Chapter Summary: Stand proud, you are strong.
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White fire still devoured the sky.
For a long while after the explosion, Nephis could see nothing beyond endless radiance. The world had dissolved into heat and destruction, reduced to a sea of burning white, where nothing else seemed capable of existing.
She watched numbly as the remaining cinders drifted slowly around her.
It felt distant, far away.
The pain remained, of course. It coursed relentlessly through her body, vast enough to eclipse all other sensations after detonating six cores at once.
Everything else seemed muted now, buried somewhere beneath layers of ash and fire. Nephis hovered amidst the fading inferno with eerie calm, almost as though she were observing the battle from afar rather than being a part of it.
Shadows slowly unraveled from her form, leaving only three behind to continue empowering her.
A second later, Sunny separated from her and reappeared by her side, his silhouette unstable for a brief moment before solidifying once more. He was exhausted, an equally tired part of her mind noted. What would she give for a nice, comfortable bed at this very moment...
When the flames gradually started to recede, she forced her weary mind to put aside the fantasy.
It took a few more eternal instants before the view finally cleared, and when it did, Nephis saw a massive sphere of melted steel suspended in the air.
Hundreds upon hundreds of swords had fused together into a single shapeless mass beneath the force of the detonation. Molten metal still glowed faintly across its surface while the surrounding air warped from the lingering heat.
For one more second, the sphere remained still.
Then it cracked.
A fracture spread slowly through the slag before the entire thing split apart, raining down to the ground far below in a shower of metal.
Anvil stepped out from within, and a small, vindictive flame burned brighter in her chest.
The Supreme no longer appeared untouched.
His armor had partially melted in several places, portions of dark steel fused unevenly against damaged flesh. Burns covered much of his body, while his face had been harshly disfigured by the attack, the flesh melted, and harrowing to behold. His hair had been burned away entirely, leaving bare, charred skin behind.
And yet...
The faint detachment clouding Nephis' thoughts did not stop her from understanding the truth immediately.
It was not enough. They had wounded him, but they had not truly stopped him.
A faint trace of horror stirred somewhere deep inside the cold emptiness left behind by the flames at that thought. It was their last trump card, and they had failed.
Anvil slowly raised his right hand, and a bracelet appeared around his wrist, fashioned from a pale green material resembling smooth bone. Soft light radiated gently from it, washing over his injuries.
Wherever the glow touched, the damage began to fade.
Burnt flesh restored itself, and damaged skin smoothed over. Even the melted armor slowly separated from his body.
Sunny let out a soft, shaky breath at the sight. "We should stand and fight."
His voice sounded tired beneath [Weaver's Mask]. Desperate. Almost hopeless. Despite that, he did not sound as though he truly wanted to do it.
Nephis glanced aside briefly.
The Ivory Tower had completely disappeared over the horizon, not a trace of it left to be seen. And yet, it was still too slow.
"There's no point," she said quietly, raising her sword once more. "The Ivory Tower won't reach the Stormsea for another half an hour."
Sunny remained silent for a moment, then laughed dejectedly, already lifting his odachi. "Yeah, I was hoping you would say that."
"Me too," she whispered, studying his condition.
The [Onyx Shell] was cracked in several places, outright broken in many others. His breathing sounded uneven, and every movement carried traces of strain.
She didn't need a mirror to know that she looked the same, or worse. The fire still burning around her felt dimmer now, and painful enough that simply maintaining her wings required titanic effort.
Ahead of them, Anvil took another step forward, healthier by the second, his will pressing down upon the battlefield once more.
Nephis tightened her grip on the [Blessing of the Moon], bracing herself. Then she and Sunny surged toward the Supreme again, determined to continue fighting for as long as they could.
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"Hold!"
Shim's voice rose above the chaos, sharp enough to cut through the din of battle.
Gorn tightened his grip on his weapons and forced himself to stand firm.
