EXT. CRATER – NIGHT
The battlefield falls silent. Demon corpses dissolve into drifting smoke, leaving the air thick with sulfur and blood. The survivors cluster near the shattered supplies, some laughing weakly, others trembling. For the first time, they feel they might endure.
Then—a voice enters every mind at once.
Mr. Gabriel (voice in head): You have done well. Three hundred demons slain. Thirty-two of you remain. Stand tall—you have proven yourselves. This is only the beginning.
The survivors flinch. Then, like a spark in the dark, hope spreads. Faces lift. Tears break. Some collapse to their knees, clutching their weapons like lifelines.
Sofía Alvarez: (smiling through tears) He... he can reach us. He's still watching.
Kwame Oba: (grinning) Good. Then let him see us break Hell itself.
Narration: Where despair had ruled, hope flickered. Gabriel's voice steadied them, made them believe survival was not madness but destiny.
EXT. CRATER EDGE – CONTINUOUS
Arven moves alone through the drifting ash. His blade scrapes the stone, his shoulders tense. The silence presses heavy—until Gabriel's voice cuts sharp in his skull.
Mr. Gabriel (voice in Arven's head): A sigil demon is near you. Stay sharp.
Arven halts, every nerve on edge. The ash swirls, shifting. A figure emerges through the haze, slow, deliberate. Their sword drips black ichor. Their voice breaks the silence first—steady, almost cold.
???: You shouldn't be here. Not alone.
Arven snaps his blade up. The wind shifts. The smoke thins. His eyes widen in disbelief.
Arven: (staggered) ...Grace?
For a moment, relief—then the warning sears again in his head.
Mr. Gabriel (voice in Arven's head): The sigil is close. Do not falter.
His grip tightens. His chest hardens like stone. He raises his blade at her, voice sharp with pain.
Arven: (cold) So it's true. You made it this far... but why does it feel like you're standing against me?
Grace's eyes narrow. Her own head burns with the same voice.
Mr. Gabriel (voice in Grace's head): A sigil demon is near you.
Her heart twists. She sees the blade pointed at her—and knows. To her, the traitor is standing right in front of her.
Grace: (quiet, bitter) I didn't want to believe it. But I should have known.
Arven: (snapping) Known what? That you'd vanish, only to come back like this?
Grace: (voice breaking, low) That you'd be the one Gabriel warned us about.
They circle each other, blades poised. The ash churns with their breath. The silence is heavier than the battle they just survived.
Arven (in his mind): Grace... so this is why you disappeared. You were never with us—you've been with them all along.
Grace (in her mind): Arven... of all people, I never thought you'd betray humanity.
Arven: (hoarse, shaking) I never wanted this. But if this is what you've chosen—then I won't hesitate.
Grace: (steel in her voice) Nor will I.
Their blades meet in a violent clash, sparks bursting, the sound echoing across the crater. Smoke coils around them as steel screams against steel, each convinced the other is the sigil Gabriel warned of.
EXT. SUPPLY RING – SAME TIME
At the camp, Elias Ward shouts orders, organizing defenses around the supplies. Riku wipes blood from his cheek, smirking through exhaustion.
Riku: Fourteen. Anyone here higher?
Survivor: (snorting) You're keeping score?
Riku: (grinning wider) Damn right. If I die here, I'll die with a record.
Dark laughter spreads among the weary fighters. Kwame slams his hammer into the stone, his voice carrying like thunder.
Kwame Oba: Every kill buys us tomorrow. Remember that. Every kill is proof we belong here.
The survivors nod, steel returning to their eyes. Hope burns with the same fire as their blades.
EXT. WESTERN RIDGE – SAME TIME
Cassian stands alone amid heaps of corpses. Her spear drips black blood. Her face is calm, her movements sharp, relentless. Solitude is not her weakness—it is her clarity.
The sky above trembles. A deafening crack rips across the ash clouds. Flame ignites in the heavens, forming a massive burning sigil—a crown etched in fire.
From its blaze descends a figure. Wings of seared light scorch the air. Crimson armor glows like molten steel. A halo of living flame crowns his head. His presence crushes the earth beneath him.
Narration: The 8th Sigil of Halo. Ozyth.
The ground splits as Ozyth lands, dust and ash erupting outward. His burning gaze fixes on Cassian, his voice deep, ancient, resonant.
Ozyth: (smirking) Ahh... it has been too long since a human dared to stand before me without trembling.
Cassian smirks, blood staining her lips. She lifts her blade, fearless, brutal.
Cassian: Then come to me.
Ozyth's wings flare wide, firestorm curling at their edges. The battlefield itself holds its breath.
To be continued...