----Chapter 44----
The forest lay thick with tension.
Every tree and fallen branch seemed to shiver in anticipation, as though aware of the storm of power pulsing through the clearing.
Astares hovered slightly above the ground, her wings tucked close, eyes narrowing as golden aura hummed faintly around her.
The air itself seemed heavier near her, rippling with the subtle tremors of godly power suppressed in her child form.
She didn't speak. She didn't need to. The presence of Iblis, looming somewhere beyond the treeline, pressed on her like a physical weight.
Below her, Nortron knelt beside the unconscious Mera. The girl's chest rose and fell unevenly, her aura subdued but fragile.
His shoulders slumped. His hands rested lightly on Mera's robes, yet there was no energy in them, no attempt to stir the chaos. He had made his choice.
"I… I'm not going anymore," he said quietly, almost to himself, voice carrying the weight of surrender.
"I have no reason left to fight. Not here. Not anymore."
Astares' eyes flicked downward. Her wings flexed slightly, the tension in her muscles clear.
"If you harm her, you will pay for your life," she said softly, her voice a blade tempered in warning.
Nortron shook his head slowly.
"I won't. I have nothing left to give. No borrowed power, no marks of worthiness left… but I can still protect her."
Roc, the dreadfang, shifted beside him. Its massive, scaled head lowered, amber eyes glinting with ancient intelligence.
The beast exhaled softly, a low rumble vibrating through the clearing.
Nortron's hand drifted toward Roc's thick black fur instinctively, but the dreadfang's attention was on him.
"Are you sure?" Nortron asked, voice tinged with doubt.
Roc stepped forward slowly, brushing its snout gently against Nortron's shoulder. The gesture was tender, almost affectionate, a quiet reassurance that seemed to melt the weight pressing on him.
Astares' golden eyes studied the scene. Her wings flexed again, the air vibrating with restrained power.
Enix, standing just behind her, observed in silence. His black coat fluttered lightly, the faint shimmer of aura clinging to him like a shadow. He crouched slightly, voice firm but measured.
"Nortron… losing your old power doesn't make you weak. True strength is in what you protect and who you care for."
Nortron's gaze lifted, a flicker of clarity breaking through the storm of his resignation. Roc nudged his side again, echoing Enix's words, anchoring the moment.
Astares finally relaxed slightly, wings spreading a little in acknowledgment. The tension in her shoulders eased, though the storm ahead was still waiting.
Enix nodded at Roc, and the massive creature understood instantly. It would remain behind with Nortron, guarding Mera, silent and vigilant.
Astares' eyes returned to the horizon. Her aura shimmered faintly, golden light twisting around her form.
"Then it's time," she whispered.
Her wings unfurled in a sweep of shimmering blue, the gust carrying leaves and loose debris in its wake. She launched herself into the air, a streak of light against the darkened forest.
Enix followed, boots barely touching the ground, cloak snapping behind him like a living shadow. Their movements were deliberate, precise—two figures racing toward the inevitable clash with Iblis, the corrupted dagger, and the fate waiting at the altar.
Behind them, the forest seemed to bend and pulse. Whispers of mana and aura surged in their wake. Even Roc's tail swept across the soil, stirring motes of residual power, as if sensing the gathering tempest.
-----
Meanwhile, deeper in the forest, Azre exhaled slowly as the last traces of corrupted mana unraveled beneath her palms.
The golden threads of her healing aura faded from Deran's chest, the torn flesh finally knitting shut enough for his breathing to steady. The dark veins that had once crawled along his skin were gone now, purged, at least for the moment. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled them back.
"That should…" she murmured under her breath, voice tight from the strain.
Deran's breathing evened out. And just as the tension in the clearing began to settle, a low groan came from behind them.
Bob stirred. His fingers twitched weakly against the dirt before his eyes slowly cracked open, unfocused at first. A pained breath escaped his lips as awareness crawled back into his body.
Beside him, Bruce shifted as well, his head rolling slightly against the roots of the fallen tree they had been propped against earlier.
"…We're not dead," Bruce muttered hoarsely.
"Unfortunately," Bob rasped, attempting—and failing—to push himself upright with one arm. The moment he tried, his hand buckled beneath his own weight.
Through blurred vision, he caught sight of Azre and the others already preparing to move. Bob swallowed hard before forcing the words out.
"Go…"
Azre's head turned toward him.
"Leave us here," he said, voice rough but steady enough to carry. Bruce gave a faint nod beside him.
"We'll just slow you down like this," he added quietly.
"Once we can stand… we'll catch up."
His jaw tightened.
"…Still gotta find our captain."
"Alright," Azre said softly, giving them a small nod.
"Just… stay safe, both of you."
Bob and Bruce exchanged a glance, weak but determined, before settling back against the roots. They'd recover soon enough—they'd catch up later.
