold airborne debris back. Veyna Lux unleashed crystal spires into the streets, locking entire building foundations against the pull.
The ground trembled again.
A shadow passed over the entire city — not from clouds, but from the Maw's mouth lowering through the sky. Its teeth glinted like mountains made of night. The spiral within them turned faster now, the pull intensifying until air itself screamed as it was drawn upward.
Far to the east, the Dragon Army's skyward divisions launched. Dozens of draconic warships and bonded dragons cut toward the horizon in burning arcs, their engines straining at full output. From the decks, drake-riders hurled volley after volley of wyrmfire bolts into the air — but the distance to the Maw was an illusion. Every shot vanished into its spiral without touching it.
Inside, Alter felt the shift. He knew exactly where they were — home. And even in the Maw's nightmare void, with its whispers gnawing at his mind, he reached out through the Veil of Origin toward those he could still feel.
The connection pulsed once. Selene looked up sharply, her grip on her sword tightening. She felt him.
But the Maw was already opening wider.
The first of Drakareth's outer sky-islands lifted free from their anchors and spun upward, vanishing past the black teeth.
The Mortal Realm had seconds.
The sound came first.
Not the roar of the Maw. Not the screams of the people.
A crack.
Like the snapping of the world's own spine.
The northern skywall of Veyr'Zhalar sheared in half with a thunderclap, its dragonstone foundations twisting upward as if grabbed by an unseen hand. Whole streets rose with it — bridges, markets, and watchtowers spiraling into the black maw above. Screams bled into the wind, bodies flailing as they were pulled skyward.
"Anchor line three! Now!" Selene's voice ripped across the comm-line runes as she drove her blade into the pavement, releasing a shockwave of golden light. The wave hardened into a radiant barrier stretching across an entire boulevard — halting a mass of debris mid-flight. Civilians slammed into the glowing wall, sliding down into the arms of waiting Dragoons.
On the western quarter, Rhed Velgroth planted his runic greatsword into the ground, its embedded sigils exploding in a wave of force that hurled chunks of falling masonry aside. He roared over his shoulder, "MOVE THEM! MOVE THEM NOW!" as he took another step forward against the wind, shield raised over a pair of crying children.
High above, Talia Fenreith leapt between tilting rooftops, snatching one civilian after another and diving into narrow alleys where the pull was weakest. She landed beside Elira Mistshade, who immediately cloaked them in shadow to block the line of pull before vanishing to retrieve another cluster.
At the palace's southern gate, Vellmar Dreadmoor braced against the keystone arch as it began to lift. His boots gouged furrows in the cobblestone as he held the entire gatehouse down with brute force, veins standing out like steel cables. "NOT—TODAY!" he bellowed, even as dust cascaded from the straining stone.
Above them all, the 14 Commanders carved through the chaos. Finn Whiteshadow streaked through the air in a slipstream of compressed wind, hurling cyclone bursts to shove debris — and people — out of the Maw's direct pull. Mira Whiteshadow answered with forks of lightning that shattered massive stone chunks before they could flatten the evacuation lines.
Veyna Lux raised walls of crystal along main streets, transforming them into impromptu windbreaks. Every shard pulsed with stabilizing runes, though the strain was already cracking their surfaces.
In the skies to the east, the Dragon Army locked wings with their bonded mounts, flying in tight formations to create countercurrents of wyrmfire gales. The heat pushed back against the suction for precious seconds — long enough for hundreds to escape down into the lower volcanic terraces.
Inside the Aetherflame Palace, King Vael'Zarion strode into the war room, voice hard as steel. "Collapse the upper terraces if you must — but hold the palace core until the last civilian is clear."
Queen Elanra stood over the scrying basin, sending sharp orders through the leyline networks. Her eyes shone with sapphire light as she bent her will to strengthen the city's ancient wards. "We can slow the Maw's pull — for minutes at most. Use them well."
