Even from this distance, I can feel his power—cold, absolute, utterly convinced of its own righteousness. This is not an enemy that can be reasoned with or persuaded. This is the embodiment of celestial judgment, come to cleanse what it sees as corruption.
"Abomination!" his voice booms across the valley, directed at me. "Your existence offends the very foundations of creation," his voice continues, the words carrying a physical weight that makes the air vibrate around us. "Today, we cleanse the corruption that taints three realms."
I stand my ground as his power washes over me like arctic wind. The merged essences within me respond instinctively, creating a protective barrier that shimmers with crimson, silver, and gold.
"Big talk from someone who's about to get his ass handed to him," I call back, my voice carrying unexpected resonance across the valley. "Last I checked, The Creator brought Caleif back for a reason. Maybe you should question whether your 'cleansing' is actually what the big guy wants."
Samael's perfect features contort with rage. "You dare speak of The Creator's will? You, a twisted amalgamation of what should remain separate?"
"Pretty sure that's exactly why I'm qualified," I reply, feeling a strange confidence flow through me. "I'm the living proof that these realms aren't meant to be isolated from each other."
I can feel my allies tensing around me, readying for the inevitable assault. Elara stands at my right, her twin blades gleaming in the strange light. To my left, Roshan's scarred face is set in grim determination. Behind us, the academy students and faculty prepare to defend their world, their future.
"Enough talk," Samael declares, raising a hand that blazes with golden fire. "Let the cleansing begin."
At his signal, the Eradicators surge forward, a wave of celestial fury crashing toward our lines. Their wings create a thunderous sound as thousands beat the air simultaneously.
"Now!" I shout, reaching deep into the power that flows through me.
I press my hands against the thinned barriers of reality, feeling them yield under my influence. The air between our forces shimmers and distorts as I create a partial barrier—not to block the angels completely, but to slow them, to make their passage through this space more difficult.
The effect is immediate. The front line of Eradicators hits the distorted space and visibly struggles, as if suddenly wading through honey. Their perfect formation breaks apart as some push through faster than others.
"First wave, engage!" Roshan commands.
Our ranged fighters unleash a barrage of attacks—elemental magic from the academy students, blessed weapons from Roshan's hunters, and spears of silver light from Azazel's exiles. The combined assault tears through the disorganized front lines of the Eradicators, sending dozens spiraling back in disarray.
Inside me, the three essences pulse with approval. "Good," Estingoth rumbles. "Use the environment to your advantage."
"Watch your flanks," Azazel warns. "Samael won't commit everything to a frontal assault."
She's right. Even as our first volley finds its mark, I sense movement along the valley walls—smaller groups of Eradicators climbing the steep cliffs, attempting to outflank us.
"Elara," I call, pointing to the cliffs. "They're trying to circle around."
She nods sharply. "On it." With a few quick commands, she redirects some of Roshan's hunters to intercept the flanking force.
I turn my attention back to the main assault. The Eradicators have adapted to my reality distortion, pushing through with greater coordination now. Their front lines reform as they approach our position, celestial weapons blazing.
Time to try something new.
I reach deeper into the merged essences, drawing on Caleif's divine spark. Golden energy flows through me, and I direct it outward in a wave that crashes into the advancing angels. Where it touches them, their weapons flicker and dim temporarily—divine energy countering divine energy.
"They didn't expect that," Caleif's voice echoes in my mind, satisfaction evident in her tone.
The momentary disruption gives our forces the opening they need. Academy students trained in combat magic unleash a devastating barrage—fire, lightning, and darker energies that tear through the Eradicators' front ranks.
But for every angel that falls, three more take its place. The sheer numbers are overwhelming, and I can feel our defensive line beginning to buckle under the pressure.
"We can't hold them like this," I realize aloud. "We need to thin their numbers more drastically."
"Then use more of our power," Estingoth urges. "Stop holding back."
"If I lose control—"
"You won't," Caleif assures me. "We're with you."
Taking a deep breath, I release more of the restraint I've been maintaining on the merged essences. Power floods through me, making my skin glow so brightly that those nearest to me have to shield their eyes.
I raise my hands, feeling the barriers between realms respond to my will. With a gesture that feels both foreign and natural, I tear open a small rift directly in the path of the advancing Eradicators. Not a full portal, but a temporary weakness in reality itself.
