“Try these on.”

  “No.”

  North held up another pair of pants. “How about these?”

  “Nope.”

  He sighed and dropped them back onto the growing pile. “It’s about to be time to go, you know.”

  “Everything here is either ugly or too big,” Destiny muttered, flipping through another drawer.

  “You can literally transmute stuff,” he said, pointing accusingly at her legs. “That is literally my cape.”

  “So?”

  “So… do that with anything else.”

  She huffed. “It’s not the same.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Love you too,” she shot back. “Now help me keep looking.”

  They rummaged through abandoned wardrobes—clothes left behind by those who had fled Tetis in the chaos. Fabric rustled, drawers slammed, and still they couldn’t find anything. Surprisingly whoever the residents of Tetis were, they had a humanoid shape.

  After a moment, Destiny spoke again.

  “So… how do you plan to deal with Cawren?”

  “Call who?”

  “Cawren,” she sighed, holding up a pair of shorts and immediately discarding them.

  “Sounds familiar,” North said slowly. “What, he an ex?”

  She froze.

  “That,” she began, her voice shifting cadence, “is the question thou choosest to ask? Of all the tragedies that haunt our path, of all the shadows that linger at the edge of doom, thou fixatest upon romance like a fool grasping at falling petals. Truly, thy mind is a battlefield lost to reason.”

  North nodded thoughtfully. “So extreme emotion triggers the Shakespeare. Noted.”

  “Screw you,” she muttered, tossing a shirt at him. “And Cawren—the guy you met after we left the orange dome.”

  North paused, thinking.

  Then his eyes widened. “Oh! Yeah! That dude in the demon mask and cape! I totally forgot about him.”

  “How?” she asked, incredulous.

  “A lot happened,” he said defensively. “Besides, I don’t even know if he’s alive. If he shows up, I’ll kill him.”

  Destiny stared at him.

  “He’s the one who blew up the starting area.”

  North froze mid-step. “…That guy? If I would’ve known—”

  “You probably would’ve lost,” she cut in gently. “We were exhausted from the Ascension. And I fought him before.”

  “Damn,” he muttered. “He beat you?”

  She gave him a look.

  “He got a good hit on me,” she clarified. “But it was a free-for-all. He’s a strong fighter, though. Honestly… I’m not even sure you could beat him right now.”

  North’s face went completely blank.

  “If we run into him,” she continued, softer now, “we fight as a group.”

  “If we can,” he said, a hint of annoyance slipping through. “Don’t forget— you’re Civen’s number one target.”

  “She’s not a fighter,” Destiny replied. “Once we get through her army, she’s about as dangerous as a cat.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Besides… I have a plan.”

  North tilted his head. “Any idea why she hates you?”

  “Nope.” She shrugged. “And honestly? I’m past the point of caring.”

  Her eyes hardened, voice steady.

  “Either she dies… or I do.”

  “Dramatic,” North snorted. “But okay. It’s the same for me and Cawren. Besides… he didn’t attack me when we met. So maybe he’ll go for a one-on-one.”

  “You’ll probably die if that happens,” Destiny said flatly.

  North grinned. “I had you feeling like you were gonna die like… what, twenty minutes ago?”

  Her face flushed instantly before she caught herself and smirked. “You did better this time,” she admitted. “I’ll give it a solid eight.”

  “Eight?!” North clutched his chest in mock offense.

  “Last time was a 7.3, so that’s an upgrade!” She shot back.

  “I had you moaning my name,” he continued, louder now, “and you give me a goddamn eight!?”

  She shot him a sharp glare. “Stop yelling! And don’t let your pride overshadow a good score.”

  He crossed his arms. “Fine then. You were a… 7.5.”

  “Out of ten, that’s not bad,” she said smugly.

  “Out of twenty, actually.”

  She stared at him in disbelief before shoving a shirt at his face. “You’re impossible.”

  They continued to bicker as they dug through drawers and abandoned closets, tossing aside outfits that were either too extravagant or completely impractical.

  North pulled out another pair of blue pants and held them up skeptically.