The Ivory Tower had become a battlefield in the truest sense of the word. Vegetation that once covered the floating island had been trampled flat or torn apart entirely. Broken stone littered the ground alongside discarded weapons and fallen bodies. Some groaned weakly where they had collapsed.
Others remained still.
Ahead of him, another strike descended, and Gorn raised all four arms at once, barely managing to block the massive halberd crashing toward him. The impact forced him backward several steps, his boots grinding against fractured stone.
His opponent pressed the advantage immediately.
The Valor Master was enormous by all standards, but Gorn's Ascended Ability made him larger still, stretching his frame until he towered above most fighters on the battlefield. In his hands, the massive greatswords looked almost weightless.
Every attack carried terrifying reach and strength, and yet somehow, the other man was matching him blow for blow.
Gorn twisted aside from one swing and retaliated with a flurry of slashes from his greatswords, but the other man blocked them with frustrating ease before answering with another heavy strike.
Pain flared across Gorn's shoulder where the edge glanced off his armor, but he forced himself to ignore it.
Nearby, Firekeepers continued battling desperately against the advancing Valor forces. Steel rang constantly through the air while distant explosions shook the Ivory Tower every few seconds.
Another exchange forced him backward again, exhaustion creeping deeper into his limbs with every passing second. Blood already stained parts of his armor, and more than one healer had shouted for him to retreat toward the rear lines.
He had refused then, and he refused now. Others needed healing far more than he did.
He gritted his teeth and pushed forward once more, blocking his opponent's halberd despite the screaming protest of his muscles.
Gods, but he hated Valor.
First came the attack on the Immortal Flame manor. Two Firekeepers had died in that assault. People he had known personally. People he had trained with, joked with, shared meals beside.
Friends.
And now Valor had come again, tearing through the Ivory Tower without hesitation. Gorn didn't even want to think about how many more of his friends might already be dead.
The giant Master lunged suddenly, his halberd sweeping toward him in a devastating strike far faster than any before it. Gorn knew instantly that he would not be able to dodge or block in time.
The strike crashed into him hard enough to send pain tearing through his body, but instead of retreating, he forced himself forward through it, sacrificing one of his arms to retaliate. While one of his greatswords clattered to the ground, the other broke past his opponent's defense.
The large man staggered before collapsing heavily onto the broken ground, his head missing.
Gorn stumbled back several steps himself, breathing unevenly as exhaustion threatened to drag him down with it. He forced himself to remain standing, raising his remaining weapon to meet the next opponent despite how much he wanted to do nothing but lie down and close his eyes.
A part of him found all of this darkly hilarious.
Many years ago, back when he was just a poor kid in an orphanage -though thankfully not one in the Outskirts- and the Spell infected him, he had thought things might finally improve after he overcame his Nightmare. For the first time in his life, he had believed luck might actually turn in his favor.
A stupid thought in hindsight, one that had been proven wrong when the Spell sent him to the Forgotten Shore. A bitter smile crossed his face.
"Joke's on me," Gorn muttered quietly. "Thinking life could do anything but get worse."
Then he steadied himself and glanced toward the distant sky, where the faint remnants of that massive explosion still lingered, illuminating the horizon.
And despite everything -despite the pain and exhaustion and fear pressing down from all sides- he still found himself praying silently for salvation.
Not from the gods, but from Lady Nephis.
The first person who had ever given him hope, and the only one who had ever truly fulfilled it.
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The damage remained unpleasantly painful, lingering beneath restored flesh like heat trapped inside cooling metal, but Anvil no longer considered it dangerous.
The bracelet continued to emit its pale radiance steadily, undoing the worst of the destruction little by little. Burned skin regenerated beneath its light, while sections of warped armor gradually separated from his body. The process was not instantaneous, yet it was more than sufficient for the situation at hand.
What interested him far more was the state of the two Saints opposing him.