The effect is catastrophic for the front ranks of angels. The rift pulls at them like a powerful vacuum, distorting their perfect forms as conflicting realities war for dominance. Some are torn apart entirely, their celestial essence scattered across multiple planes. Others manage to pull back, but are left weakened, disoriented.
Samael's voice rings out, filled with fury. "The abomination tears at reality itself! Forward! We must end this heresy!"
The remaining Eradicators surge forward with renewed determination, and I feel a direct assault on my consciousness—Samael, trying to overwhelm me with pure celestial will.
I stagger under the psychic onslaught, the rift closing as my concentration wavers. Inside me, the three essences rally, creating a shield around my mind.
"He's stronger than I anticipated," Azazel admits, her silver light pulsing with effort as she helps defend against Samael's attack.
"Then we need to be smarter," I reply, forcing myself to stand straight despite the pressure hammering at my defenses.
I look around the battlefield, assessing our position. Our forces are fighting valiantly, but the sheer numbers of the Eradicators are pushing us back toward the center of the valley. If we're forced into the open bowl, we'll lose the advantage of the narrow passes.
A new strategy forms in my mind, drawing on the combined knowledge of all three essences within me.
"Valen!" I call, spotting his crimson robes amidst the chaos. "We need to reshape the battlefield!"
He fights his way to my side, hellfire streaming from his hands to keep the Eradicators at bay. "What do you propose?"
"The valley floor—can your earth-shapers alter it? Create a labyrinth?"
Understanding dawns in his burning eyes. "Yes. With enough power."
"I'll provide it," I tell him. "Get them into position."
As Valen gathers the academy's strongest earth-shapers, I draw deeper on the merged essences, focusing specifically on Estingoth's demonic power. Crimson energy flows through me and into the ground beneath our feet, saturating the very rock with potential.
"Now!" I shout when I feel the power reach critical mass.
The earth-shapers slam their hands against the ground, channeling my power through their specialized magic. The valley floor heaves and buckles like a living thing. Walls of stone erupt from the earth, forming a complex maze that spreads outward from our position toward the advancing Eradicators.
Angels crash into newly formed barriers, their perfect formations shattered by the rapidly changing terrain. The narrow passes we'd been defending are now replaced by dozens of winding corridors that nullify their numerical advantage even further.
"Fall back by squads!" Roshan commands, recognizing the strategy. "Use the labyrinth to separate their forces!"
Our defenders retreat in orderly groups, drawing the Eradicators deeper into the stone maze where they can be engaged in smaller numbers. The air fills with the sounds of battle—the clash of weapons, screams of pain and fury, the crackling of competing magics.
I remain at the center, maintaining the flow of power that keeps the labyrinth stable. Through my enhanced senses, I can feel every skirmish, every life extinguished on both sides. The cost is already too high, and we've barely begun.
"This won't hold them forever," Elara says, returning to my side with blood—not her own—splattered across her face. "Samael's bringing in reinforcements through additional portals."
She's right. I can sense new tears in reality forming around the valley's perimeter, more Eradicators pouring through with each passing minute.
"We need to cut off their access," I decide. "Close the portals."
"Can you do that?" she asks, eyeing me with a mixture of hope and concern.
"I can try." I take a deep breath, preparing to attempt something I've never done before. "Keep them off me for a few minutes."
She nods, calling over a squad of academy students to form a protective perimeter around me. I sink to my knees, placing my palms flat against the stone beneath me.
Closing my eyes, I extend my awareness outward, seeking the portals that connect this valley to the celestial realm. I can feel them—wounds in reality, bleeding golden light and angelic power into our world.
"Focus on the largest first," Azazel guides from within. "Samael's primary entry point."
I direct my attention to the massive portal where Samael first appeared. It pulses with his essence, maintained by his will rather than any physical mechanism. To close it, I need to counter that will with my own.
Drawing on all three essences simultaneously, I push against the edges of the portal. It resists immediately, Samael's power fighting to maintain the connection between realms. The struggle is like trying to close a door against hurricane-force winds.
"More power," Estingoth urges. "Don't hold back."
"If I use too much, I could tear reality further," I argue, feeling the strain already building in my transformed body.
"Trust yourself," Caleif counters. "Trust us. We won't let you fall."
Gathering my resolve, I channel more of the merged essences into my effort. The tricolored light around me intensifies until it's painful to look at directly. I feel something shift in the portal—a weakening, a faltering in Samael's control.
With a final surge of effort, I slam the edges of the portal together. There's a sound like the universe itself screaming in protest, and then the massive tear in reality seals shut, cutting off Samael's main reinforcement route.