  Destiny paused.

  “…Okay,” she said slowly. “Those I actually like.”

  He raised an eyebrow, victorious. “See? All you needed was professional help.”

  “Don’t push it,” she warned, though a smile betrayed her. “And I’m serious though,” she said, crossing her arms. “Our plan is reckless at best… and highly irresponsible for something we’re calling a strategy.”

  North shrugged. “It’s literally our little team of seven versus… what? A couple thousand? I say it’s good. Play it by ear. Jack, Cawren, Civen—they’re all gonna show up one way or another.”

  “So maybe we plan better?” she offered, half hopeful. “What about the Calmbrand’s sword?”

  “No,” he said simply. “We use that legacy stuff to our advantage. The underdogs proving their strength. And that sword's not so bad if you don’t get hit.”

  She scoffed.

  He clenched his fist and pulled his cape’s hood back over his head. Destiny had already transmuted it back into its original form. North turned toward the mirror, staring at his reflection—dark fabric, sharp lines, the full Sith-Lord silhouette staring back at him.

  Behind him, Destiny slipped into the pants she’d chosen. She caught him looking and lifted a single finger at him without turning.

  He lifted his own through the mirror.

  “Okay,” she said, straightening the waistband. “I’m ready. You ready?”

  North didn’t answer immediately.

  He studied himself.

  Red vertical lines carved down his face like permanent scars. Veins pulsed faintly beneath his collar, threading through his body like burning circuitry. His red eyes glowed, black sigils rotating slowly within them.

  He looked like a villain.

  And technically… he was.

  But he was also the final boss.

  So he might as well embrace it.

  He turned, offering Destiny a small, crooked smile.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.”

  “What’s that look?” she asked, tilting her head. Platinum hair slipped across her cheek, catching the light.

  “Just… happy,” he said quietly. “I get to avenge Caroline. And honestly? I can’t wait to burn everything to the ground.” His voice lowered, colder now. “They’re probably standing around right now, thinking they’ve got this in the bag”

  The smile on his face aged in an instant, turning sharp and merciless.

  “So,” he finished, pulling the hood lower over his eyes, “let’s go throw the bag over their heads… and pull the trigger.”

  ———

  Caelus went into attack again.

  Phantom Brand: Cross Execution.

  He vanished into a forward dash, blade carving a glowing X through the air as if slicing the sky itself. The mark lingered for a moment—silent, waiting—

  Then it detonated.

  Light-blue energy burst outward in a radial slash, the delayed explosion punishing every movement the Land’s Herald attempted to make.

  Caelus didn’t pause.

  He pivoted into a violent spin, sword scraping against the ground. A luminous blue glyph spread beneath his feet, widening into a perfect circle. Ryun surged upward in spectral pillars—one after another, activating clockwise like a ticking clock made of light.

  The battlefield became a storm of delayed strikes.

  The Land’s Herald’s black essence devoured the attacks on contact, eating away at the blue light until nothing remained but drifting fragments. The void-like aura pushed forward, forcing Caelus back step by step, boots grinding against shattered stone.

  Then—

  Eirian descended.

  Her blade burned with pure starlight as she dove from above, momentum screaming through the air.

  “Star Destroyer!”

  She struck like a falling comet.

  The impact cracked the street beneath them, starlight exploding outward as her blade slammed into the Herald’s form. For the first time, the being staggered—its dark mass folding inward as the force knocked it backward across the ruined plaza.

  Fragments of black essence scattered like burning ash.

  Eirian landed beside Caelus, breath steady despite the strain.

  “Still standing?” she asked without looking at him.

  He smirked faintly, tightening his grip on the sword.

  “Barely,” he admitted. “But that thing… it’s adapting.”

  Ahead of them, the Land’s Herald rose again.

  Unmoved.

  “So we move to Phase Two.”

  They moved.

  Above them, the army shifted into position with disciplined precision. Warships began circling overhead, hulls humming with contained power. Barrier masters fanned out across rooftops and intersections, hands raised as layered defensive arrays started forming in glowing lattices across the city.