On the high balcony, Princess Alyxthia remained locked in place, hands gripping the rail as her dragon-sight burned hotter. She was reading the Maw's spiral — watching how its pull shifted. Her voice was hoarse but certain: "It's hunting. It knows where the heart of the city is."
Then came the second crack.
The entire eastern market quarter tore free in one catastrophic motion, rising in a single slab toward the black horizon. The sound of it ripping from the bedrock was like mountains screaming. Wards shattered in fountains of blue sparks, raining over the fleeing crowd.
Selene's command rune flared again: "ALL UNITS, SHIELD THE EVACUATION ROUTES!"
The Dragoons fell into a single, desperate formation, racing along the evacuation lines like a living wall. They weren't stopping the Maw. They couldn't. But they could make sure Veyr'Zhalar's people reached the lowest volcanic tiers before the sky swallowed them whole.
And above, the Maw's shadow kept growing.
The first of the palace spires bent upward.
They were out of time.
The pull changed.
Everyone felt it.
The chaotic drag that had been tearing at every district suddenly focused, a single, crushing vector that made the air lurch in one direction — toward the volcanic heart of Veyr'Zhalar.
The Aetherflame Palace.
The palace terraces, carved from the ancient bones of a shrine dragon, groaned under the pressure. Entire sections of the upper promenade tilted, centuries-old stone beginning to shear at the seams.
From the throne hall, King Vael'Zarion strode through the open archway into the light of the collapsing sky, silver cloak snapping like a banner in the wind. His voice cut over the comm-crystals: "All units—fall back to the palace core! If the heart falls, the city falls."
Queen Elanra stood at the scrying dais, her sapphire aura flaring brighter than it had in decades. Wards snapped into place around the citadel, layer upon layer of ancient draconic geometry weaving through the air — but already, hairline fractures raced across the glowing runes.
Outside, the 14 Commanders converged at the palace's ring walls.
Selene Virellia took the central gate, her blade buried in the cobblestone as she unleashed a constant pulse of golden light into the ground. The energy spread like roots beneath the city, locking sections of stone together against the pull. "HOLD THE LINE!" she roared over the roar of the wind.
Finn and Mira Whiteshadow spun above her, the brother's wind barriers wrapping the palace tiers in a spiraling cyclone while the sister's lightning webs lashed down into debris threatening to crush the evacuation lines below.
Veyna Lux flooded the stairways with crystal growth, creating impassable bulwarks the wind couldn't easily tear through. Cracks already spiderwebbed across her creations, but every second they held was another family reaching safety.
The Dragoons formed a living shield around the inner plaza. Rhed Velgroth braced his greatshield against the gate itself, absorbing impacts from dislodged masonry while Talia Fenreith darted across the battlements, pulling stranded soldiers into the safety of the courtyard.
Vellmar Dreadmoor anchored a collapsed archway with his own body, bellowing as he heaved the stone back into place just long enough for Elira Mistshade to vanish into the shadow beneath it, reappearing at the edge of the plaza to strike down voidborn wraiths slipping through the pull.
And then the sky bent.
The Maw's spiral mouth loomed so close that its teeth eclipsed the far mountains. Its pull became a solid wall of force, smashing into the palace like a tidal wave made of gravity.
The outer towers snapped away instantly, their shattered tops vanishing upward into the black spiral. Sections of the eastern wing ripped free in a single shriek of tearing stone, twisting into the sky with a rain of molten masonry.
Inside the palace, the great dragonbone pillars that formed the throne hall began to lift from their sockets. Dust rained from the vaulted ceiling as the entire hall tilted toward the lightless horizon above.
"ALL HANDS!" Vael'Zarion's shout echoed through the war channels. "The palace stands or the realm is lost!"
The Commanders and Dragoons surged together. Barriers of light, wind, crystal, and steel fused into a jagged dome around the heart of the citadel. Every impact sent shockwaves through the defenders' bodies, every heartbeat bringing the Maw closer.
