The earth split with a sound like tearing flesh, and from the rift surged things not meant to exist — malformed beasts, stitched together from shadow and light, eyes glowing with ancient hunger.
Jack moved first.
His body was already bloodied, but he welcomed the pain. It sharpened him. Focused him. The Devil's mark blazed bright red on his palm, casting sick light over the battlefield. With a roar, he hurled a torrent of blood spears into the rift, impaling the first creature that lunged forth — a shrieking, many-limbed horror whose scream fractured trees nearby.
"Form up!" Kaelis barked, sigils glowing around her armor as she raised a shimmering ward.
Seraphina spun into the fight, her silver daggers dancing. Each slash cut not just flesh, but essence — unraveling the corrupted beings with precision. Beside her, Nyxara twisted the shadows into wolves that lunged and tore. Mira summoned a swirling inferno that became a serpent of fire, coiling and striking.
Lira stood near Jack, eyes scanning, blades ready. "This isn't random. Something's guiding them."
"I know," Jack growled, crushing a beast's skull with a blood-forged mace. "And I'm going to kill it."
From deep within the rift, something moved.
Something bigger.
---
The Architect of Ruin
A shape emerged — humanoid, but impossibly tall, cloaked in rags of twilight and bone. It bore no face, only a mask carved from obsidian, its surface shifting with screaming mouths. As it stepped through the rift, the world bent around it, and the howling ceased.
The creature raised one finger.
The lesser horrors stopped instantly.
Jack stepped forward, fury boiling in his veins. "You the one sending nightmares?"
The mask tilted. A voice answered — not in words, but in emotions: contempt, amusement, hunger.
Kaelis gasped. "That's no demon… it's a Harrowed One."
"A what?" Jack asked, readying another spear.
"Born from forgotten gods. Banished before time began."
Jack bared his teeth. "Then let's make it a memory."
---
The Harrowed Battle
The fight exploded into a clash of light, flame, and blood. The Harrowed One raised both hands and the trees warped into skeletal arms, grabbing at the group.
Mira set them ablaze, screaming curses in tongues lost to man. Nyxara's illusions faltered under the creature's will — she began weaving reality itself to shield them.
Jack closed the distance with a blink-step, reappearing in front of the Harrowed One with a blood dagger in hand. He drove it toward the thing's chest — and it shattered against invisible force.
The Harrowed One reached out. Black tendrils erupted, impaling Jack through the side.
He screamed — not in pain, but rage. The Devil's mark flared brighter than ever.
Lira was beside him instantly, slashing through the tendrils with magic-coated blades. "We do this together."
Jack growled, blood pooling under him. "Then keep up."
---
Kaelis's Gambit
Kaelis knelt in the center of the battlefield, sketching runes in the dirt with her bare hands.
"I can seal the rift," she shouted, "but I need time. Buy it."
Nyxara and Mira nodded, taking position to defend her. Seraphina took to the skies, blades flashing as she struck at the Harrowed One's limbs.
Lira fought back to back with Jack, covering his wounds while hurling knives at the encroaching monsters.
Jack steadied himself. The power in his blood was unstable — but he welcomed it.
With a wordless snarl, he let go of control.
---
Unleashed
Blood exploded outward from him in a radius, forming a storm of crimson spikes, tendrils, and blades.
The forest trembled.
The Harrowed One halted — for a moment.
Then it advanced.
Jack met it head-on.
Their blows shattered air. The sky above cracked with thunder not born of storms but raw power. Every time the Harrowed One touched Jack, his blood boiled. Every time Jack struck, the mark deepened.
The world around them blurred — two forces too vast, too wild, locked in a spiral of destruction.
---
The Rift Closes
Kaelis's voice rose in a foreign tongue.
The rift shrieked, resisting her will.
Then, a final symbol — drawn in her own blood — ignited in silver flame.
With a deafening wail, the rift collapsed.
The Harrowed One hissed, sensing the gate closing.
It tried to retreat, but Jack lunged.
He drove both hands forward, blood-magic ripping the creature apart from the inside. The Devil's mark burned black as obsidian.
The Harrowed One shattered into ash.
---
Silence
Only the crackle of burning trees remained.
Jack stood in the center of the carnage, swaying, blood dripping from his fingertips.
Kaelis collapsed, drained. Seraphina knelt by her. Mira crouched, watching Jack with narrowed eyes.
Nyxara wiped blood from her lips. "He's becoming something else."
Lira approached Jack, slowly. "You alright?"
Jack didn't respond.
His eyes were black. The Devil's mark no longer glowed — it pulsed.
He whispered, "I saw it… beyond the veil. A throne. A heart. A war."
Lira frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Jack looked at his hand.
And smiled.
---
The Seed of the Void
That night, as they rested by the ruins of a burnt grove, Jack didn't sleep.
He stared into the fire, hearing the Harrowed One's last whisper echo in his mind.
Are you the weapon… or the wielder?
A small, dark shard had embedded itself in his palm during the final strike — not of the Devil's mark, but something else. Older. Colder.
