The vibration deepened.
Arcee turned first. Then Blyke. Then Cagaro.
Henry was already looking.
Behind them where dust still shimmered in cathedral light, the drifting atomic mist had not dispersed.
It was condensing.
Threads of white particulate began weaved together in midair, spiraling inward like iron filings pulled by an invisible magnet.
The glittering residue thickened, knitting into muscle-like structures of pale, metallic sinew. Serrated fragments reassembled, not as three forms—but as one.
The floor cracked again but this time it did not explode. It came further, slowly, as if something immense was pressing upward from beneath reality itself.
The shape completed. T.aller than the cathedral pillars.
Limbs elongated and disproportionate. Edges layered upon edges, forming rotating ridges along its arms. Its torso was a fusion of the three beasts' frames, twisted into a single armored mass. Where a head should have been, there was a smooth, curved plate and beneath it, a vertical slit of white light slowly opened.
Blyke took a half step back without realizing it. "You've got to be kidding me."
Arcee's feathers flared instinctively, but her voice stayed quiet. "In that sense, Henry's plan worked but also failed in a way."
Cagaro's jaw tightened. "It adapted Henry's attack."
The temperature in the cathedral dropped several degrees. Frost traced across broken marble. The remaining guards whimpered, some scrambling backward on hands and knees.
The pressure intensified. All four braced instinctively, assuming it was the fused creature.
But the weight wasn't coming from in front of them. It was above. A different direction.
The beast paused mid-preparation, its slit narrowing slightly as if even it sensed the presence.
Slowly, all four looked up toward the shattered cathedral window at the ceiling.
Against the fractured moonlight, a silhouette stood upon the arch of broken glass.
Henry's breath caught for the first time tonight. Blyke's usual grin vanished completely. "No way…"
Arcee glanced between them. "Who is that?"
Cagaro's voice lowered. "You two know that thing?"
Henry's eyes did not leave the figure.
"…It is... The Death."
The pressure above vanished all of a sudden.
And a voice came from directly behind them.
"Ahem."
All four snapped around at once.
Standing a few steps away. Close enough to touch... was an old figure draped head to toe in layered veil and pale, aged light armor. No skin visible. Just shadow beneath fabric folds.
In his hand rested a massive, dark obsidian scythe with jagged silver edges. The blade shimmered faintly, phasing in and out of existence as if reality itself couldn't decide whether to hold it.
The weapon hummed with quiet finality.
The figure tilted his head slightly.
"I adjure thee." he spoke in a dry, archaic tone, "Is there a purveyor of sandals in the vicinity?"
Blyke blinked.
"…What?"
The veiled head lowered toward his feet.
"My sandals," the figure continued solemnly, "they do constrict most sorely. A grievous tightness plagues mine step."
Arcee stared. "We are in the middle of—"
The scythe shifted slightly in his grip, its ethereal edge flickering.
"I have traversed realms most distant," he went on calmly, "yet nowhere did I procure footwear of suitable breadth."
Cagaro's eyes narrowed.
"…He's speaking Old Liturgical Cant." he muttered. "Pre-Imperial variant."
Henry slowly turned his head toward him. "You understand that?"
"Yes."
Cagaro stepped forward cautiously. "Respected elder," he replied in the same archaic cadence, voice measured, "this cathedral is not host to merchants of sandals. Thou stand'st amidst battle."
The veiled figure paused.
"…Battle?" he repeated thoughtfully.
He glanced past them at the towering fused beast, which remained utterly still, its white slit fixed upon him now.
"Ah."
A beat passed. "Most inconvenient."
Blyke leaned toward Henry without taking his eyes off the scythe. "Is this your Death?"
Henry didn't answer.
The old figure sighed softly.
"Mine arches ache with fervor." he lamented. "Long hath this pilgrimage endured."
He shifted his stance slightly.
"…Who are you?" Arcee asked carefully. The veiled head tilted once more.
"Merely a weary traveler." he said in archaic grace.
The fused creature shuddered, its serrated limbs quivering as if sensing a force far beyond its comprehension.
Slowly, unnaturally, it stepped backward, retreating from the veiled figure.
The cathedral trembled with each movement, though nothing struck the floor.
Even the residual red laser dots from the guards' weapons seemed to bend subtly away, as if the air itself acknowledged the presence.
The old figure's head tilted slightly, veiled gaze sweeping across the towering monstrosity. "Pray, is this thy pet?"
Arcee's feathers flared lightly, defensive but measured. "This is no pet. It is hostile, an aberration we cannot yet contain."