On the high balcony, Princess Alyxthia pressed her scaled hands to the railing, dragon-sight blazing white-hot. She wasn't looking at the Maw — she was reading it, tracing its spiral's movements. Her voice cut through the storm, trembling but resolute: "It's not trying to eat the palace. It's trying to take it."
The meaning landed like a hammer. If the palace — with its ancient dragon-heart core — was pulled into the Maw, it wouldn't just consume the city. It would feed the monster power beyond anything the realms had seen.
The spiral widened.
The wards cracked like glass.
The defenders tightened formation around the heart of Drakareth — their blades, their shields, their very bodies braced for the single, impossible stand that might keep their world from vanishing into the dark.
The Maw struck.
The sound of the wards breaking was not an explosion — it was the shatter of something far older than the palace itself. A brittle, crystalline scream that rippled through every soul in Veyr'Zhalar.
Blue-silver light fractured into thousands of shards, each dissolving before they hit the ground.
The Maw struck through the gap.
Its pull became absolute. There was no air, no up or down — only the spiral's horizon filling the sky, its teeth turning slow and deliberate like a predator savoring the moment before the bite.
The first to go were the palace's outer defenders. A squad of skyguard knights, mid-flight on their bonded drakes, were snatched mid-wingbeat and yanked screaming into the black. Their cries cut short before their bodies even crossed the Maw's teeth.
"ANCHOR!" Selene's command ripped through the comm-crystals. Her blade blazed white-gold as she drove it into the heartstone dais, sending radiant chains lancing outward into the plaza. The chains wrapped around soldiers, Dragoons, and Commanders alike, halting their slide toward the spiral — but each chain strained, threads of light fraying under the unrelenting drag.
Rhed Velgroth planted his shield against the ground, anchoring four civilians behind him. When the pull increased, his boots tore furrows through the stone, sparks showering from the metal. Talia Fenreith dived from above, grabbing two children mid-air before they could be ripped over the battlements. She slammed into Rhed's shield with them, locking herself in place.
Finn Whiteshadow and Mira Whiteshadow spun like twin storms overhead, Finn forcing gales downward while Mira's lightning strikes shattered debris into harmless sparks. Still, one crackling beam missed its mark — and a half-ton slab of dragonbone whipped upward, smashing through the western battlement and taking three defenders with it.
Veyna Lux screamed in defiance, driving crystal spires through the plaza itself, their jagged forms latching onto the palace's foundation. They held — for five heartbeats. Then the pull ripped the upper halves free, the shattered crystal raining back like glittering blood.
Vellmar Dreadmoor roared as his grip on the archway slipped, the sheer force peeling his gauntlets from the stone. He grabbed Elira Mistshade's arm just as she began to slide, his muscles locking into place with bone-cracking strain. She vanished into shadow and reappeared closer to the core, placing new runic anchors — even as the first ones she laid were torn from the stone like paper scraps.
From the war balcony, King Vael'Zarion and Queen Elanra stood shoulder to shoulder. Elanra's sapphire aura blazed as she poured every drop of her power into reweaving the shattered wards, while Vael'Zarion summoned spectral dragon-wings to shield the dais from the vertical pull. The wings bent like molten glass, each tremor a warning they could not hold long.
And above them, Princess Alyxthia cried out — her dragon-sight catching the shift in the Maw's spiral."It's lowering!"
The sky darkened further as the Maw's teeth descended past the highest spires.
The pull spiked.
The first of Selene's radiant chains snapped, sending three soldiers hurtling upward. Finn broke formation to chase them, wind coiling into a spear to pierce the suction — but one slipped past his reach, vanishing into the spiral.
More chains broke. More defenders lifted from the ground, clawing for anything to hold. Screams filled the air.
The palace floor cracked in a web spreading outward from the heartstone dais. Molten light bled from the fissures — not from the Maw, but from the ancient dragon-heart sealed beneath the citadel. The Maw's pull was zeroing in on it, dragging the very core of Drakareth toward its throat.
