The sky over the National Museum was no longer the amber hue of a dying sunset; it had transformed into a void of absolute, suffocating darkness. The only light came from the pulsating violet cracks of the Gate, which continued to expand like a jagged wound in the fabric of reality. On the cold, shattered concrete of the museum courtyard, Aryan lay motionless. To any bystander, he would have looked like a corpse. His breathing was so shallow that it barely stirred the dust on his lips, and his skin had turned a ghostly, translucent pale.
Above him, the 'Lich King of Bengal' was no longer just a shadow. It had successfully pulled its massive, skeletal frame halfway through the rift. Each time the entity moved, the mere pressure of its mana-dense presence caused the surrounding buildings to groan and crumble. Glass shattered for miles, and the air grew so cold that frost began to form on the ruins of Shahbag.
[Status: Host is in a Critical Coma.]
[Mana Circuits: 98.4% Damaged — Irreversible without External Intervention.]
[Survival Rate: 0.005%... 0.002%...]
[Warning: The Archive is reaching a dissolution state. If the Host expires, all recorded history will be erased.]
The Lich King let out a soundless roar—a vibration that rattled the very souls of those nearby—and raised its massive, clawed skeletal hand. It intended to crush the small, insignificant human who had dared to stall its arrival. But just as the hand began its descent, a streak of brilliant crimson light sliced through the pitch-black sky.
CLANG!
The sound of metal clashing against ancient, magically-infused bone was so loud it echoed like a thunderclap across the deserted streets of Dhaka. A woman now stood between the unconscious Aryan and the Calamity-class beast. She was clad in reinforced black combat armor etched with glowing red runes that pulsed in sync with her heartbeat. In her hands, she gripped a massive, dual-edged spear, its blades flickering with a relentless, ethereal flame.
"Still as reckless and self-sacrificing as ever, aren't you, Aryan?" the woman muttered under her breath. Her eyes, sharp and filled with a cold, disciplined fire, never left the towering monster in front of her.
This was Zoya, known in the dark future as the 'Crimson Valkyrie'. In Aryan's previous timeline, she had been the commander of the frontline vanguard, a woman whose name struck fear into the hearts of high-ranking demons. She was one of the very few who had stood by Aryan's side during the final fall of humanity. Somehow, the tremors in the timeline caused by Aryan's regression had awakened her powers months—perhaps even years—earlier than they were supposed to.
"You... pathetic heap of bones," Zoya growled at the Lich King, her spear suddenly erupting into a towering pillar of fire that lit up the entire museum grounds. "You're a thousand years too early to take his life. Not while I'm still drawing breath."
The Lich King, feeling its authority challenged, let out a bone-chilling screech. With a flick of its fingers, hundreds of lesser skeletons began to crawl out of the cracked earth, their hollow eye sockets glowing with spiteful green flames. Zoya didn't flinch. She took a low combat stance, her spear spinning in a lethal arc.
"System," Zoya called out—her voice calm despite the encroaching horde. She, too, possessed a high-rank interface, a gift from her awakened bloodline. "Analyze the target and provide a combat path."
[Target: Lich King of Bengal (Calamity Class - Weakened State).]
[Analysis: The Gate is not yet fully stable. The entity's physical defense is at 40%. Direct strike to the core will force a temporary retreat.]
"Understood," Zoya said, her determination hardening like steel. She took a quick, pained glance back at Aryan's face. "Sleep well, Librarian. You've done more than enough. I'll take over from here."
As Zoya leaped into the fray, becoming a whirlwind of fire and blood-red steel, a small, translucent blue screen flickered just inches above Aryan's chest. It was invisible to Zoya, hidden behind the Archive's veil.
[External Mana Detected: High-Purity Fire Element.]
[Passive Absorption Initialized: Diverting 15% of nearby kill-exp to Host.]
[Archive Recovery Process: 1.2% Initialized.]
[Current Condition: Stable Coma.]
[Note: Host's cellular regeneration has begun using the diverted mana. Estimated time to partial consciousness: Unknown.]
Zoya was a dance of death. Every swing of her spear turned a dozen skeletons into piles of charred ash. She was moving faster than the human eye could follow, her red runes glowing brighter with every drop of mana she expended. The Lich King swung its massive arm, but Zoya leaped into the air, using the ruins of a collapsed pillar as a springboard.
"Searing Phoenix Strike!" she roared.
Her spear transformed into a bird of prey made of pure, white-hot flames. She plunged the weapon directly into the Lich King's exposed ribcage. The resulting explosion was so massive that the ground shook for blocks, and the shockwave blew out the remaining windows of the National Museum. The Lich King recoiled, its form flickering as the unstable Gate struggled to hold its mass.
The battle for Dhaka had truly begun, but for Aryan, the path back from the void was only just starting. As the smoke cleared, Zoya didn't wait to see if the beast was dead—she knew it wasn't that simple. She rushed to Aryan, scooped up his limp, broken body with one arm, and looked at the horizon. More violet cracks were appearing in the sky.
"The world is changing much faster than you warned me, Librarian," Zoya whispered, her voice trembling slightly with exhaustion. "But don't worry. I won't let you die twice. We need to find the others before the world truly burns."
With a final look at the chaos behind her, the Crimson Valkyrie vanished into the shadows of the ruined city, carrying the world's only hope on her shoulders.
As Zoya retreated with Aryan's unconscious body, the system began a silent calculation within the boy's mind. The Archive was fighting for its existence, weaving mana threads into his broken circuits. A faint glow flickered in Aryan's eyes for a microsecond—a sign that the host was not just surviving, but evolving. Somewhere in the distance, a low growl echoed from another rift. The hunt had only just begun.