Changing Star and Black Star had continued fighting after unleashing that monstrous attack, but the deterioration in their condition had become increasingly obvious with every exchange. Their movements lacked the sharpness they had displayed earlier in the battle, hidden weakness seeping through despite their best efforts to conceal it. Changing Star's flames fluctuated unevenly around her at times, while Sunless no longer wielded his shadows with the same relentless abundance as before. Most importantly, both of them were nearly depleted of essence.
They had long since reached the point where continuing the battle was no longer a matter of victory, but merely stubborn defiance.
And still, they refused to stop.
Part of him couldn't help but feel excited. A beast was at its most dangerous when it had no way out, after all.
What would they do? With what scheme would they surprise him next? Anvil couldn't wait to see.
He intercepted another strike from Sunless and diverted it aside before directing several swords toward Changing Star simultaneously, forcing her backward under the pressure. The sky trembled once more as steel collided with shadows and flames for a brief instant before what little remained of his swords broke through.
They retreated at once, swallowed by shadows that carried them far away from danger.
Nephis and Sunless shared a look, and shadows surged outward abruptly, completely blocking them from sight.
Anvil reacted immediately, his will sharpening while the swords surrounding him shifted into defensive positions. Whatever they planned to do next, it would be dangerous, and they had more than proven themselves to be a threat, small as it might be.
The darkness lasted only a single second, and when it dispersed, Sunless remained flying before him.
Alone, without the shroud of fire that had covered his form ever since the battle began.
Changing Star was gone.
Anvil's eyes snapped instinctively toward her retreating figure as she flew toward the distant horizon, white flames trailing faintly behind her. Genuine confusion touched his mind at the sight.
Never in a thousand years had he believed that she would make such a choice, much less willingly abandon the battlefield while Sunless remained behind.
His gaze shifted back toward the masked Saint. He, too, was staring at the quickly fading form of Changing Star. His shoulders sagged, exhaustion mixed with bitterness and an emotion Anvil couldn't quite pinpoint.
"Why did she leave?" Anvil asked calmly.
Instead of answering immediately, Sunless summoned a platform of shadows beneath himself. Then, extending his left arm slightly, he invoked a Memory amidst a shower of sparks.
Anvil's eyes sharpened, ready to defend against whatever the boy deemed powerful enough to threaten him even in this situation.
The sparks faded, and a simple, elegant chair appeared.
Anvil stared in open confusion as Sunless lowered himself onto it with startling casualness, sitting amidst the ruined sky as though they were merely sharing a conversation.
A bitter chuckle escaped from beneath Black Star's mask, the distorted sound carrying something deeply unpleasant beneath its amusement.
"I asked her not to leave me here," Sunless said evenly. "She didn't listen."
For a few moments, Anvil did not answer.
Then, slowly, he inclined his head. "That is what people do," he replied gravely. "Leave. No matter how desperately you want them to stay."
The words stirred memories he rarely allowed himself to revisit.
Gwyn appeared first in his mind, pale and smiling despite the exhaustion consuming her after Morgan's birth. Then came the memory of her death shortly afterward, sudden and unavoidable despite all the power he possessed.
His father followed next. Warden had stood proud and mighty before challenging the Third Nightmare, promising to return soon and elevate Valor to new heights. He never returned.
Then Smile of Heaven surfaced within the quiet depths of his thoughts. Brilliant. Proud. Broken forever after the catastrophe surrounding the category five Gate in America had left her a Hollow.
More faces followed after that. Friends, companions, people he had fought beside long ago.
Some had died. Others had simply drifted away with time until nothing remained between them but memory.
Loss, Anvil reflected silently, was one of the few constants life granted equally to both the weak and the strong.
Across from him, Sunless gave a faint nod.
The mask concealed the boy's expression completely, yet Anvil could still sense the distant weariness hanging over him, heavy enough that it almost seemed tangible.
For one brief moment, neither of them moved, lost in thought and in a past that was long gone.
Eventually, Anvil raised his sword once more, putting an end to the silent truce.
Sunless let out a long sigh before rising from the chair. The Memory dissolved back into sparks immediately afterward, vanishing without a trace.