  Three minutes and forty-five seconds.

  That was all Caelus and Eirian had to survive.

  Caelus moved like a blur, long azure hair whipping like banners in a storm. His ornate blade hummed in his grasp, the sapphire core burning bright as if carved from the sky itself. Royal-blue armor gleamed with gold trim, celestial patterns pulsing faintly across his chestplate.

  His golden eyes reflected the chaos ahead.

  Unshaken.

  Eirian moving in sync with him—silver and midnight-blue armor hugging her form, subtle gold accents catching the dying light. Her short, layered blue hair fluttered beneath a circlet shaped like a broken star. Her eyes burned the same radiant gold as his, though hers carried a deeper calm.

  The Land’s Herald advanced.

  Black Sryun bled from its form, devouring light as it touched the ground.

  Eirian moved first.

  Starlight exploded from her blade as she cut forward in a sweeping arc, celestial fire roaring outward in a crescent wave that carved through the Herald’s advancing death-essence. She followed with a vertical plunge, blade blazing as a column of pure stellar force crashed downward like a falling sun.

  The Herald answered.

  Black Sryun rose in jagged spears, intercepting the starlight midair, corrupting it, shredding it into fading fragments of ash.

  Caelus stepped in.

  Blue-white translucent energy traced along his limbs, phantom afterimages trailing behind every movement. He dashed forward—not once, but twice in overlapping paths, ghostly versions of himself striking half a second apart.

  Each slash left fading glyphs in the air.

  Zone markers flared across the battlefield, glowing arcs and crescents that triggered in sequence as he chained attacks together. A phantom rhythm—predictive offense woven into elegant AoE pressure.

  The Herald countered brutally.

  A wave of death Sryun detonated outward, black energy swallowing Caelus’s fading glyphs before they could complete their sequence. The shockwave hurled him backward, armor sparking as he slid across shattered stone.

  Eirian intercepted.

  She spun, starlight forming a protective halo as she deflected a crushing lance of void-black force that would have impaled him.

  The air screamed.

  For every radiant strike they landed, the Herald responded with annihilating pressure. Massive claws of condensed death carved through buildings behind them. Entire streets disintegrated under missed blows.

  They were on the back foot.

  Evading.

  Deflecting.

  Barely surviving.

  A clock pulsed invisibly in Caelus’s mind.

  Three minutes and twelve seconds.

  Eirian leapt again, blade splitting into multiple streaks of starlight that rained down in staggered intervals, forcing the Herald to divide its attention. Caelus slipped through that opening, ghost-blading across its flank, leaving overlapping spectral cuts that detonated a second later in synchronized bursts.

  For the first time, the Herald staggered half a step.

  Then retaliated.

  Black Sryun surged upward in a dome, forcing them apart. Black tendrils lashed out, tearing chunks from Caelus’s armor and searing across Eirian’s cape, reducing part of it to drifting embers.

  Two minutes and twenty-six seconds.

  They locked eyes for a fraction of a second.

  The ships overhead brightened.

  Barrier formations neared completion.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  But the Land’s Herald only grew more violent.

  And three minutes had never felt so long.

  The Land’s Herald ripped a huge cathedral pillar and hurled toward them like a thrown spear.

  Caelus vanished into Spectral Motion, a blue-white afterimage peeling off him as the pillar shattered through three buildings behind where he’d been standing. Rubble cascaded like rain.

  “Left!” Eirian shouted.

  A second structure tore free from its foundation, hurled sideways. She sprinted straight at it instead of away—boots striking falling debris, starlight flaring beneath each step. She ran through the collapsing building as if it were a gauntlet, slicing apart beams mid-fall, bursting from the other side in a comet of silver and gold.

  She landed a clean strike.

  Her blade bit into the Herald’s flank, starlight detonating outward in a cascading bloom. For a fraction of a second, black essence recoiled.

  The Herald answered by ripping an entire tower from the skyline.

  It spun the structure like a mace.

  Caelus dashed forward, carving glowing glyphs across the air. “Now!”

