Eiden walked beneath the moonlight, the dirt road stretching ahead like a pale, fraying ribbon through the darkness. The night air was sharp—not just cold, but hollow, as if the atmosphere itself had been thinned out. His mind was a storm of contradictions: the anatomical impossibility of blue pupils, the sanitized lies of the Seraphiad, and the crushing realization that he had been chasing a ghost for centuries.
He stopped.
The silence behind him wasn't empty; it had weight. Eiden turned slowly. A figure stood in the center of the road, a silhouette carved out of the night. The intruder wore a dark cloak that seemed to drink the moonlight rather than reflect it. He was barefoot, his toes pressing into the cold dirt. But it was the eyes that anchored Eiden's suspicion—dark voids housing pupils that glowed with the faint, icy blue of dying embers.
"Eiden," the figure said. The voice was smooth, possessing an unsettling, melodic calm. "It's been a while."
Eiden didn't waste time with pleasantries. His posture shifted, center of gravity lowering. "It has. But I have a question, and I need the truth."
The cloaked man tilted his head, a predatory curiosity in the gesture. "Go on. I have nothing but time."
"Am I speaking to Civilar?" Eiden's voice dropped to a low, dangerous frequency. "Or am I talking to the parasite pulling his strings?"
A dry, humorless laugh rattled in the figure's chest. "Sharp. I underestimated you, Eiden. I didn't think anyone would pierce the veil—well, anyone other than the Titans. But they were always so observant. That's why I had to dispose of them."
Eiden's eyes narrowed into slits of white light. "When do I get to face the architect? I'm tired of talking to the puppet. Where is the real body?"
"The real body?" Civilar asked airily, as if discussing the weather. "It's currently enjoying the view just outside the gates of the Land of Gods."
Eiden's aura detonated. A cold, crushing pressure rolled off him like a physical shockwave, flattening the grass for yards. His hand drifted toward his hilt, the metal singing in anticipation.
Civilar didn't even flinch. "Go ahead. Obliterate this shell. It's just a vessel. It won't reach the source."
Eiden didn't offer a rebuttal. He didn't need to. He launched into the sky, a streak of blinding white light that tore through the clouds like a comet, leaving a vacuum of thunder in his wake.
Miles away, within the celestial borders of the Land of Gods, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the world below. Gavran, Morvath, Larry, and Rah moved through the undulating grasslands of white and gold. The air here was warm, smelling of ozone and honey.
"So, the children are due soon?" Larry asked, his black tail swaying lazily. His ears twitched, catching the hum of the divine plane.
"Yes," Morvath replied, a rare softness in his tone. "Nine of them."
"A formidable generation," Rah murmured, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
They walked in peace for a moment longer—until Larry bolted upright. He looked down. The vibrant, golden blades of grass beneath his feet were shriveling, turning a sickly, charred black. The corruption was spreading with unnatural speed.
Larry's gaze snapped toward the distant, shimmering Gate. It was breached. Shattered like glass.
"Rah!" Larry shouted, his voice cracking with sudden, sharp panic. "Someone is—"
The warning died in his throat.
A figure manifested behind Rah—silent, instantaneous, and impossible. Before Rah could turn, a concentrated burst of kinetic force slammed into his back. The shockwave rippled through the landscape, sending Rah hurtling across the plains like a fallen star.
Gavran, Morvath, and Larry reacted with the instinct of ancient warriors, falling back into a tight defensive triangle.
The intruder stepped out of the shimmering heat haze. It was him—or another version of him. Black cloak, black pants, and those same terrifying blue pupils glowing beneath the shadow of a hood.
"Ah..." the intruder said, inhaling the divine air with a sickening sense of appreciation. "The Land of Gods. The atmosphere here is... exquisite. Almost sweet."
Morvath's dual blades cleared their sheaths with a twin hiss. He dropped into a killing stance.
"Oh? The Blades of Jarfa?" The intruder mused, his eyes tracking the steel. His voice then lost its warmth, turning into something jagged and final. "Interesting. Well. It doesn't matter. Tonight, I finish what I started a million years ago. Tonight, I kill every God in this realm."