The King's ethereal blade stopped against the translucent palms of Rylagh's Demon God. Twelve arms of the manifested demon god locked the descending spears and the King's sword in a deadlock that shook the sky. The manifestation stood as an unbroken wall between the mortal world and whatever waited beyond the fractured dome.
Below, the last mages forced spiral barriers into existence. Spears that pierced the dome were caught, twisted, and shattered. Where no barriers remained, the spears found flesh. Bodies crumpled where they stood. Others vanished beneath collapsing towers and ruptured earth. Between the quakes, the clashing powers, and the unseen forces tearing through the kingdom, Drudar's population had already been reduced to a fraction of what it once was.
Far beyond the ruined horizon, a thin line of gold touched the edge of the darkness. Dawn was coming, whether anyone lived to see it or not.
A voice tore across the heavens, raw with fury.
"Rylagh! Get out of this King's way!"
The King's long hair streamed behind him like black flame. His grip tightened. The ethereal blade swelled, its light sharpening into something almost solid.
From above, between the clouds, another voice answered—vast, enraged, and older than the kingdom itself.
"Mortal. You dare stand before this Seat?"
The Demon God did not move. Its palms remained locked around the King's sword and simultaneously stopped the onslaught dive of the spears.
"Have you already forgotten what happened the last time?"
Below, Rylagh's body began to fail. Blood sprayed from rupturing veins. His frame trembled as though something inside him were trying to claw its way free. Lythria and Myrieth stood frozen, faces drained of color. The terror of watching their father come apart held them more tightly than any binding spell. Sylwen, Laria, Aowyn, and even Vryger could only stare, their earlier defiance reduced to silence.
The King's form had already blackened. Charred flesh cracked and flaked away with every movement, falling like ash from a dying fire. Only the emerald runes along his blade still burned with undiminished light. The blade seemed to stretch into infinity, yet even its boundless edge was halted by a six-armed manifestation.
Threads of green energy lashed outward, carving deep into the Demon God's translucent body. Six of the upper arms were severed in a storm of pearlescent petals that dissolved before they could touch the ground.
The manifestation shuddered. White light began leaking from between its ribs, spreading through its enormous frame until the entire figure seemed filled with something that did not belong to this world.
"Mortal—this time I will refine your soul—"
The voice cut off.
The Demon God simply ceased to exist.
No explosion. No final roar. One moment it filled the sky; the next, only disturbed space remained where its body had stood. A spiral of wind rose and fell in its absence.
For a heartbeat the King's blade hung alone in the heavens. Then it met the descending spears once more. A massive hole tore open in the multicolored dome.
Where the manifestation had stood on the northern side of the castle, golden leaves suddenly bloomed into existence and drifted downward. Ash and dust cleared, revealing a woman standing amid the ruins. Blood covered one side of her face. In her arms lay an unconscious man whose chest was a ruin of torn flesh. She murmured a single word, and the bleeding stopped.
She wore the green robes and crown of Mythria's queen. The man in her arms was Rylagh.
Lythria and Myrieth's voices broke at the same time.
"Mother—"
"Please… save Father."
The Queen of Mythria did not answer at once. She looked down at the ruined body she carried, her expression unreadable. Only the slight tightening of her fingers betrayed any emotion at all.
Before she could move, another figure plummeted from a fractured void and struck the ground hard. Blood spilled from her lips as she she slowly pushed herself upright. Her extravagant dress was torn; her long legs were bare and streaked with dirt. She wiped her mouth and looked toward the broken sky.
"Damn it… he's still chasing us."
Lythria's mother gave her a side glance.
Sylwen and the others bowed despite their injuries to Lythria's mother.
"Queen…"
The Queen raised her head. Her voice remained calm even as blood continued to stain her robes.
"The entire region has been sealed by spatial manipulation. If Rylagh had not forced his Demon God incarnation, I would never have reached you."
She glanced once at the fractured sky.