Selene gritted her teeth, her voice ragged but unyielding:"HOLD THE CORE! DO NOT LET IT LEAVE THIS WORLD!"
The Maw opened wider.
Its spiral filled the sky, and the last line of defenders felt their feet leave the ground.
The sound came like the cracking of a world's shell — a deep, resonant boom that rattled every bone in the defenders' bodies.
The ground beneath the heartstone dais split open.
From the molten fissure rose the Dragon-Heart of Drakareth — a colossal crystal the size of a fortress, pulsing with the deep, steady rhythm of a slumbering titan. Its surface shimmered with ancient scales embedded in the crystal lattice, each one glowing faintly with the echoes of primeval dragons.
The Maw's spiral pull locked onto it instantly.
The palace's foundation disintegrated as the heart wrenched upward, dragging fragments of the dais and entire sections of the courtyard with it. The air became a solid wall of force, a vertical river pulling all things toward the black horizon above.
Every defender was caught in the lift.
Selene ripped her blade from the shattered stone and launched upward beside the rising heart, golden wings of light bursting from her back. "UP! We hold it in the air!"
Finn Whiteshadow and Mira Whiteshadow shot past her in twin streaks of wind and lightning, weaving a spiraling barrier around the core to deflect incoming debris. The barrier sparked and warped under the strain, but it slowed the ascent just enough for others to catch up.
Rhed Velgroth slammed runic spikes into the heart's crystal surface, anchoring himself to its side before hurling a chain down to Talia Fenreith. She caught it mid-flight, using the momentum to vault higher and snatch a civilian who had been swept up in the pull.
Veyna Lux raised jagged crystal lattices from the shards of the courtyard, hooking them into the heart's surface to form climbing points. She herself clung to one, her other hand firing razor shards upward to slice apart voidborn wraiths that spiraled down the column toward them.
Vellmar Dreadmoor launched himself from a falling battlement, hitting the heart's flank like a meteor and locking his arms around one of its embedded scale ridges. "I'M NOT LETTING GO!" he bellowed, even as the pull dragged at every muscle.
From below, Elira Mistshade surged through shadow, appearing on the heart's opposite face and scattering runic markers that detonated in bursts of gravitational resistance, slowing its climb by the fraction of a heartbeat each time.
Above, the Maw's teeth loomed closer — massive ridges of night turning slowly in anticipation. Each rotation sent shockwaves down the gravitational column, jolting every fighter clinging to the core.
Voidborn wraiths rained from the spiral like black meteors, their claws trailing streaks of negative light. Finn sliced through one with a gale so sharp it exploded into motes, while Mira blasted another with a fork of lightning that lit the entire column for a split-second.
Selene's voice rang through the comms, fierce and absolute:"Every second counts! If it crosses the teeth, Drakareth is gone!"
The heart shuddered as the pull intensified, the pace of its ascent doubling. The defenders felt the ground vanish entirely beneath them — now it was only them, the heart, and the endless sky leading into the Maw's spiral.
Then the shadow deepened.
They had reached the Maw's threshold.
The teeth began to close.
The sky was teeth.
Jagged monoliths of black bone rotated slowly above, each the height of mountains, dripping streams of condensed voidlight that fell like molten shadow into the gravitational column. Between them, the spiral throat yawned wider, swallowing the wind, the light, and the hope from every heart still clinging to the dragon-heart.
The defenders entered the Maw's jaws.
The pull was no longer just upward — it twisted sideways, downwards, every direction at once, a crushing spiral meant to tear bone from muscle. Even breathing was a battle, each gasp a knife dragged across the lungs.
Selene led the charge, golden wings flaring so bright they split the dark for a heartbeat. She swung her blade in a wide arc, carving a radiant cleft through a swarm of voidborn wraiths descending from the Maw's upper ridge."KEEP IT BELOW THE TEETH!" she screamed, her voice almost lost to the storm.
