Three months later, a band of six battered humans emerged from the suffocating depths of the crimson coral sea, ghostlike and grim, dragging themselves up toward a magnificent white arch that rose like the ribcage of some forgotten god. They moved not as wanderers, but as killers—silent, focused, and merciless. Their eyes were sharp, their movements precise, their unity wordless. In the shadow of the arch, transient creatures lurked—malformed and hungry, drawn to the sacred ruin's stillness like insects to a flame.
They didn't last long.
With ruthless efficiency, the cohort descended upon them. Blades flashed, black blood spilled across the coral-stained sand, and silence returned. The bodies were stripped, the meat carved and salted in practiced motions, and then the six climbed the ancient archway as though the climb itself might exorcise the weight of their journey.
Against all odds, they had survived. Somehow—impossibly—they had made it back to the Dark City.
At the summit of the white arch, wind tousling his grimy hair, Sunny stood still and silent. North of them, beyond a distant haze, the familiar jagged silhouette of the City's wall cut across the land like a scar. That wall had once seemed like the edge of the world.
Now, it felt almost like home.
His gaze lingered, unreadable—there was exhaustion in it, yes, and a flicker of triumph. But underneath all that, there was a darker note: quiet dread. The kind that builds over time, like sediment in the heart.
They had returned. Finally.
But none of them were who they had been.
The past three months had been a crucible—a fever dream of blood, bone, and fire. Endless ambushes. Monstrous predators. Days of hunger. Nights of fear. The land itself had seemed to hate them. They had bled, screamed, endured, and emerged changed.
Sunny didn't have a mirror, but he didn't need one to know how far he'd come. He could see it in the others. And what he saw… both reassured and unsettled him.
Changing Star stood at the edge of the arch, pale and silent as a ghost. Her once-pristine armor—gleaming white like frost—was now dulled, caked in old blood and filth. Yet the armor endured, still beautiful, still radiant, as if refusing to yield even as the woman inside it did. Her silver hair had grown, long and wild, brushing against the small of her back. Her face was gaunt, starved of rest. The hollows beneath her grey eyes were darkened, but those eyes still burned with the same fire—if anything, brighter. Sharper. Harder.
Nephis had always been an ember waiting to catch flame. Now she was a sword that had already been forged.
Harus looked almost unchanged, but that illusion only made the truth more eerie. His jet-black hair had grown out, now trailing past his shoulders in clumps of grease and sea-salt. His lean frame was just as wiry, but there was something in his eyes now. A subtle stillness. Like a knife lying flat on a table—motionless, but not harmless.
Kai had not been so lucky in preserving appearances. The golden boy of the group still bore that ineffable elegance, but most of his radiance had been dulled beneath layers of grime and dried blood. His once-stylish armor had been obliterated weeks ago—lost in a savage clash with a creature that had barely qualified as killable—and now he wore something that looked grown rather than sewn, woven from strands of deep-blue kelp and sealed by some chitinous scale. His bow, too, was new: a long, cruel arc of bone and horn, taken from a nightmare so repugnant Sunny tried not to recall it. A fifth-tier Memory, at least—raw power in a predator's form.
Effie had grown leaner. The wiry strength she'd always had was now carved with a brutal economy. No softness remained—just whipcord muscle, sun-scarred skin, and eyes that rarely blinked anymore. Her leather armor was in shambles, more patch than original, but her twin Shard Memories gleamed like faithful dogs at her side. Between them, she had reaped a death toll that would turn most seasoned warriors pale.
Cassie, though… Cassie had changed the most.
The youngest among them had shed what little innocence she'd carried. Her cheeks no longer held that childish roundness, and there was a quiet gravity in the way she stood now—taller, straighter. Her blind eyes no longer drifted uncertainly. They locked forward, guided by more than sight. Her beauty had matured, gentle and haunting. With four Echoes now orbiting her soul, gifted by Nephis and Kai alike, and the Dark Wing coiled silently beneath her cloak, Cassie had become something more than anyone had expected.
She moved now in battle with a grace that defied her blindness—almost as though her soul had grown its own eyes. Almost.
Sunny looked down at his hands, then up at the others.
And then there was him.
His hair had grown into a wild, matted mess—greasy, tangled, and perpetually falling into his face. It itched constantly, and he was *this* close to taking a knife to it. His skin remained pale as ever, like unbaked porcelain, no matter how much sun or blood he bathed in. And facial hair? Not even a hint. Not that he wanted a beard, but a little scruff might've made him feel less like a corpse dragged through mud.
But he *had* changed. Beneath the dirt and shadows, Sunny knew what the crucible had done to him.
They all did.