"Time to live, I guess," the boy whispered.
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Cassie twisted her body exactly two degrees to the right, and the blade passed millimeters away from slicing her arms in half.
The duel between her and Saint Madoc had barely lasted two minutes, and she had already been defeated seventy thousand, five hundred and twenty-six times. But who was counting?
Following the warning of her Awakened Ability, she took a step to the left, dodging what, from an outside perspective, would have looked like an invisible sword cleaving through a few strands of golden hair.
Amusingly enough, Madoc was fighting against his worst possible opponent. She was perfectly aware of where he was at all times, thanks to the mark on him, after all.
The amusement disappeared when a deep cut opened on her right shoulder, coming a single centimeter away from rendering the limb useless. Even with the foresight provided by her Aspect and perfect knowledge of his position, she was still losing badly.
A Saint was still a Saint, perfect counter or not. And she wasn't the most combat-oriented Master either.
She stepped forward, taking a slash across her navel instead of the one that would have followed and ended the fight instantly. She retaliated with her dagger, but Madoc danced out of the way easily while blocking the surprise attack from her rapier.
The flying weapon retreated immediately under her direction. If she allowed it to linger, the Saint would destroy it instantly.
When wind rushed at her from the right, she desperately tilted her head, avoiding another deadly blow. Madoc pressed on, delivering attack after attack with blinding speed while she could do nothing but desperately hold on.
Just as she found herself trapped in an inescapable situation that would end in her swift defeat, she pulled out the only card she had left to play.
"Look behind you," she said as fast as she could, desperately stepping back from yet another slash.
Madoc launched another attack and then stepped to the side, turning his head enough to keep her within sight while looking for whatever she could have been referring to.
In a small scattering of brilliant sparks, a beautiful red-haired woman appeared, her gaze empty, as befitting an Echo.
"Welthe?" Madoc asked, his bodiless voice tinged with surprise and a faint trace of sadness.
It was none other than Master Welthe, one of the two people in charge of the Night Temple, which had been stormed by Nephis, Mordret, and Cassie herself. Cassie had personally killed her and earned her Echo. And now, she had brought her out to fight against the very people she had once sworn loyalty to.
The beautiful woman did not wait, already moving to strike at the Saint before she had even fully formed.
Despite the surprise, Madoc was still a top-tier Saint and reacted instantly, striking back at the Echo.
Welthe moved beautifully, her swordsmanship skilled enough to momentarily match Madoc's own peerless skill. But ultimately, she remained only the Echo of an Ascended woman.
Madoc shattered her apart with a brutal final strike, ending the duel in a matter of seconds.
Cassie barely noticed.
During those few seconds, she had focused entirely elsewhere. At last, she had enough time and concentration to spare.
Far beneath the Ivory Tower, ancient power answered her call, and the Crushing descended upon Madoc, focused solely on him.
Cassie had not dared invoke it earlier. Without proper control, the ancient force hidden within the Ivory Tower could have slaughtered everyone present indiscriminately.
Now, however, she guided it toward a single target.
Madoc dropped to one knee, his face twisting violently into an expression of pain as the Crushing fell upon him with enough force to crack the stone beneath his feet.
For one hopeful instant, Cassie thought it might truly work.
Then his armor began to shine.
A faint radiance spread across the dark steel, resisting the overwhelming force pressing against him. Slowly, trembling with effort, Madoc forced himself upright once more.
Cassie felt bitterness rise quietly within her. The King of Swords had prepared in advance for this weapon, and though she might hope, there was no way it could have won the day. Powerful as it was, a Master like herself couldn't even come close to truly wielding it.
But she had hoped.
Gods, how dearly she had hoped.
Cassie lifted her dagger again, bracing herself for the six seconds it would take Effie to arrive and help her. It was funny, such a short span of time, and she still dreaded it. Though not as much as she dreaded the wait after that.
Only another minute remained before salvation arrived.
One minute.
Cassie prepared herself for the longest minute of her life.