Finn Whiteshadow dove alongside her, his wind barrier shredding incoming debris into dust, while Mira laced it with lightning bursts that detonated on contact with the Maw's inner jaw. The combined blasts rattled the teeth — but only for seconds.
Rhed Velgroth drove his runic greatsword deep into the heart's crystal flank, channeling an eruption of force meant to shove it downward. The shockwave flashed through the column — and died as the Maw's pull doubled. Rhed's arms strained, tendons screaming, until the weapon was wrenched free from his grip and spun into the spiral above.
Veyna Lux grew crystal anchors across the heart's surface, locking them together like a net. Vellmar Dreadmoor grabbed two of the largest and dug in, roaring as he braced his full weight to pull the heart back. The crystals cracked under the strain. One by one, they shattered.
Talia Fenreith launched herself from the heart's surface, spinning into the air to snatch three defenders who had been ripped loose, throwing them back toward the crystal — only to feel her own momentum seize under the spiral's twist. Elira appeared from shadow to catch her arm, but the drag ripped both free.
Selene dove for them — too late. They vanished into the spiral's black horizon.
The teeth began to close.
The gravitational pressure tripled, slamming every fighter to the crystal's surface. Bones creaked, armor groaned. The sound was deafening — a grinding collision of titanic jawbones that eclipsed the roar of the wind.
Selene's voice cut through the agony, sharp and final:"All forces—last push!"
Every weapon, every rune, every breath of elemental power was poured into that instant. The column blazed with gold, blue, and silver light as the Dragoons and Commanders unleashed everything at once — shockwaves, lightning forks, crystal shrapnel, roaring cyclones.
The heart slowed.
For half a heartbeat, it even stopped.
Then the Maw inhaled.
The pull became an irresistible torrent. Chains snapped, anchors tore free, and the defenders — every last one — were lifted from the heart in a screaming, twisting cascade. Selene's eyes locked with Finn's for an instant before they were both swallowed by the spiral. The dragon-heart followed, vanishing past the closing teeth.
And then they were gone.
The Maw's jaws sealed.
Below, the mortal realm buckled. Mountain ranges peeled upward. Oceans tore from their basins and funneled into the sky. Cities, forests, rivers — entire continents — rose like offerings into the black horizon.
Drakareth disappeared in pieces. Seraveth followed. Terravane, Oryndral, and the rest of the world's vast continents vanished into the spiral one after another.
The mortal realm was no more.
The Maw turned its hunger upward, toward the Divine Realm.
The void where the mortal realm had been still echoed with the last roars of breaking continents when the Maw turned upward.
The sky above the emptiness fractured — not in glass shards, but in rivers of light tearing apart from within. Through the splintered horizon came the purest gold-white radiance: the veil of the Divine Realm, gateway to the sanctuaries of creation.
The Maw struck it like a hammer.
The Seven Outer Seals — barriers of law and eternity that had repelled demon gods for millennia — shattered in a single, booming pulse. From the breach poured the warmth of infinity's dawn… immediately swallowed as the Maw's spiral mouth pushed through.
Alarm bells rang in every divine city. The Spires of Vigil, watchtowers taller than mountains, flared in unison, their mirrored crowns focusing beams of concentrated divine light onto the breach. The beams struck the Maw's teeth — hissing, burning — but only black smoke rose, and even that was pulled into the spiral.
In the skies of the First Sanctum, gods formed legions.War gods armored in the color of their dominion — crimson flame, argent wind, amethyst storm — took flight in perfect ranks. Archangels unfurled wings of crystal light, their halos burning brighter than suns. Phoenixes and wyrmdragons wheeled in the sky, ready to meet the monster head-on.
At the breach itself, the Gate Wardens — titans clad in armor forged from the bones of dead stars — planted their colossal pikes into the boundary's edge. Their formation trembled as the Maw's pull slammed into them, bending the light around their shapes.
Then the Maw inhaled.