Lira sat beside him.
"You're changing."
"I was already broken."
She touched his shoulder.
"Not beyond repair."
Jack didn't answer.
Because deep down, he knew: something had come through the rift.
And it had stayed.
The Arrival of the Exiled Blades
As dawn broke over the scorched forest, the wind shifted.
Jack looked up sharply. Something was coming.
From the north, three figures descended — not flying, but walking on air as if the sky were stone beneath their feet. Each radiated an aura so intense that the air shimmered around them.
They landed silently before the group. Their presence silenced even the birds.
Kaelis rose unsteadily. "The Exiled Blades…"
Each woman was deadly in her own way.
Vaelora, the Crimson Valkyrie — clad in blood-forged armor, her greatsword taller than she was, glowing with living flame. Her every breath seemed to burn the world.
Shinari, the Pale Whisper — blindfolded, robed in ash-gray silks, and barefoot. Around her swirled ghostlight and broken chains. She did not speak — her thoughts pierced the mind.
Reika, the Thunderbound Siren — twin scimitars crackling with storm energy, hair flowing with lightning, a permanent grin of madness on her lips.
They didn't bow.
They stared at Jack.
Vaelora broke the silence. "We saw the rift from a hundred leagues away. Thought something interesting finally happened."
Shinari's voice slid directly into their minds. He carries the seed… the mark beyond the Devil's. The First Shadow stirs.
Reika licked her lips. "Guess we found the reason the stars started screaming again."
Lira narrowed her eyes. "You know him?"
Vaelora smirked. "Not yet. But we came to see if he's worth following."
Jack stood. "I'm not looking for more followers."
Reika stepped closer, grinning. "Too bad. We follow storms."
Broken Oaths Beneath the Moon
That night, away from the others, Jack found Vaelora sharpening her blade beneath the ruined bones of a tower.
"You shouldn't have followed me," he said flatly.
She didn't look up. "You shouldn't have survived the Harrowed One. Yet here we are."
Jack eyed her weapon. "You used to be a Herald of Flame. One of Heaven's generals."
"Until I refused to burn a village for prophecy," Vaelora replied. "They call it exile. I call it clarity."
"You're not here to help me," Jack said.
Vaelora finally looked at him. Her eyes were molten.
"I'm here because you can end it. This war, the old gods, the pantheon games. You're the first man I've seen strike a Harrowed One without divine backing and live. That means one of two things—"
She stood slowly, blade sheathed.
"Either you're the fool who breaks the world…"
She stepped closer, inches away.
"…or the monster that finally devours it."
Jack didn't blink. "You want to see which?"
Vaelora smiled. "I want to see if you're strong enough to choose."
Then she walked away.
The Voice of the Deep
As the group traveled southward through scorched valleys, Shinari abruptly stopped.
Her blindfolded head turned.
"The Veil is thin here."
Before anyone could respond, the ground beneath Jack cracked — not with fire, but with silence.
A whisper emerged — like a lullaby sung underwater.
Then a single word echoed in every mind:
"Jack."
He staggered, grabbing his head. "No—no, that's not—"
From the shattered stone rose a figure made of water and memory — fluid, feminine, half-seen.
It took the shape of a woman. Familiar.
Lira gasped. "Is that—?"
"No," Jack growled. "It's mimicking her."
The figure wept tears of light. Its voice was soft, broken, deceptive.
"Come home. You don't have to carry it alone. Let me hold the weight..."
Jack summoned a blade of blood.
"No more lies."
He lunged — and slashed through the illusion.
The figure dissolved into rain, whispering, "You will break, Jack. Even monsters bleed."
Shinari lowered her head.
"The Deep has seen him now. There will be more."
Reika cracked her knuckles. "Then let them come."
The Smoke-Lit Execution
As the group crossed the ruins of Ashmoor—a once-prosperous city now reduced to crumbling towers and bone-dusted streets—they found the bodies.
Ten angels, crucified upside down.
Ten devils, chained in silver, eyes gouged.
Burned symbols circled their corpses: not divine, not infernal. Something else.
At the center of the square stood a single figure in a tattered gray cloak, sword dripping with angelic and demonic ichor. His face was covered by a silver mask carved with no mouth.
Behind him, others stepped out of the smoke — each masked, silent, marked by scars that bled smoke instead of blood.
Kaelis whispered, "Voidseekers."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "What the hell are they?"
Vaelora answered grimly, "The last heretics of the middle path."
Lira tightened her grip on her dagger. "You mean—those who serve neither side?"
"No," Shinari murmured. "They don't serve. They erase."
The masked leader turned to them slowly.
His voice echoed not from his mouth, but from the sky above, fractured and cold:
"Balance demands silence. Your war cries are too loud."
Reika unsheathed her blades, snarling. "Say that again with your face off."
But the Voidseekers vanished into the fog — leaving only a message carved in blood across the stones:
"We do not bow to Light or Darkness. We bury both."
Interrogation of the Ash Prophet
Later, beneath the wreckage of a collapsed cathedral, Jack cornered a survivor — a ragged old seer with ash-dusted robes and a tongue burned black.