The veiled head hummed softly, letting the scythe rest lightly against his shoulder.
"I see… Most peculiar companionship."
He adjusted the veil, sighing faintly.
"I had hoped for a lighter burden this eve."
He began to step toward the nearest window, intending to leave. The cathedral tremble followed him with subtle gravity but his pace suggested neither urgency nor concern.
Cagaro straightened, lowering his voice into the archaic cadence he had learned long ago.
"Elder, might thee lend thy hand in this endeavor? We face a foe beyond our measured capacity."
The veiled figure paused mid-step. Slowly, he turned his head toward Cagaro. "Thou askest assistance?" His tone was not harsh, merely curious.
Cagaro nodded.
A faint rustle of cloth, the scythe's semi-ethereal edge humming quietly. "Very well. I shall remain."
The figure did not advance toward the beast. He did not attack. He simply stood there, a presence that warped air and intent alike, watching with patient attention.
The veiled figure stepped forward, scythe in hand. Its weight was not just physical... it pressed into the minds of all nearby.
Guards froze mid-step, eyes darting, knees weakening. The fused creature recoiled slightly, claws scraping the marble floor as a ripple of hesitation passed through it.
Even the air seemed to tremble with inevitability, a palpable aura of dread that twisted perception. Fear, hallucinations of decay, creeping uncertainty.
Henry realized instantly; the weapon's presence could be dialed, crushing low-will opponents into near-paralysis.
Henry's breath caught. That blade… that's his Astra. "Scythe of the Final Verse" he heard about it, as the magnitude of its power became terrifyingly clear.
The veiled elder's voice rang out in archaic cadence, addressing the creature. "Pray, thou art less menacing than thy visage! Hast thou not teeth enough to gnash without scaring thine own tail?"
He chuckled faintly under the veil, tossing another dry, cryptic joke at the towering aberration.
The beast lunged, claws swinging. One massive paw slammed down with monstrous force.
Blyke was caught mid-dash, sent flying in a blur, smashing into a fractured pillar with a loud crack. Dust and shards rained down, his body skidded across marble.
Cagaro's eyes widened. "Is he… done?"
From the smoke, from the veil of dust and chaos, the figure reappeared. He walked casually, scythe dragging lightly over the floor.
The fused creature paused, its head cocked slightly, white slit narrowing.
The elder raised the scythe, resonating voice with chilling authority.
"Thou art a craven wretch."
The veiled figure planted his feet firmly on the fractured marble, scythe in hand.
The cathedral trembled but this time it was not the beasts, not the guards.
It was the presence itself. The black blade began to shimmer, its jagged silver edges flickered in and out of phase, vibrating through the air like a storm contained in steel.
"Now I unleash one of my Astra's skills... Final Sever!" he intoned in archaic cadence, voice calm yet impossibly heavy.
The scythe phased. Surprisingly not once or twice. Across multiple planes, it slashed simultaneously.
The air rippled unnaturally, slicing through dust, shattered stone and even the lingering fragments of the fused beast.
Each swing did not obey ordinary physics—some cuts struck in the present plane, others in micro-shifts of space-time, bypassing matter entirely. The creature's serrated limbs and armored ridges were meaningless.
Shields, armor, momentum—irrelevant. It was as if the weapon ignored physical existence itself.
The crescent of shadow energy expanded outward, phasing through rifles, debris, even lingering red laser dots.
Each strike intersected in a complex lattice of power, a spinning storm of shadow arcs cutting the fused beast from multiple angles.
The force was terrifying, yet no unnecessary destruction beyond its target. The cathedral remaining mostly intact despite the phenomenal energy unleashed.
The fused creature let out a shrill, distorted wail as its limbs, sinew and serrated edges were cleaved into fragments, then reduced to a dense, glimmering mist.
Henry, Blyke, Arcee and Cagaro watched, suspended mid-step, as the monstrosity's form inverted in the air before collapsing entirely.
The mist twisted upward briefly, glowing faintly like the residue of energy being unraveled at a molecular level.
Then it dissipated completely, leaving only a faint haze drifting across the cathedral floor. The fused beast had been destroyed, its structure phased apart completely, incapacity absolute.
Even the marble beneath the impact bore only minor fractures, testament to the precision of the strike.
Henry's eyes traced the weapon. Scythe of the Final Verse.
A weapon capable of ending a being that had threatened to unbalance the cathedral entirely. The presence of inevitability lingered; nothing alive or partially alive, would dare move against it.
The four exhaled in unison, hearts pounding at the scale of what they had just witnessed.