Not far ahead, the forest trembled with unseen power.
Branches snapped underfoot as Azre ran, her eyes scanning every fluctuation of mana that pulsed in the air. The residue of the previous battles hung like smoke, clinging to the trunks and twisting in the breeze.
Faetalis moved ahead, axe in hand, muscles coiled like a predator.
"Stay close," she muttered, her voice steady.
"I've got your backs."
Deran struggled to keep up, glancing down at the small Incan boy beside him. Dorie's breathing was uneven, but his hands clutched the straps of his satchel tightly, as though holding onto something sacred. His words came in broken Etherissian, rough and halting.
"…We… go… fast… danger… near," he said, eyes darting to shadows that seemed to ripple unnaturally in the distance.
Azre's gaze flicked toward him, sharp and commanding.
"We need to hurry. No time to waste."
"Gotcha," Faetalis replied with a grin, crouching slightly to scoop both Dorie and Deran up.
"This is much faster. Grab on tight, lads."
They surged forward, moving through the forest in a controlled blur of motion. Every step was measured, every glance drawn to the faint pulses of aura they sensed far ahead, like ripples on water, indicating presence, power, danger.
Azre's mind tightened around the strongest flare first: a familiar, almost godlike aura slicing through the forest air. Her lips parted slightly as she realized what it meant.
"That… that's Astares," she breathed.
A gust of wind cut past them suddenly, carrying the scent of ozone and power. Leaves and debris whipped around as a streak of azure wings tore the air.
Astares flew ahead, the golden glow of her suppressed aura glinting faintly as she streaked toward the distant clearing.
Behind her, another figure followed with quiet determination—Enix. His black coat snapped in the wind like living shadows, aura rippling faintly around him with each step, scanning for threats and calculating the safest path forward.
Neither Enix nor Astares seemed to notice Azre and her group; their urgency left no room for distraction.
Azre's group slowed instinctively, letting Faetalis's grip keep them steady. Deran's head swiveled toward the direction Astares and Enix had gone.
"That's… them," he murmured, pointing. Dorie's voice cracked as he added.
"Mera…"
Azre caught the subtle threads of aura from each of the others—the fragile pulse of Mera, the steady aura of Roc, the chaotic flicker of recent battle—and realized the full picture.
"We follow them," Azre said, her tone firm.
"We can't waste any more time." She glanced toward the narrow road ahead, the one that led straight into the heart of the coming battle.
"This is the path to the final fight."
Faetalis stepped forward beside them, boots grinding softly against the dirt.
"So… this is where we part ways," she said quietly, eyes shifting toward Deran and Dorie.
"You two need to head to where Roc and Mera are. Now."
Deran hesitated for a moment, his grip tightening slightly before he looked up at them.
"…Thank you," he said, voice quiet but sincere. His eyes moved from Azre to Faetalis, the words meaning far more than he could put into them.
"For saving me."
Azre's expression softened, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little.
"You don't have to thank us," she replied gently.
"Just… make sure you both get there safely."
Faetalis let out a quiet breath through her nose, crossing her arms and giving him a small nod.
"Next time," she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, "try not to get yourself killed before we show up."
Deran gave a weak laugh, nodding once more.
"Yeah… I'll try."
He turned to Dorie, who was already looking back the way they came. The two began to head off down the forest path, steps slow at first, then a little quicker, urgency settling back into their pace.
After a few steps, Deran stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. Dorie followed his gaze, raising his small hand high. He did the same, offering a quiet wave, something between gratitude and goodbye.
Then, without another word, they turned again and continued toward where Mera was waiting.
As they surged forward, the forest seemed to pulse with anticipation. Every leaf, every shadow, every distant echo of mana told them the same thing: the convergence was near.
The final stage of the arc was set. The altar of Daath awaited, and Iblis had already begun his calculations.
Azre's eyes scanned ahead, heart steady.
For a moment, the forest seemed to pause. Leaves hung mid-sway, the wind hushed, and the faint pulse of Deran's hope lingered in the air.
-----
High above the treetops, the air shifted. A ripple of darkness cut through the canopy, subtle yet precise, like a predator sensing the heartbeat of its prey.
Iblis paused mid-step, shadows coiling around him as if aware of the coming storm. His senses tingled, drawn to the pulse of power racing through the forest ahead.
Astares.
Even in her half-formed, demi-human shape, the aura radiating from her pressed against his mind like the tide crashing against stone—immense, raw, and impossibly alive.
A faint, predatory smile curved his lips.
"So… the little sea lord comes," he murmured, voice low, smooth, and dangerous, bending the air itself.
The shadows around him writhed, coiling like living serpents. He leaned slightly forward, every motion deliberate.
"And she brings the heat of the world with her."
Iblis' gaze sharpened. The hunt was beginning.