They had grown closer over the long, endless days. Closer than simple camaraderie or battlefield trust—what bound them now was deeper. Pack instinct, forged in fire. They slept in the same circle. Ate from the same pot. Covered each other's blind spots. Even Harus had softened—just a little—forming a strange, grumbling alliance with Effie, bonded through gritted teeth and mutual, reluctant respect.
Nephis and Cassie? They'd grown closer still. The cold distance that once separated them had melted like frost under flame. They shared warmth, shared watch, and—most nights—shared silence. A quiet companionship that needed no words.
Sunny… he had drifted closer, too. To them. To all of them. Somewhere along the line, they had stopped being a group and started being a *cohort* in the truest sense of the word—something more than a team. A single organism. Many bodies. One will.
He had killed more than three hundred creatures by now. As the scout and one of their deadliest fighters, he had led the charge into horrors time and again, and come out drenched in gore. Just a few hundred more kills, and his fifth Shadow Core would finally be born.
But it wasn't just him.
They had all grown.
He was certain that each one of them had filled their Soul Cores to the brim. Nephis, at least, had completed hers—he knew because he had given her one of the soul shards taken from the Spawn of the Thieving Bird.
They were ready.
They had survived a journey no one was meant to survive. Slain monsters no one was meant to face.
Now, they would face the Crimson Spire.
But first—before the next war, before the next trial—they would descend into the Temple.
And execute the Black Knight.
'*'
The Black Knight had to die.
Whether it was truly alive, or merely some lingering remnant of divine machinery long abandoned, Sunless couldn't say for sure. But its destruction had become inevitable—not out of malice, not even out of vengeance, but out of something far more dangerous.
Curiosity.
He bore the knight no personal grudge. It had never wronged him. It had not stolen, deceived, or even spoken. But still, there was a pull—an insistent gravity that tugged at the edges of his thoughts, drawing him toward the ruins of the cathedral and the silent sentinel that stood guard within.
Each dawn, the cathedral would shimmer faintly beneath the dark sky. A subtle, golden light—almost imperceptible—would rise from its bones like breath from the lungs of a dying god. It was not the light of torches or trapped sunlight. It was something older. Stranger. A glow that whispered of divinity, or at the very least, something once graced by the touch of the Daemon Weaver.
And Sunless could not ignore it.
It wasn't just the glow. Not anymore.
On their return from the Hollow Mountain, what had once seemed like fragments—random details and disconnected truths—had begun to fall into place. The cathedral had first appeared to be a monument to some ancient sun goddess, one of the many forgotten deities scattered across the Dream Realm's fractured lore. But the signs, the patterns, the architecture—it all pointed elsewhere. Not to a god, but to something *made*. Something crafted.
He knew now that the church had been a shrine to the artificial sun—the blasphemous miracle conjured by the ancient denizens of the Dark City. The same sun that had been named by the Spell itself. A sun not just of light, but of judgment. Of justice.
That alone would have been enough to set his thoughts aflame.
But there was more.
The Black Knight did not respond to the soul-devourer's presence. It stood in a place steeped in death, and yet its soul remained untouched—whole. That alone made it a puzzle worth cracking. A being immune to the leeching madness that consumed lesser Fallen? Why?
And then there was Saint.
The unshakable, indomitable Saint—his anchor, his sword, his guardian—carried an aura of calm righteousness into every battle. Yet when she looked upon the Black Knight, something in her shifted. Her silence grew heavier. Her stance sharper. Hatred, like frozen fire, emanated from her.
Saint despised it.
And Sunless trusted her instincts even more than his own.
So, no—this was not a mission of vengeance.
This was a reckoning born of questions. A quiet war driven by that most dangerous of human flaws: the need to *know*.
And Sunless intended to have his answers. Even if he had to kill the Black Knight to get them.
'*'
By now, Sunny had become something of an expert on the Black Knight.
Not just in the casual, vague sense. No—he had devoted himself to unraveling the enigma of that ancient monster with the patience of a scholar and the obsession of a hunter. He knew how the creature moved, how it fought. He had catalogued its strengths with grim precision, mapped its weaknesses like a cartographer charting forbidden lands, memorized the patterns of its inhuman behavior down to the flicker of a muscle or the tilt of a helm.
But most importantly… he understood what kind of monstrous power the devil truly wielded.
Unlike the lesser Nightmare Creatures that plagued the Dream Realm in endless waves of blood and hunger, Devils were something else entirely. They were not beasts. They were aberrations—things that had clawed their way into the world with powers that mirrored the Aspects of Awakened humans. Terrifying things that defied the laws of nature.
That was what made them so deadly. And it was why the knowledge Sunny had gained was so invaluable.
Because this time, the cohort was not going into battle blind.