  Eirian vaulted off a falling balcony, using the tower itself as a launch point. She streaked downward, blade blazing in a vertical arc that split the thrown skyscraper in half before it could connect.

  The halves crashed behind them in a thunderous avalanche.

  Black Sryun surged again—thick and suffocating.

  It wrapped around Caelus’s ankle, yanking him mid-dash and slamming him through a wall. The impact pulverized steel and brick alike. Dust swallowed him.

  Eirian’s eyes flashed.

  She thrust her blade into the ground, channeling a concentrated burst of starlight that severed the tendril binding him. The explosion cleared space just long enough.

  Caelus burst from the rubble in a spiral of blue-white afterimages.

  “Phantom chain!”

  He cut once—then again—then again, each slash arriving half a beat before the last fully faded. The ghostly blades overlapped, detonating in a layered rhythm that forced the Herald backward step by grinding step.

  Eirian joined him seamlessly.

  She leapt through a fractured window, rebounded off a collapsing wall, and struck in tandem—her blade’s starlight weaving between his spectral arcs like constellations forming around a comet.

  For a heartbeat—

  They pushed it.

  They actually pushed it.

  Then the Herald’s aura thickened.

  Black Sryun expanded outward in a crushing pulse, shattering every nearby window and buckling the street beneath their feet. Both of them were thrown apart—Caelus skidding across stone, Eirian flipping through the air before landing hard on one knee.

  The sky darkened.

  Above them, the ships intensified their formation.

  Barrier glyphs snapped into alignment across rooftops.

  One minute and fifteen seconds.

  Caelus rose first, armor cracked, sapphire core flickering but intact. Eirian stood moments later, cape torn but eyes steady.

  They were bruised.

  They were bleeding.

  But they were still moving.

  The Herald raised both arms.

  And the pressure in the entire district began to rise.

  Dark Sryun began to gather around the Land’s Herald.

  It condensed into jagged, spiked spheres—black suns humming with compressed death. The air thinned. The ground beneath the Herald cratered as gravity bent inward toward the forming orbs.

  Caelus felt it before they launched.

  “Move!”

  The spheres detonated outward.

  They didn’t explode like a bomb—they expanded, spiking into all directions at once. Eirian twisted midair, slicing one apart with a starlit arc, but the rupture only scattered shards of Sryun that slammed into her shoulder and ribs. Caelus dashed between two, spectral afterimages taking the brunt of the impact—but even the ghosts shattered under the force.

  One sphere clipped him.

  His armor flared blue, then cracked.

  The Herald vanished.

  It reappeared directly in front of Eirian.

  A black palm struck her chest.

  The impact cratered the street.

  Stone ruptured. Steel structures splintered. She was driven straight into the ground, then seized by the throat and kicked sideways—her body tearing through three consecutive buildings in a violent horizontal line of destruction.

  The Herald appeared above her again, hovering.

  A massive sphere of dark Sryun formed overhead, larger than the others.

  A cruel smile curved across its face.

  Caelus didn’t hesitate.

  He spun low, blade scraping against the ground as a luminous blue glyph burst outward beneath him. Ryun surged up in spectral pillars—one after another in precise clockwise activation. Each pillar struck the descending death-sphere at staggered intervals, destabilizing its structure, forcing it to split and dissipate instead of collapse fully onto Eirian.

  The Herald’s killing blow stalled.

  Caelus launched forward through the fading shockwave, grabbing Eirian as she coughed blood and struggled to rise.

  He flickered.

  Space snapped.

  In a blink he reappeared behind the Herald, blade carving a precise backslash through its spine. At the exact same instant, a blue mirage version of Caelus materialized in front of it—executing the phantom counterpart of the same strike.

  Two impacts.

  Front and back.

  The Herald staggered half a step, essence tearing like cloth caught between blades.

  Caelus didn’t wait to see the full result.

  He pulled Eirian with him in another short flicker dash, landing atop a fractured tower as debris rained below.

  She steadied herself, breath ragged but eyes burning.