"We are leaving. Forget the artifact. We can interfere no further."
"Mother—what about Father?"
"I am not certain. We leave now."
Lythria's face tightened. The Queen continued, almost gently:
"You all did well. Let fate decide who claims the painting."
Myrieth watched her mother in silence. She had always known how deeply the Queen loved Rylagh. The coldness in her voice now felt wrong—too complete, too final. As if something older and heavier than the present battle was speaking through her. Was it because of that grey commander, Clayren?
Meanwhile, One of the younger members hesitated.
"Who… is she, Queen?"
The Queen's gaze shifted to the injured woman who had fallen from the void. A faint frown touched her brow.
The woman tried to stand, swayed, and pushed Laria's hand away when she moved to steady her.
"Don't. I'm fine."
She met the Queen's eyes.
"Take them out of here. I'll deal with the old man."
Before anyone could speak, she was gone.
The Queen turned to her daughters without nodding or aggreing.
"We are moving. Sylwen—keep them close."
A sphere of distorted darkness formed above Queen's palm. Space around it began to twist.
She muttered, "Void Break."
The technique expanded. The group rose into the air.
Lythria suddenly stepped forward, tears cutting clean paths through the dust on her face.
"Mother… can you save Veer and the group ?"
The Queen just looked at her for a moment.
"Please."
The word left Lythria's lips like something torn free.
Memories rose without mercy: the first time she had met Veer, the awkward poetry he spoke as if the words embarrassed him, the way his gaze had lingered on her in the flower fields—startled, almost reverent, as though he had not expected beauty to exist so quietly. She remembered the celebration beneath the great tree, the careless laughter, the brief illusion that she had come here only for training, only for him.
It had been a lie.
She had come for the painting. The artifact stolen from Mythria. Everything else—Veer, the ruins, the pretense of experience—had been secondary. A convenient story she had told herself so the truth would not feel so cold. But there was a reality as the consequence of her actions. A illusion when its veiled was lifted she found she was attached to it.
No she had come to love Veer. But was this love? She was not sure. But her heart ached.
Now the lie and the truth stood on opposite sides of her heart.
She looked at the faces around her: her clansmen, bloodied and waiting. She felt the weight of her father's ruined body in her mother's arms. Her father's memory struck her with the force of a blade—Rylagh shielding her from the time she was a child, again and again, without hesitation, without demand for repayment.
Veer's imagined disappointment flickered across her mind. Her father's silence pressed harder.
The Queen's expression did not change. She offered no answer, no permission, no condemnation.
The Void Break continued to widen. Lythria's gaze moved between the man who had protected her all her life and the distant battlefield where, in her mind, another man still lay broken. Her fingers curled into fists. For a moment her body leaned toward the ruins, toward the choice that would make her a daughter who stayed.
Then the strength left her.
She lowered her head. Her knees touched the rising air.
The Queen watched her in silence. A faint sigh escaped her—almost too soft to hear, and almost disappointed.
The void closed around them.
They were gone.
Dawn spilled across the ruined horizon. Golden light reached the broken towers, the blood-soaked earth, and the countless corpses scattered throughout Drudar. The darkness had hidden the true scale of the devastation. Morning revealed it without mercy.
...
Meanwhile, inside the dome of darkness, Riessa stared at the doll-like girl standing before her.
Welsria looked almost unreal. Delicate features. Regal black clothing. Expressionless eyes. She seemed less like a living woman and more like something carefully crafted to perfection.
She turned to Arvus.
"Arvus."
"Yes, Princess?"
"Where is my brother's body?"
"The Red Knight, John, killed him. After that... we lost track of the remains."
Welsria nodded. No emotion touched her face.
"And Canthia?"
Arvus hesitated.
"She appears to have sided with the enemy after clashing with Caria and Sythris."
"Sythris?"
"Yes, Princess." His eyes flicked toward the bound Riessa. "The body we need for the soul—"
"Enough."
Arvus's voice faltered.