I don't stop there. Riding the momentum of that first success, I reach for the smaller portals one by one, sealing them with increasingly practiced skill. Each closure is easier than the last as I grow accustomed to the technique.
When I finally open my eyes, sweat pouring down my face despite the chill in the air, Elara is staring at me with undisguised awe.
"You did it," she says simply. "They're trapped here with us now."
"Or we're trapped with them," I counter, rising unsteadily to my feet. "Either way, this ends today."
A deafening roar of fury echoes across the valley—Samael, realizing what I've done. The very air trembles with his rage as he rises above the stone labyrinth, six golden wings spread wide, his perfect form blazing with light that hurts to look at directly.
"ENOUGH!" his voice booms across the valley, shattering stone and making my bones vibrate with the force of it. "You dare sever the connection between realms? You dare trap the righteous alongside the corrupt?"
I wipe blood from my nose—apparently sealing that many portals at once has its costs. "Yeah, I dare. Funny thing about righteous fury—it tends to make you sloppy."
Even from this distance, I can see his perfect features contort with rage. He raises both hands, and the air around him begins to burn with golden fire. Not metaphorically—the actual air molecules are igniting, creating a sphere of celestial flame that grows larger by the second.
"He's going to level the entire valley," Estingoth warns, his voice tight with concern. "That level of power will kill everyone here, including his own forces."
I look around at the stone labyrinth, at the dozens of small battles still raging within its corridors. Our people are fighting valiantly, but they're completely exposed to what's coming.
"I have to stop him," I realize, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Before he kills everyone."
"You can't face him alone," Caleif protests from within me. "He's too powerful."
"I won't be alone," I reply, drawing on all three essences at once. "I'll have you. All of you."
The merged power floods through me, more than I've ever channeled before. My skin becomes translucent, revealing the network of tricolored veins beneath as they pulse with increasing intensity. The gauntlet no longer stops at my wrist—it extends up my entire arm, then across my chest, forming armor of living energy.
"Kamen," Elara grabs my arm, her face pale with worry. "You're changing. More than before."
I look down at myself, seeing what she sees. The transformation is accelerating, my human form becoming something else entirely. But I can still feel myself at the core—still Kamen Driscol, still the person who chooses to protect others.
"I'm still me," I tell her, my voice carrying harmonics that make the air shimmer. "Just... more."
She nods, though I can see the fear in her eyes. Not of me, but for me. "Go. Stop him before he kills everyone."
I launch myself into the air, drawing on Azazel's angelic nature to achieve flight. The sensation is intoxicating—pure freedom, untethered from the ground. Below me, the stone labyrinth looks like a child's toy, and I can see every battle, every life hanging in the balance.
Samael sees me coming, his sphere of celestial fire now large enough to engulf half the valley. "The abomination comes to face judgment at last!"
"The abomination comes to kick your self-righteous ass," I counter, my voice carrying across the distance between us. "Though I'm starting to think 'Nexus Being' sounds cooler."
I slam into his sphere of fire, and pain beyond description tears through me. This isn't just heat—it's the concentrated essence of celestial judgment, designed to burn away anything deemed impure. By Samael's standards, that's pretty much everything about me.
But I don't burn. The merged essences within me create a protective barrier, golden divine energy mixing with silver angelic power and crimson demonic force to create something that can withstand even this level of purification.
"Impossible," Samael snarls, his perfect face twisted with disbelief. "Nothing corrupted can survive the cleansing fire."
"Good thing I'm not corrupted," I reply, pushing deeper into his sphere of power. "I'm evolved."
I reach out with my transformed hand, grasping the edge of his celestial fire. The moment I touch it, I understand its structure—not just destructive force, but controlled energy with specific parameters. And if it's controlled, it can be redirected.
Drawing on Estingoth's knowledge of energy manipulation, I begin to twist the fire's flow, turning it back on itself. Samael's eyes widen as his own power begins to work against him.
"You... you're stealing my fire?"
"Borrowing," I correct, feeling the celestial energy flow into me alongside the three essences already there. "I'll give it back. With interest."
The sphere of fire collapses as I absorb its power, leaving Samael and me facing each other in the open air above the valley. His six golden wings beat frantically as he tries to maintain altitude, while I float effortlessly, supported by forces I'm only beginning to understand.
"What are you?" he demands, his voice no longer carrying its earlier certainty.