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Anvil hovered above the fractured sky, the remnants of destruction still hanging in the air like a fading afterimage. Heatless flame and drifting motes of shattered metal curled through the windless expanse, leaving behind a deathly quiet.
What remained of Sunless knelt before him.
The boy had fought harder than before -far harder- but it had not changed the outcome. Exhaustion clung to him like a second skin, his movements dulled, his essence nearly spent. Even so, there was still something stubborn in the way he held himself, as if defiance alone could substitute for strength.
Steel shackles bound his arms behind his back, holding him aloft, forged by Anvil's Aspect from the useless slag that most of his swords had turned into after Changing Star's explosion. A fitting irony, perhaps.
"You fought well, Sunless," Anvil said evenly.
The boy gave a quiet laugh in response, but no words followed. The mask covering his face disappeared, revealing the pale features hidden behind it.
Anvil observed him with mild curiosity.
It was easy to forget just how young he was.
Barely more than a child, not even twenty years of age if the reports were correct, and yet already standing here, having reached heights that would have broken most Saints long before they had even glimpsed them.
Something sharp flickered in the shadows behind him.
A spike erupted from the shadow of one of Anvil's own swords, silent and sudden. He did not move. He did not need to.
The attack collapsed before it ever reached him, crushed out of existence by his will as casually as one might snuff out a candle.
Anvil's gaze remained fixed on Sunless, almost daring him to try again.
He did. More shadows swelled, stirring slowly, only to stop in midair. They lingered there for an instant before falling back into a dormant state.
Sunless' essence had run out at last.
The boy's expression shifted, defiance warping into confusion, then into something like disbelief. His features began to pale, as though color itself were being drained from him. His form blurred at the edges, unraveling under its own weight, until there was nothing left of him but a wavering silhouette.
A shadow.
It was almost lifelike in its motions, carrying an unmistakable hint of arrogance and haughtiness.
The remaining shadow straightened in the air despite its lack of substance, tilting its head up at him with arrogant composure, as if Anvil were beneath its notice. Even reduced to this, it refused to bow.
He felt a faint trace of amusement stir within him at the sight.
"You still wish to resist?" he asked calmly.
The shadow did not answer. Instead, it lifted what might have been a hand and made a small, unmistakably rude gesture in his direction.
Amusement stirred within him once more. How long had it been since someone -or something- had dared to mock him so brazenly?
Anvil raised his sword high, the edge shining faintly beneath the light of the slowly setting sun.
The haughty shadow did not flinch.
The blade fell with the weight of his will behind it, splitting reality itself apart in a single moment.
For one short instant, the shadow did not flinch, its chin raised high, giving him a look that almost seemed to say, "Is that all you have?" Then the instant passed, and the shadow shattered, breaking apart little by little into smaller fragments.
The rude gesture remained until the very end.
Silence followed as Anvil watched the drifting remnants scatter through the air like ash carried on an unseen breeze.
For a moment, there was only stillness, the kind that followed an outcome impossible to unmake.
He tilted his head, not quite surprised when the Spell failed to announce Sunless' death.
The boy had eight bodies after all. What was sacrificing one compared to survival?
A quiet breath escaped him as the pieces aligned clearly in his mind. Changing Star had not fled alone, and by now she must have already reached the Ivory Tower, where she was likely preparing with Sunless for his arrival.
How would she react upon seeing her defeated followers, he wondered.
Anvil turned to pursue them, only to pause when a presence entered his senses.
Something vast had arrived.
A Corrupted vessel, weak enough to escape his notice until this very moment, yet mighty enough to pose a threat.
Above the broken horizon, a massive raven descended without sound, its wings cutting through the lingering haze of destruction as though the air itself had agreed to part before it. Its gaze was neither animal nor entirely mortal, and it regarded him with something that resembled mild, knowing amusement.
Anvil's hand tightened slightly around his sword, forcefully enough that the hilt groaned.
