EXT. BROKEN PASS – BATTLEFIELD – NIGHT
Ash storms roar across the shattered canyon. Blood steams where Riku's body lies in two silent halves. The Deathsong—Velythar, Third Sigil Demon—stands motionless, claw dripping black ichor that glows like molten moonlight.
Narration: A single strike. A single heartbeat. A warrior ranked far above Arven is gone as if he never lived.
Arven staggers back, katana trembling in his grip.
Arven: ...he... one-shot Riku...
His voice cracks against the howling wind.
Grace: (shaking, katana raised) That— that was impossible... he outranked us both.
Velythar tilts his head, grin widening.
Velythar: Strong? Hah. Your "leaderboards" amuse me. Numbers, ranks, records—nothing but toys for dying humans.
He flicks a drop of Riku's blood from his claw.
Velythar: Did you really believe strength buys time? Death only charges interest.
Grace edges in front of Arven, knuckles white on her katana.
Grace: We can't fight this. We need to retreat—now—
Before the next word leaves her lips, the world blurs.
Velythar is suddenly in front of them. Not a teleport—just speed beyond comprehension. Ash trails like torn fabric behind his movement.
Arven: (gasping) He—
Claws flash—
Steel clashes from the side. A wall of bodies intercepts the strike.
Kwame Oba slams forward, war gauntlets flaring with crimson sparks. Dimitri Dunyasha follows, longsword screaming against the demon's claw. Tanaka Ren darts in, spiked chain snapping like a coiled serpent. Kairo rushes through the storm, carrying a barely conscious Cassian Damaris, her black halberd dragging across the ground and sparking against stone. Behind them surge more survivors—Kael Draven with his twin iron gauntlets, Julian Reyes gripping his hated short dagger, Lyra Mei twirling twin blades, Elias Ward spinning spear and staff, Sofía Alvarez flashing her rapier, Viktor Novák leveling his gun. Suppliers and late squads pour in. Even the fourteen escapees who once fled the hundred arrive, eyes wide with terror but weapons drawn.
Narration: Fifty-eight souls in total. Every remaining piece of humanity now stands within one kill-zone.
Velythar: laughing All in one place. Delightful. If I burst here—one breath, one scream—your game ends. No winners. No salvation.
He spreads his arms. Black sound gathers like a living storm. The ground quakes, the air warps, every survivor feels their bones vibrate with approaching annihilation.
Grace: (whisper) No... we can't stop that...
Kwame: Hold the line! Do not break!
Velythar throws his head back, voice rising to a murderous crescendo.
Velythar: DIE—TOGETHER!
And then—silence.
The ash stops mid-swirl. Sparks hang frozen in the air. Even the roar of the storm vanishes. Time itself halts.
Velythar's eyes flicker. His grin falters.
Velythar: ...What... is this?
He tries to move—fails. For the first time, fear slithers across his perfect face.
Space behind him fractures like black glass. A void blooms, swallowing light. Before any human can blink, the Deathsong is yanked backward—
—and disappears.
No roar, no slash of speed. Gone.
The survivors stand stunned, weapons half-raised. The frozen ash slowly falls, movement returning in a whisper of displaced seconds.
Arven: Did... did anyone do that?
Grace: Not me. Not anyone here.
Kwame lowers his war gauntlets, sweat steaming off his arms.
Kwame: Then who?
Kairo straightens, eyes blazing with resolve.
Kairo: I'm not waiting for answers. If he's still nearby, I can find him. Fast.
He slings Cassian into Kwame's arms and steps toward the dark horizon.
Grace: Kairo, stop! We need to stay together—
Before she finishes, he's gone—an afterimage of speed vanishing into the ash.
The group exhales as one, shock and dread mixing with the smell of scorched stone. Medics hurry to bind wounds. Dimitri plants his longsword in the ground, voice low.
Dimitri: We hold here. If that thing returns, scattered bodies won't matter. We survive together or not at all.
They begin tending the injured, sharing water and whispered prayers. Arven kneels beside Riku's remains, silent until a sudden pressure crushes the air.
A voice—cold, infinite—slides into every mind at once.
Azrael (voice): Children of dust... brave but hopeless. I am Azrael, the quiet end. Your ranks mean nothing. Your courage amuses me. When the next trumpet sounds, all breaths are mine.
The survivors clutch their heads as the words vibrate like a second heartbeat.
Arven: (shouting into the storm) Azrael! We will kill you! Do you hear me? WE WILL!
The voice fades with a chuckle that feels older than the world.
INT. UNKNOWN LOCATION – EARTH – NIGHT
A quiet office high above a sleeping city. Moonlight spills across polished floors. Gabriel stands by a window, watching the distant storm-light on the horizon.
He smiles—proud, almost fatherly.
Gabriel: Softly My soldiers... stronger than I dared hope. Even Deathsong bows when the true game begins.
He turns toward a bank of dark monitors, eyes reflecting endless data streams.
Gabriel: Let the next trumpet sound!!
To be continued...