"I'm what happens when you try to keep the realms separate," I reply, feeling the truth of it resonate through all four essences now flowing within me. "I'm the bridge you tried to burn."
He draws a sword of pure light, its blade humming with power that makes my transformed senses recoil. "Then you must be destroyed, bridge or not. The separation of realms is sacred law."
"Sacred law written by who?" I challenge, forming my own weapon—a blade of tricolored energy that pulses with the harmony of three realms. "Because last I checked, The Creator brought Caleif back specifically to help me become this."
"The Creator was... misguided," Samael admits, his perfect composure cracking. "Influenced by sentiment rather than necessity."
"Or maybe," I suggest, raising my energy blade to meet his charge, "you're the one who's misguided."
We clash in midair, light against harmony, separation against unity. His sword cuts through space itself, leaving trails of golden fire that sear the air around us. My blade meets his with a sound like reality tearing, and the shockwave flattens everything within a hundred yards.
Below us, the battle in the labyrinth pauses as everyone—angel and demon alike—looks up to watch our duel. The fate of three realms hangs in the balance of this single combat.
"You fight well for an abomination," Samael acknowledges, his blade work flawless as he presses his attack. "But you lack the purity of purpose that drives me."
"You're right," I agree, parrying a thrust that would have taken my head off. "I'm not pure. I'm complicated. Messy. Human."
I counterattack, my tricolored blade weaving patterns that draw on the fighting styles of all three essences within me. Estingoth's brutal efficiency, Azazel's graceful precision, Caleif's passionate intensity—all flowing together in a harmony that Samael's rigid perfection can't match.
"And that's exactly why I'm going to win," I continue, pressing my advantage as his perfect form begins to show signs of strain. "Because I understand what you don't—that the messiness is the point. The complications, the contradictions, the impossible connections between things that should be separate."
My blade finds its mark, cutting across his chest in a line of tricolored fire. He screams—not in pain, but in outrage that something impure has managed to wound him.
"You dare—"
"I dare everything," I interrupt, following up with a combination that drives him back. "That's what makes me dangerous. I don't accept limitations."
He rallies, his six wings spreading wide as he channels power from some deep reserve. "Then you will burn with all the rest!"
Golden light erupts from his form, not fire this time but something worse—pure entropy, the unmaking of existence itself. Where it touches, reality simply ceases to be, leaving holes in the fabric of space.
I feel the entropy reaching for me, trying to unmake the bonds that hold my transformed form together. For a moment, I waver, feeling the four essences within me starting to separate under the assault.
But then I remember Elara's words: "Just make sure you stay you."
I am Kamen Driscol. I am the one who protects. And I will not be unmade by some cosmic asshole with a superiority complex.
Drawing on every ounce of power within me, I create a barrier of pure existence—not just energy, but the fundamental force that makes things real. The entropy crashes against it like waves against a seawall, unable to penetrate the absolute certainty of my being.
"How?" Samael gasps, his perfect form beginning to flicker as the entropy he's channeling starts to consume him as well.
"Because I know who I am," I reply, advancing through his unmaking field with slow, deliberate steps. "And more importantly, I know who I'm fighting for."
I think of Caleif, her warmth and determination flowing through our connection. Of Elara, standing ready to face impossible odds. Of the students at the academy, young demons just trying to learn their place in the world. Of Roshan and his hunters, slowly learning that not all demons are monsters. Of everyone counting on me to be something more than human, more than demon, more than angel.
The entropy field collapses as Samael's concentration breaks. He staggers in the air, his six wings no longer able to keep him aloft. I catch him as he falls, my transformed hand grasping his throat with gentle but implacable force.
"It's over," I tell him, my voice carrying across the suddenly silent valley. "Call off your forces. End this."
He looks at me with something like wonder in his eyes, the absolute certainty that has driven him finally cracking. "You... you truly are beyond corruption. Beyond purification. You simply... are."
"That's the idea," I reply. "Now, are you going to keep trying to cleanse the universe, or are you going to help me build something better?"
For a long moment, he doesn't answer. Then, slowly, he nods. "I... I need time to understand what you've become. What it means for the cosmic order."
"Take all the time you need," I tell him, releasing my grip. "Just do it somewhere else. And take your Eradicators with you."
He nods again, then raises his voice to carry across the valley. "Eradicators! Withdraw! The cleansing is... postponed pending further revelation."
The golden portals reopen at his command, and the surviving angels file through them with obvious confusion. They came here expecting righteous victory, not philosophical uncertainty.