He'd once been a prophet of Heaven — until the Voidseekers cut his eyes out.
Jack crouched before him.
"You've seen them."
The man trembled. "You shouldn't seek them…"
"I'm not seeking," Jack said. "I'm waiting."
The old man coughed blood. "They're not mortal. They are the fragments left behind when God cast his shadow too far… They see the world as a machine — Heaven, Hell, even you… all gears that must be stopped."
"Why now?" Kaelis asked.
The seer's ruined mouth smiled bitterly. "Because you're close to something neither side should touch. The First Lock is trembling."
Shinari inhaled sharply.
Lira looked at Jack. "What's the First Lock?"
Jack didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
Yet.
Meeting the Archivist
That night, Seraphina led them into a hidden sanctuary — an underground chamber buried beneath Bellwright's dead sister-city: Umbravale.
There, they met her contact.
A woman shrouded in ink-black robes, her face veiled by silver mesh. Her voice was ageless, like turning pages.
"I am the Archivist."
Books hovered around her — bound in angel-skin and devil-horns, inked with language that moved when stared at.
"I record forbidden truths."
She motioned toward a floating book with Jack's sigil glowing faintly on its cover.
"This chapter has only just begun," she said. "But the quill is shaking."
Jack stepped forward. "What do you know about the Voidseekers?"
"They are not hunters," the Archivist said softly. "They are janitors of reality. When balance tips… they clean."
She raised a single finger — and the hovering books snapped shut like thunder.
"Three factions are moving: Heaven, Hell, and the Void. You, Jack, stand where none of them can follow."
He frowned. "Then why are you helping me?"
She chuckled. "I don't help. I observe. But even a librarian moves to save the last page before the fire."
And with that, the floating books turned to face Jack — as if watching.
Trial by Equilibrium Flame
Hours later, beneath the shadowed cliffs of Shardhold, Jack's group was ambushed — not by angels, not by devils, but by fire that burned in neutrality.
A flame neither holy nor profane.
They barely had time to react.
The ground split. Out rose a massive circular structure — metal, bone, and ash fused into a trial arena. Floating above it was a sigil: Balance, etched in geometric precision. The flame surrounding the platform did not move like normal fire. It waited.
A voice echoed through the gorge.
"Jack of No Allegiance. You are summoned."
He stepped forward instinctively.
The others tried to follow, but the flame rose high, separating them. Only Kaelis managed to leap in before it closed.
A new figure materialized inside — cloaked in layered gray robes, not masked like the others. Her face was visible: calm, sharp, tattooed with runes down one side. Her name spoke itself into their minds:
"Syrane — Arbiter of the Third Balance."
She held no weapon.
Instead, a chain hovered beside her — forged from what looked like fragments of fallen halos and shattered horns.
"You will not be judged by morality," Syrane said. "You will be judged by impact."
Kaelis scoffed. "He doesn't answer to you."
Syrane's gaze cut through him. "No. But he will answer to consequence."
The trial began.
Jack was forced to relive the echoes of every power he had ever used: Elemental Storms, Blood Constructs, Reality Warps — each one displayed not in how it saved him, but in how it twisted the world around him.
Children burned in the wake of his first power surge.
A forgotten town collapsed when he shattered a barrier during training.
Kaelis growled. "This is manipulation."
Syrane whispered, "This is arithmetic."
At the end, Jack stood still — eyes hollow, breath cold.
"Do you regret what you are?" Syrane asked.
Jack didn't flinch. "No."
"Would you do it again?"
"Yes."
"Then your trial is passed."
The flame died instantly. The sigil faded.
Syrane turned, vanishing into the void — but not before muttering:
"When the three balances break, even your defiance will be weighed."
Jack stepped from the platform, silent.
The others looked at him — not with judgment.
But with fear.
The Cradle Falls
Far north, past the frostbitten mountains of Elyndar, nestled in the sky-carved cliffs, was a place neither Heaven nor Hell dared breach:
The Cradle of Echoes.
It was a sanctuary — a monastery devoted to silence, built long before the Godwar. A neutral ground where oracles of both sides once laid down their arms. No blood had ever been spilled there.
Until tonight.
The silence shattered.
A Voidseeker stood in the middle of the marble chapel, blood dripping from their blade.
The high oracle — a half-angel, half-devil hybrid — hung in the air, lifeless, limbs bent wrong, throat carved with a spiral.
Books burned in golden and crimson fire. Prayer bells melted. The statue of the twin gods cracked in two, as if denying itself.
Behind the lead Seeker, a dozen others emerged — masked, silent, indifferent.
They formed a perfect circle around a floating crystal — a memory core. One of the six rumored to hold the coordinates of the First Lock.
The lead Voidseeker reached for it.
The crystal pulsed — trying to reject him.
He whispered one word.
"Balance."
The crystal cracked.
Blacklight poured from it.
And in the final moment before the monastery imploded, a raven flew from the rubble — its eyes burning with red runes — heading south, toward Jack.