  The Herald reformed.

  Unharmed enough to continue.

  Above them, barrier formations brightened further.

  The ships completed another arc.

  One minute and five seconds.

  Caelus tightened his grip on his sword.

  ———

  Civen watched from a fractured balcony overlooking the burning city of Veltrisse.

  Her long red hair flowed behind her in rippling waves like liquid flame, catching stray embers drifting through the air. Her upper half was unmistakably feline—sleek and sinuous, auburn fur framing powerful shoulders and arms built for tearing through opposition. Sharp ears twitched at every distant shift in tone, every whispered command and unspoken doubt. A tail flicked lazily at her side, its crimson-tipped end glinting whenever firelight struck it.

  Below the waist, her form shifted.

  Emerald-and-gold scales shimmered for legs, sleek and iridescent. The contrast between predator and siren suited her.

  She had always thrived between worlds.

  The city burned below.

  Civilians hid in reinforced vaults and tunnels. Soldiers from her own faction, from Caelus and Eirian’s banners, and even Delark’s forces clashed desperately with The Land’s Herald. Who carved ruin through districts.

  She did not move.

  She only needed to play along a little longer.

  Her followers were already in position.

  This battle was useful.

  Her gaze lifted toward the sky, narrowing slightly.

  Jack.

  He had vanished at the worst possible time. Something about “waiting for the right moment to strike.” She’d tolerated it.. wasn’t like she had a choice. His unpredictability was part of the situation at the moment.

  But now…

  Something felt off.

  Subtle.

  Like a thread had snapped.

  A boom echoed across the city.

  Her eyes shifted toward the epicenter as ships overhead tightened formation. Barrier masters along the perimeter raised their hands in perfect synchronization. A radiant lattice of rainbow light cascaded downward, weaving through the sky like a descending net of refracted sunlight.

  It struck.

  The Land’s Herald screamed—a sound that reverberated through stone and bone alike. The lattice locked into place, prismatic lines snapping together in a geometric prison that shimmered with layered seals.

  Containment was successful.

  For now.

  Civen’s lips curved slightly.

  The being thrashed against the rainbow cage, black Sryun colliding violently with the barrier’s shifting colors. Every impact sent shockwaves outward, but the lattice held.

  Interesting.

  Very interesting.

  Still—

  Her ears twitched again.

  That missing connection.

  Jack.

  Where had he gone?

  And why did it feel like the board had shifted without her being told?

  Keryna Vel Dross stepped forward from the war-scorched avenue and saluted—two fingers pressed to her temple in crisp precision.

  She wore forest-green Ryun armor layered in angular plates, each segment etched with the sigils of old war-spirits and forgotten rebellions. The inscriptions glowed faintly with restrained power, pulsing like disciplined heartbeats. Her bright red eyes scanned the skyline.

  “Everything is in place,” she reported. “And with the Herald subdued for now…”

  Her voice trailed off.

  Civen’s ears twitched.

  Keryna looked up toward the city, toward the rainbow lattice shimmering in strained containment around the thrashing Land’s Herald.

  “Something feels off,” Keryna muttered. “Are we sure—”

  “It does not matter anymore,” Civen cut her off smoothly.

  Her tail flicked once.

  “Surviving is all we have left to do. Once the Blood Prince and Vari’s Jujisn appear, we set our plan in motion.”

  Her emerald-and-gold scales shimmered as she shifted slightly, eyes narrowing toward the distant horizon.

  “Everyone else be damned.”

  Her lips curved faintly.

  “This is still my revenge story.”

  The city trembled again as another shockwave rippled outward from the Herald’s prison. Rainbow seals flickered but held.

  Keryna nodded, though tension remained in her posture. “I’ll keep watch. Let’s hope they show up soon. I’m not convinced this containment will be enough to defeat the Herald.”

  Civen’s gaze drifted toward the encroaching horizon.

  The golden wave of annihilation crept inward from all sides of Curtenail, compressing the playable region like a tightening noose. Districts that had once thrived were now erased—consumed in radiant silence.