As the last of them disappears, I float down to the valley floor where my allies wait. The transformation is already beginning to recede, the armor of living energy fading back to the familiar pattern of dark veins beneath my skin.
"Is it over?" Elara asks, her voice carefully neutral.
"For now," I reply, feeling suddenly exhausted. "But I don't think it's ever really over. There will always be someone who thinks they know better, who wants to force their vision of order on everyone else."
"And there will always be someone ready to tell them they're wrong," Caleif's voice whispers from within me, her presence a warm comfort after the cold fury of battle.
I smile, feeling more like myself than I have since this all began. "Yeah. There will."
"Interesting, I never thought that I'd see the day when that smug dick was pushed back." A voice rings out next to me as I turn to see who it is. The person—No, this being looks like the definition of perfect. In every aspect and for some reason, something inside me quivers… "Who are you?" I ask in disbelief that someone could appear next to me without me sensing them.
The being laughs and scratches his head. "I go by many names, the primary one… is Lucifer Morningstar."
I freeze in place, the name ringing through me like a shock wave. Lucifer Morningstar. The original fallen angel. The first to rebel. Inside me, I feel all three essences reacting simultaneously—Estingoth's wary recognition, Azazel's complicated reverence, and Caleif's instinctive caution.
"Well, this day just keeps getting better," I manage to say, my voice steadier than I feel. "First a cosmic showdown with Samael, and now a visit from the literal Devil. Should I be flattered?"
Lucifer laughs, the sound somehow both beautiful and terrifying—like the perfect chord played on an instrument built from human bones. "You should be. I rarely make personal appearances these days." He studies me with eyes that shift between every color imaginable. "But you... you're something worth seeing firsthand."
I take a step back, my body automatically shifting into a defensive stance even as the remaining battle-energy drains from me. "What do you want?"
"Want?" He raises a perfect eyebrow. "Such a human question. So direct, so... limited." He circles me slowly, examining my transformed state with clinical interest. "I'm here to observe. To witness. This moment—what you've become—it changes everything."
"So I've been told," I reply dryly. "By pretty much everyone with an agenda."
Around us, the battlefield has gone completely still. Even Elara, never one to back down from a fight, has retreated to a safe distance. Valen stands frozen, his burning eyes wide with something that might be awe or terror. Roshan has placed himself protectively in front of the nearest group of students, though what protection he could offer against Lucifer Morningstar is questionable at best.
"Agendas," Lucifer repeats, amusement coloring his voice. "Yes, I suppose everyone has those. Even me. Even The Creator." He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can feel the impossible power radiating from him like heat from a star. "But mine might surprise you."
"Let me guess," I say, unable to help myself. "You want me to unmake reality so you can reshape it in your image? Get in line."
To my surprise, he throws his head back and laughs—a genuine, delighted sound that makes the air around us vibrate with harmonic resonance. "Oh, I like you, Nexus Being. No wonder The Creator took such an interest."
"Kamen," I correct him automatically. "My name is Kamen."
"Names are important," he agrees, suddenly serious. "They anchor us to ourselves when power would wash away identity." His eyes fix on mine with unsettling intensity. "Hold onto yours tightly in the days ahead. You'll need it."
A chill runs down my spine despite the warmth of the merged essences within me. "Is that a threat?"
"A warning," he clarifies. "From someone who knows what it's like to become something new, something that challenges the established order." He gestures around at the battlefield, at the destruction our conflict has wrought. "This was merely the opening salvo, Kamen Driscol. Samael will return once he's rationalized his defeat. And he won't be alone."
"Great," I mutter. "More cosmic enemies. Just what I needed."
"Not necessarily enemies," Lucifer says, his perfect features softening slightly. "Perhaps... reluctant allies, given the right circumstances."
"And what circumstances would those be?"
His smile is both beautiful and terrible—the smile of someone who has seen the beginning and end of everything and found it darkly amusing. "That depends entirely on what you choose to do with your newfound nature. Will you tear down the barriers between realms entirely? Reinforce them? Or find some middle path that allows for... controlled permeability?"
The question catches me off guard. I haven't had time to think beyond survival, beyond stopping Samael's immediate threat. The idea that I might have actual choices about how to reshape reality is simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying.
"I don't know," I admit, the honesty surprising even me. "I'm still figuring out what I can do, let alone what I should do."
Lucifer nods as if this is exactly the answer he expected. "Wisdom begins with acknowledging ignorance. You're already ahead of most who find themselves suddenly powerful."