"She was never captured."
Welsria's gaze shifted to Riessa.
"My sister should have secured that boy at least. Veer."
"I am afraid not."
"Explain."
Arvus lowered his head.
"Veer Starweaver. He is the strangest knight we have ever encountered. He survives situations that should have killed him many times over, as if something—or someone—keeps pulling him back from the edge."
Riessa listened in silence, confusion and unease deepening with every word.
Welsria fell quiet. Her eyes narrowed as she studied Riessa.
"Star... and shadows."
Something flickered behind those beautiful, empty eyes—an understanding that reached further than the words themselves.
In the distant sky, the faint afterimage of the twelve-armed Demon God still lingered. Welsria's voice was soft.
"The Giant Killer remains strong, even after losing most of his power."
They watched in stunned silence as the manifestation fought above and then suddenly vanished.
Riessa's pupils slowly turned crimson.
She understood.
The moment Welsria had spoken the word "Devoid," the surrounding space had rigidified. Riessa's shadows had not merely been blocked; they had been forced into a state where movement through darkness became impossible. Welsria, a master of the same domain, had sensed the exact instant Riessa's technique disturbed that rigidity and severed her connection.
Devoid could temper abstraction itself.
But the dome was different.
Inside this closed darkness, Riessa could still influence the abstract. The solution was simple in theory: break the dome, then strike. And her Autumn Flower Bloom was made for exactly that kind of rupture.
A coincidence almost too perfect.
She needed to get out. She needed to reach him.
Her lips moved silently as she thought, "So that's what you did."
Understanding was enough.
Shadow energy erupted from her body. The golden chains around her wrists trembled, then cracked.
"Princess—!" Arvus screamed.
The chains exploded.
Riessa's figure blurred. Within the span of a single breath, she was outside the dome, crimson petals already swirling around her.
Without the dome's rigidity, Welsria was no longer above her.
"Autumn Flower Bloom."
A vast lotus unfolded. Countless crimson petals erupted into a violent storm. At the center, Riessa's body itself seemed to become the blooming flower.
Arvus was hurled backward. The feathered man never even had time to scream before the shockwave crushed him into the ruined ground. He smashed through several walls, blood spraying from his mouth.
Welsria vanished into the shadows, but not quickly enough. A crimson blade grazed her side, staining her black clothing with bright red. The force sent her crashing into the earth. She rolled several times before finally coming to a stop.
The dome of darkness fractured, then collapsed entirely.
Welsria pushed herself upright, coughing. Blood stained the veil covering her mouth. For the first time, her calm expression cracked—genuine shock flickering across her face.
"Riessa... the Shadow of the Nameless Temple?" Welsria muttered slowly as she stood.
Riessa stood several meters away, her red dress snapping in the wind. Her crimson eyes never left Welsria.
Welsria looked slightly rigid as Riessa took her blade in both hands.
Riessa asked, "This guy told me that the Puppet Master and you are enemies."
She paused.
"But the Puppet Master came with the Knights of your kingdom."
Her eyes narrowed.
"So what is the truth? You will give me the answer."
She disappeared.
In the next instant, her blade was already embedded in the doll.
Welsria's pupils dilated as shadows stretched from beneath her feet, but she was too late.
A blade emerged from her other side.
Welsria's body had been pierced.
Yet Riessa felt a chill.
Welsria smiled.
There was no blood.
Welsria's body was nothing but a doll.
The moment the blade pierced her, the doll's body began to move mechanically.
Riessa cursed.
"Damn it..."
Welsria smiled and said, "Of course we are enemies. But our interests are aligned."
Her body moved again mechanically.
Then, suddenly, it exploded, engulfing Riessa in the blast.
The morning light continued to spread across the ruined kingdom, indifferent to who still stood and who had already fallen.
Far away, in the secret chambers of Breavan, another woman who looked identical to the doll stood among countless decapitated heads. Welsria suddenly coughed, blood spilling from her mouth.