They would face the Black Knight knowing exactly what awaited them in the gloom of the cathedral. They would fight with strategy, precision, and cold, deliberate intent.
Knowing your enemy was half the victory.
The other half… was knowing yourself.
Sunny's expression grew solemn, the faint edge of a smile vanishing from his lips. He leaned forward slightly, gaze sharpening as the group listened.
"The Black Knight," he began, voice low and measured, "is a living nightmare. As strong, as fast, and as damnably indestructible as you'd expect a Fallen Devil to be. I've seen him fell creatures of every shape, size, and class without breaking stride. His strength isn't just monstrous—it's oppressive. And don't think the soul-devourer affects him. It doesn't."
Across the fire, Effie let out a breathless giggle.
"You're not exactly selling the plan, Sunny. You know that, right?"
He gave her a crooked grin. "Oh, I haven't even gotten to the good part yet."
His tone darkened.
"What makes him an embodiment of death isn't just his raw power. It's what lives in the cathedral with him—the darkness. Once it wrapped around the grand hall isn't just an environment. It's a weapon. It moves with him. It listens to him."
He met their eyes, one by one.
"When he's cloaked in that darkness, the Black Knight becomes something else. He moves silently. Instantly. The laws of sound and light no longer apply to him. And worse—his body heals. Any damage done to him inside the darkness vanishes. He is... immortal, so long as he remains within its shroud."
A tense silence fell over the group. Expressions tightened. Doubt flickered in their eyes—except for one.
Nephis remained motionless, her burning gaze steady and unflinching.
Sunny allowed himself a faint smile.
"And that," he said, turning to her, "is where you come in, Neph. Your light burns through true darkness . Your flames can strip away that cursed veil and expose the truth beneath. With you, the darkness will falter. Without it, the Black Knight is still powerful... but mortal. He becomes something we can actually fight."
Effie gave him a long, skeptical stare.
"You say that like a Fallen Devil is an easy enemy."
Sunny shrugged. "It's not. I know exactly how hard this will be. Probably better than any of you."
He glanced into the fire, jaw tightening.
"And there's another problem. Even with all our weapons—even with the Dawn Shard—we can't hurt him. Not really. His body is sealed in heavy armor, head to toe. I don't even know if there's flesh beneath it anymore. Just... darkness and rage."
He paused, then added grimly:
"There's only one visible weak point. The visor. Behind it, two red embers burn where his eyes should be. It's the only gap in his defenses."
Kai shifted uneasily. "So… we have to shoot through the visor? On a moving target? One that fast? I mean—I could try, but I'm not promising anything."
The others muttered agreement.
Sunny smirked. "Ah, yes. That would be difficult."
Then, after a beat, he let the trap snap shut.
"Fortunately, we don't have to."
Confused glances turned toward him. Sunny let the moment stretch before speaking again.
"The visor? It's a decoy. A feint. It looks like a vulnerability, but it isn't. That's the trick. The true weakness of the Black Knight isn't even protected by his armor."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"It's his sword."
The words landed like a stone dropped into a still lake. Nephis tilted her head slightly, frowning.
"…His sword?"
Sunny nodded.
"I've watched him fight. Hundreds of battles. I've seen how he treats damage to his body—he doesn't care. He'll take a blow without flinching. But the sword? That, he guards. He protects it, even over himself. When an enemy strikes hard, he shields the blade—not his helm. Not his core. The blade."
Effie blinked. "So you're saying the sword is his weak point."
"I'm saying it's the only thing he's afraid of losing. Which makes it the key."
Effie frowned at him, crossing her arms. "Great. Sure. That makes total sense. Just one tiny little problem, genius—it's a sword meant for a Fallen Devil. Probably forged from moonlight and dragon scales or whatever. How are we supposed to break something like that?"
Sunny's smile grew razor-sharp.
"Oh, you're not. None of you are. That part's mine."
Effie raised a brow. "Right. You, our pale and charming little sociopath, are going to shatter a devils weapon. Good plan."
Sunny didn't answer. Instead, he turned and pointed behind them.
Two monstrous beasts lumbered into view—colossal things that looked like some terrible blend of gorilla and armored insect, their massive bodies covered in jagged, scaled plating. And between them stood the Saint.
Immovable. Unshakable. Radiating silent power.
"…But the Stone Saint?" Sunny said softly. "I'm willing to bet she can."
She had killed Fallen Beasts before ever becoming his Shadow. That had been before he had empowered her, before his soul had nearly five thousand fragments burning in its core. Now, she was something more. Something terrible.
With her strength, with Nephis's light…
Yes.
The sword could be broken.
And when it shattered—the Black Knight would fall.