Inside me, I feel the essences stirring with different reactions. Estingoth's wariness hasn't diminished, but there's also a grudging respect. Azazel's presence is complicated—a mixture of reverence and resentment toward the first angel to fall. And Caleif... her divine spark pulses with something like recognition, as if The Creator's touch within her somehow resonates with Lucifer's presence.
"Why are you really here?" I ask, cutting through the philosophical veneer. "You didn't show up just to give me cryptic advice."
His perfect smile widens. "Directness. Another quality I appreciate." He extends his hand, palm up, and a small flame appears—not the golden fire of Samael's judgment, but something older, deeper, multicolored and hypnotic. "I'm here to offer a gift."
I eye the flame suspiciously. "I've read enough stories to know better than to accept gifts from the Devil."
"Ah, but those stories were written by humans who never met me," he points out. "And I'm not offering this as the Devil, but as the first being who dared to question the natural order. The first to suggest that perhaps things could be... different."
The flame in his palm shifts and changes, forming into a small crystal that pulses with an inner light matching the tricolored energy flowing through my veins.
"What is it?" I ask, unable to mask my curiosity despite my suspicion.
"A fragment of the original barrier," he replies, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "From before the separation of realms, when everything existed in harmony. It contains the memory of that state—a blueprint, if you will, of what once was and could be again."
I stare at the crystal, feeling the merged essences within me responding to its presence. There's a resonance between us, as if the crystal recognizes what I've become.
"And what do you get out of giving me this?" I ask, still not reaching for it.
"Perspective," he says simply. "The chance to see what you might create with proper understanding. The opportunity to witness another rebellion against cosmic stagnation." His perfect features arrange themselves into an expression of surprising sincerity. "I've been alone in my perspective for a very long time, Kamen Driscol. It would be... refreshing... to see another approach."
I study him, trying to see beyond the perfect facade to whatever truth might lie beneath. But he's too ancient, too complex for me to read with any certainty.
"Kamen," Elara calls from a safe distance, her voice tight with concern. "Whatever he's offering, it's not worth it."
"She's wrong," Estingoth whispers within me. "This crystal... it contains knowledge we need."
"It's dangerous," Azazel counters. "Lucifer never gives without taking something in return."
"The choice is yours," Caleif adds, her presence warm and supportive. "But remember who you are, what anchors you."
I look from the crystal to Lucifer's face and back again. Then I make my decision.
"I'll take it," I say, reaching for the crystal. "But not as a gift. As information. Knowledge doesn't come with strings attached unless you let it."
His smile widens as I take the crystal from his palm. The moment my transformed fingers close around it, I feel a jolt of connection—as if I've just plugged into some cosmic database of information that was previously inaccessible.
"Use it wisely," Lucifer advises, already beginning to fade from view. "And remember—the most dangerous chains are the ones we place on ourselves in the name of order and safety."
With those parting words, he vanishes completely, leaving only a lingering scent of something impossible to describe—like lightning striking ancient stone, or the moment before dawn breaks over a pristine world.
The crystal pulses in my hand, warm and somehow alive. I can feel it integrating with the merged essences within me, adding yet another layer to whatever I'm becoming.
"Kamen?" Elara approaches cautiously, her weapons still drawn. "What did he give you?"
I open my palm to show her the crystal. "Knowledge, apparently. About how things were before the realms were separated."
"And you trust him?" she asks incredulously.
"Not even slightly," I admit. "But information is information. It's what you do with it that matters."
The transformation continues to recede as my energy depletes, the armor of living power fading back into my skin. I feel suddenly, overwhelmingly exhausted—not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Fighting Samael, absorbing his power, facing Lucifer... it's all been too much, too fast.
My knees buckle, and I would have collapsed entirely if Elara hadn't caught me.
"Whoa there," she says, supporting my weight with surprising strength. "Let's get you somewhere you can rest."
"The others," I manage to say, looking around at the battered survivors of our forces. "Are they—"
"They'll be fine," she assures me. "Roshan and Valen have things under control. You've done enough for one day."
As she helps me toward a makeshift medical area, I clutch the crystal tightly in my transformed hand. Whatever Lucifer's true motives, whatever this knowledge might reveal, I'm too exhausted to process it now.
But one thing is certain—the war for reality has only just begun. And I'm somehow at the center of it all, a nexus of possibilities that could either save or destroy everything.
No pressure or anything.