  A few more days.

  Then Curtenail would become a gold graveyard.

  Vari’s Jujisn would have to come.

  And when she did—

  Civen’s claws flexed slightly, tail coiling tighter behind her—

  The story would finally reach its climax.

  ———

  A barbaric-looking man stood among the fractured towers—braided beard thick as rope, heavy furs draped across broad shoulders, a jagged scar carving through one cheek. He looked like a raider born from frozen battlefields.

  But when he spoke, his diction was measured. Almost academic.

  “Containment is temporary,” Ragnart Holt said calmly, studying the Herald’s prison. “If we allow it to regain momentum, it will break through in under four cycles.”

  Beside him stood Captain Dereth Kaneel—rigid posture, clean-cut armor polished to a mirror sheen. Every movement was precise, every breath disciplined.

  “We strike before it adapts further,” Kaneel said. “We finish what it started.”

  Both men besides Caelus and Eirian, their presence carrying the weight of hardened campaigns.

  “And we do so,” Ragnart added, voice lowering slightly, “for Serana Vale. Warden of the Guild of Unbroken Leaves.”

  The name settled like a stone in still water.

  Revenge burned quietly between them.

  Caelus shook his head once. “Right now, we regroup. Our armies haven’t taken heavy losses—but Civen’s forces have suffered the least casualties.”

  His golden eyes hardened.

  “We can’t blindly trust she’ll remain noble when her numbers start to outpace ours.”

  Eirian nodded. “We’ll prepare a condensed Ryun strike. Enough to pierce the Herald’s core and end it.”

  Kaneel gave a firm nod. “That will suffice.”

  Ragnart folded his arms. “Then let us work.”

  For a fleeting second, the battlefield felt controlled again.

  Then—

  The light shifted.

  Dark roots cracked across the sky.

  They split the clouds in branching fractures, threaded with pulsing purple Sryun. The three suns dimmed as if swallowed by creeping vines, their brilliance eclipsed slowly… deliberately.

  “What is that?” Kaneel muttered.

  Even Civen looked up, ears twitching sharply.

  The roots thickened.

  Then from the shadows between them—

  They launched.

  Dark red skulls wreathed in fire screamed downward, jaws gnashing, empty eye sockets blazing with malicious intent. Dozens. Then hundreds.

  “Defensives!” Kaneel barked.

  Armies scrambled into formation. Barrier masters locked their stances, reinforcing the rainbow lattice around the Herald while casting secondary shields over the city. Warships held position as ordered, cannons glowing but not firing.

  Eirian shot skyward in a burst of starlight.

  Her blade became a comet.

  She sliced through the first wave, skulls detonating in massive explosions that shook the upper districts. Fire and death rained down, but her starlight cut arcs through the swarm, vaporizing clusters midair.

  The blasts were immense.

  Buildings shattered. Streets cratered.

  She held most of them at bay.

  But not all.

  A handful slipped past her defenses.

  Captain Dereth Kaneel stepped forward, palms snapping outward as layered Ryun shields unfolded in hexagonal formation above the city.

  Blue-green barriers rose in staggered tiers, interlocking like crystalline scales.

  The descending skulls slammed into them.

  The first impact rattled the shields.

  The second fractured them.

  By the third wave, the barriers fizzled—sparking violently before dissolving into mist.

  Eirian hovered midair, breathing steady but eyes sharp as she lifted her gaze toward the sky.

  Two figures sat upon the dark roots.

  Her stat eye activated.

  Numbers flickered into existence.

  The first—

  A bronzed-skinned man wreathed in flame and searing, living script. Infernal runes crawled across his exposed skin like molten calligraphy, each glyph pulsing with contained devastation. His red eyes burned with cold focus. A mantle rested on his shoulders.

  Level 600.

  Eirian’s jaw tightened.

  She was 465.

  Caelus was 460.

  The Herald’s level remained hidden—a world boss beyond measurement.

  But this man—

  He was an Outlander like her.

  A powerful one.

  Then her gaze shifted.

  And her breath faltered.