Then he spoke, his voice colder than ever before.
"Queen of Worms."
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Kai floated forward slowly.
Slowly was generous, really. His legs barely answered him anymore, each step sending sharp protest through torn muscle and fractured bone, leaving him no option but to fly. The rest of his body was not much better; his right arm hung uselessly at his side, his chest burned with every breath, and the world itself seemed to sway with the lingering echo of a mace strike that had nearly taken his head along with it.
Still, he moved.
The Ivory Tower had become a collapsing world of its own, broken stone, shattered vegetation, and bodies scattered across its expanse like debris after a storm. Firekeepers still stood, but far fewer than before. Most had already been defeated or forced into surrender under overwhelming pressure.
Valor's advance had not slowed.
He caught sight of it all in fragments as he moved forward.
A blur of steel and brutality where Saint still fought Jest, neither yielding even now. Further out, Cassie and Effie were locked in desperate resistance against Madoc, their movements sharp but strained, every exchange dragging them closer to defeat.
Kai swallowed, forcing his gaze onward, aiming for one of the few remaining fights, desperately hoping to be of help.
When something shifted at the edge of his vision, he turned his head slowly despite the protests of his body.
Saint Cormac lay across the ground, his body tinted red by a pool of blood beneath him. For a moment, Kai thought he was dead. Then the body twitched.
A hand tightened around something small, a healing Memory, still faintly glowing. The wound on his neck was stitching itself shut at a slow pace, as the one in his chest and arm did. His breathing was growing steadier until at last, his eyes opened.
And there it was, the intent to keep fighting, to aid his allies.
Kai exhaled and redirected himself toward the half-dead Saint.
It would be easy to knock him down. A precise strike and he would be out. He was too weak to resist, after all.
He could move on, then. Trust someone else would finish what needed to be done. But the thought lasted only a moment before dissolving under the weight of reality.
Kai shifted his stance despite the pain flaring through his body and reached into his quiver. Within his grasp rested the last arrow he had, a dormant Memory that he had earned so long ago it seemed like a different life. It hardly mattered.
The Saint lifted his head faintly when he saw him approaching. There was defiance in his gaze, but also fear.
"For what it's worth," he murmured under his breath, though there was no real sentiment behind the words anymore. "I'm sorry."
The arrow struck Cormac's eye the next second.
The Saint's body jerked violently, collapsing mid-motion as his head slammed back into the ground with a heavy, final sound.
Kai exhaled once, feeling hollow.
Distantly, he heard the Spell's voice.
[Your aspect has evolved]
A dry laugh escaped him; of all times, it had to be now.
He shook his head and turned away from the fallen Saint, forcing himself back into motion.
Cassie and Effie. Madoc.
He had already begun to angle his body toward the next fight when something in the air changed. Kai would have chalked it up to his imagination if not for what followed next.
A sudden, overwhelming brilliance tore across the sky with impossible speed, forcing Kai to raise his hand instinctively even though it did nothing to shield him from it. His vision blurred at the edges as something arrived on the flying island.
He turned and saw her.
Lady Nephis.
She moved through the air like a falling star held in check only by will alone, light bending and breaking around her form in unstable waves. In her arms, held tightly against her, was Sunny. Unconscious, limp, and his expression one of deep pain.
Kai's breath caught, tears already forming at the corners of his eyes.
Nephis did not slow as she arrived above the Ivory Tower. She simply stopped, hovering there, suspended over ruin and chaos as her gaze swept across everything below.
The broken battlefield, the scattered resistance, the advancing forces of Valor, wounded and dying Firekeepers.
Slowly, her expression changed, from a lifeless, stone-like visage to a mask of utter fury.
Kai felt, with growing unease, that the air itself had become heavier beneath her presence, as though the world had begun bracing for impact.
Nephis lowered her head slightly, first staring at the unconscious body held tightly within her arms, then across the ruined island.
And then she spoke, one, single, terrifying word.
"Burn."
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then Valor's forces began to scream.