The Gate Wardens dug deep into the fabric of the veil itself, resisting, forcing the wind of annihilation to split around them. Behind them, the divine legions advanced, flying into the pull with weapons glowing hot from condensed godlight.
The breach became a battlefield.
And the Maw did not retreat.
From the Celestial Thrones, the High Thrones descended — thirteen sovereigns of the Divine Realm, each embodying a primal truth.
The Crown of Suns, wrapped in burning solar rings.
The Veil of Eternity, veiled in endless silver threads of fate.
The Oath of Storms, wreathed in an unending cyclone of blades and thunder.
And at their head, the Pillar of Origin, whose voice had once spoken the first words into the void.
Their arrival turned the sky into a storm of brilliance.
"ALL FORCES — STRIKE!"
The legions surged. Thousands of gods, archangels, and divine beasts plunged toward the Maw's teeth. Every blow landed with the power of a supernova. Blades of sunsteel cut swathes into the void-born flesh between its teeth; spears tipped with the prayers of a billion mortals punched deep into its spiral walls.
The Maw reacted.
From its throat poured rivers of voidfire — molten streams of anti-light that boiled through formations. War gods screamed as the fire clung to them like tar, dissolving armor and flesh into nothingness. Phoenixes burned black, their ashes inhaled before they hit the ground.
The High Thrones moved as one. The Oath of Storms hurled an ocean of lightning into the spiral, each strike splintering into thousands of blades that carved into the Maw's ridges. The Veil of Eternity flung silver threads into the teeth, trying to bind them apart. The Crown of Suns condensed its rings into a singular beam of stellar wrath, boring a hole clean through the upper jaw.
The Maw shuddered.
The breach of the jaw was real — the pull weakened for mere moments. Legions surged forward, pushing into the monster's shadow to press the advantage.
But the Maw's spiral turned faster.
It regrew what was cut. The hole in its jaw sealed in seconds, teeth knitting back together like bone under time magic. Then came the counter — a vortex burst that hurled the entire first rank of gods backward into the boundary wall. Hundreds shattered on impact, dissolving into motes of fading light.
Still, the Thrones did not yield.
They ordered a full breach assault — a maneuver forbidden for millennia, one that meant bringing the fight inside.
The Maw opened wide. The spiral inside turned into a hurricane of living gravity, pulling the divine host into its throat.
The High Thrones led the charge, their weapons blazing brighter than they ever had before. Inside the Maw was chaos — no ground, no sky, only whirling ridges of flesh and bone, rivers of voidfire, and the screaming faces of worlds it had already consumed.
The Pillar of Origin drove his colossal spear into the Maw's inner wall, channeling raw creation energy that flared like the birth of a new universe. The wound tore deep — for a heartbeat, the Maw reeled.
The Veil of Eternity seized the moment, binding the spiral's ridges with silver fate-threads while the Oath of Storms and Crown of Suns hammered the jawline with combined strikes.
The gods pushed deeper, each impact sending shockwaves through the monster. It roared, its voice rattling the very fabric of the realm.
Then the spiral reversed.
A gravitational inversion slammed every god in every direction at once. Divine formations scattered, ranks broken. The fate-threads snapped. The Oath of Storms was crushed between two ridges, his cyclone fading as he dissolved into sparks. The Crown of Suns was bitten in half, his rings shattering into meteors that were swallowed in seconds.
The Pillar of Origin fought to rise — and was pierced through the chest by a tendril of condensed voidlight, his body dragged screaming into the spiral's heart. The sound of his destruction echoed like a temple collapsing in a dead world.
One by one, the Thrones fell, their lights going out in the storm.
With the last of its defenders gone, the Divine Realm came apart. The Celestial City tilted upward, its towers bending like molten glass as they rose into the spiral. The River of Souls — the passage between life and eternity — was sucked dry, its current swallowed whole.
In minutes, the Divine Realm was gone.
The Maw floated alone, its spiral slowing, the void around it stretching into infinity.
Only darkness remained.