  The woman beside him.

  Long black and purple hair spilled down her back like liquid dusk. Yellow slit eyes locked onto Eirian with predatory hunger. She wore flowing white-and-purple monk robes—cut and shaped in ways that revealed far more than modesty required.

  She was breathtaking.

  Not merely beautiful.

  Divine.

  Yet mortal.

  Eirian’s stat eye narrowed.

  Her level—

  Glitched.

  Unreadable.

  That was new.

  “Why have you attacked us?” Eirian demanded, aura flaring outward. “Are you with the Blood Prince?”

  She dropped into a combat stance midair, starlight gathering at her blade.

  Ria did not answer.

  She simply smiled.

  Then pointed.

  Behind Eirian.

  A cold spike ran down her spine.

  She expanded her aura, perception rippling outward like a shockwave.

  And saw them.

  Six fighter jets screamed through the darkened sky, engines blazing with compressed Ryun signatures. Each one radiated powerful auras.

  Her heart sank further.

  Cawren lifted one hand and pointed upward.

  Eirian didn’t want to look.

  But she had to.

  Another presence.

  Above them.

  Higher than the roots.

  Higher than the jets.

  A pressure descending like a silent eclipse.

  Her blue aura flickered.

  “How?!” she whispered. “And when?!”

  ———

  High above the carnage, a figure hovered in a dark, flowing mantle.

  A Sith Lord silhouette against three suns.

  Red eyes burned beneath the hood, black sigils rotating slowly within them. Veins of crimson light traced up his hands as he lifted them and pressed his palms together.

  Ryun gathered first.

  Black-red lightning spiraled into existence, coiling into a dense sphere between his fingers. It crackled violently, raw and volatile.

  Then Sryun followed.

  A mist of shadow poured over the lightning, wrapping it, feeding it. The sphere swelled—pulsing, distorting—hungry for more.

  The air changed.

  Threads of red began to stitch themselves across the sky around him, veins spreading through the atmosphere like a living wound.

  He fed it more.

  Ryun and Sryun collided within the sphere, clashing—then fusing. The connection was unstable, imperfect, on the verge of collapse.

  Perfect.

  He exhaled slowly.

  And a memory slipped through.

  “Eh,” he had muttered, chewing anyway. After a sip, he stared at her calmly. “So I guess you’re from a video game.”

  She nodded. “Name’s Caroline. Or, if we’re being fancy, use my gamer tag or Requiem name: Magjesti.”

  Jonathan tilted his head. “Yeah, I’m just gonna call you Caroline. Not that rubbish you spat in my ear.”

  The present returned.

  A faint smile cracked beneath the hood.

  “This one’s for you, Caroline,” he whispered.

  Below him stood everything in his way.

  Cawren.

  Jack.

  Civen.

  The Calmbrand.

  And the Land’s Herald—thrashing within the rainbow lattice.

  The sphere in his hands shifted.

  It deformed.

  Twisted.

  Its shape morphed into something grotesquely regal.

  A jagged crown of fused lightning and shadow.

  If anyone was going to kill that thing—

  It would be him.

  He thrust his hands forward.

  “MAJESTI!”

  The crown of annihilation launched downward with unstoppable momentum. It turned the entire city red before impact, its presence alone burning away the dark roots attempting to cage the city. Ria’s smile faltered as the encroaching branches blackened and shriveled under its passage.

  The city trembled in horror.

  It struck the lattice first.

  The rainbow barrier shattered like glass under a hammer, fragments of prismatic light exploding outward as the crown punched through and slammed directly into the Land’s Herald.

  The detonation was apocalyptic.

  Red shockwaves tore across Veltrisse, vaporizing structures, uprooting streets, ripping the air itself apart. Black essence and prismatic shards fused into a spiraling inferno that consumed everything within its radius.

  The golden wave on the horizon continued forward.

  Ships above were thrown violently off course.

  Every faction felt it.

  The shift.

  The convergence of legacies had officially begun.

  Had a lot of fun writing this chapter and can’t believe we’re almost done…