They were actually *making it*.
Effie almost couldn't believe it—and frankly, she kind of hated that she couldn't rub it in anyone's face. Especially **Sunny's**, that smug little doofus. Oh, sure, he'd gone on and on about how *his* damn murder tree was going to do most of the killing. He'd bragged about how it had a whole army of enthralled Fallen, how it would sap the strength from their enemies and buff its own like some kind of leafy war god with a pollen addiction.
And Effie—grudgingly—had to admit, the little freak had been *right*.
The Fallen weren't just mindless meat shields. These ones had been *selected*, curated like some kind of death art installation. They moved like monsters, fought like nightmares, and took the brunt of the enemy charge like it was their divine purpose. They were the bulwark of the army.
…Just not a *perfect* one.
Because monsters still broke through. The tide didn't end. It just *pulsed*, pressed, *screamed* against the line until some wretched thing slipped past, jaws wide, blades raised, too fast or too lucky. And when that happened, it wasn't the mind-controlled Fallen that held the line—it was *them*. The humans.
Effie was at the very front of the first proper human defense. Not some sheltered commander barking orders from the rear. Not some pampered noble playing war. *Her.* She and her crew—mostly Tessai and Gemma's hardass veterans—stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the chaos. They were battered, blood-slicked, half-crazy from exhaustion, and utterly magnificent.
And gods, she felt *alive*.
With **Zenith** in one hand and **Dusk** in the other, Effie moved like a storm—shield bashing through bone, spear stabbing through necks, feet slick with gore. The pain in her arms didn't matter. The weight of her armor didn't matter. She was moving, striking, surviving. There was no fear, no hesitation. Just her, the roar of combat, and the beautiful, awful rhythm of butchery.
This wasn't some drill. This wasn't some memory. This was the *only* real thing she'd ever felt. Here, soaked in monster blood, her lungs burning and her hands shaking, Effie wasn't a soldier or a hunter.
She was reborn.
Of course, that didn't mean it was clean. Or fair. Or even close to safe.
She'd seen good people die. Kids, really. Some of them barely twenty. They screamed and bled and vanished under claws and teeth, and there was nothing she could do but *keep going*. Even that pompous pain-in-the-ass Caster had taken a nasty hit—too bad it hadn't knocked the arrogance out of him.
The losses burned. But she didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
She thrust her spear through the eye of a shrieking, split-jawed horror, planted her shield in the corpse's chest to free the blade, and *shouted*.
"Push! Don't stop! Bleed 'em dry!"
And like that, they surged forward again.
Above them, the sky cracked with thunder. Explosions—bright, concussive, *deafening*—split the air like the wrath of some furious god. The humans had started firing their Aspect-forged arrows, and the very sky trembled with each detonation.
Effie didn't flinch.
She just grinned.
"Let's see if that damn tree of his can *keep up*," she muttered, and lunged back into the fray.
'*'-
Sunny had spent most of his life alone.
Not just the kind of lonely that meant no one sitting beside you, but the kind that hollows out your chest and gnaws at your ribs. The kind that sets in when your parents vanish too young, when your baby sister gets adopted while you're left behind, and the world offers no helping hand. Just cold concrete, scraps of food, and eyes that looked through you like you were already gone.
He learned to survive on the outskirts. Learned the taste of hunger, the rules of the gutter, which shadows to curl up in and which ones might get you killed. He knew who to serve and who to run from. That was life—ugly, cruel, and deeply quiet.
Until Cassie and Nephis.
Those two impossible women had slipped through the cracks in his armor before he even knew he had any. In less than a month, they'd managed to wedge themselves into the cold machinery of his heart like flowers growing between stone. Cassie with her soft voice and boundless empathy. Neph with her fire, her unyielding will. They were like light seeping into a sealed tomb.
Which is why he had to leave them.
Not once, but twice.
The first time to raise an army—to build a weapon terrible enough to keep them alive. The second, to do the one thing no one else could: infiltrate the cursed Spire and sever the root of this nightmare. Victory demanded it. Their survival demanded it. And so once more, he walked into danger alone.
Well—*not entirely* alone.
Harus and Alice were with him. Strange companions, if you looked from the outside. But beneath the surface? They understood. Each of them, in their own way, had clawed their way up from the slums. Each of them had once walked the edge of a blade, shadows wrapped around their hearts. They had been assassins. Survivors. Outsiders.
Now they were a team. A quiet one. A necessary one.
Sunny was here for his ability to become shadow. Harus could strip sight from any enemy with a glance. And Alice… well, one of her attributes made her almost *impossible* to notice when she didn't want to be seen. Together, they slipped between the lines of battle like ghosts, winding toward the crimson Spire at the heart of it all.
Then Sunny stopped.
He had seen many terrifying things in his life, but this—this *Spire*—was something else entirely. It rose like a spear driven into the world's heart, towering above everything, pulsing with menace. The bridge of crimson coral stretched toward it across the churning whirlpool of black water, leading to a land of monsters.
He was about to move when the world behind him *exploded* with light.
A roaring sun ignited on the battlefield. He didn't even need to turn to know who it was. *Changing Star.*
The battle shifted in an instant. Her incandescent blade carved through the horde like a scythe through wheat, turning horrors into ash. Her presence surged through the ranks of the Dreamer Army like lightning through water. The tired rose to fight again. The hopeless screamed their defiance. The tide began to turn.
But Sunny… didn't look back.
His gaze remained on the crimson bridge, on the tail end of the nightmare horde now exposed. It wasn't endless anymore. That was good news. Less good? The moment he stepped into the open, he and his team would be swarmed.
They were already being watched. Eyes gleamed in the mass of misshapen bodies—hungry, hateful eyes.
He whispered a name.
"*Saint.*"
From the shadows, the marble demon emerged. Her presence was like a blade drawn in silence—cold, lethal, final. Ruby eyes gleamed behind her onyx helmet. She said nothing. She never needed to.
Sunny backed up a few steps. The monsters were moving. Time to go.
"Here goes nothing…"
And then he ran.
Dashing forward, he hurled himself into the air—and Saint was already moving, her arm catching and *launching* him across the gap with the terrifying grace of something not quite human. Wind screamed past him. For a moment, he flew.
Behind him, Harus and Alice chose another route. Mist rolled in, thick and glimmering, joining the heavy golden pollen that hung in the air. Harus vanished into it like a phantom. Alice followed close behind—and so did *Puffy*.
Only, it wasn't really *Puffy* anymore.
The strange bat-iguana thing had changed. It wasn't a creature of the spell. It wasn't an Echo. It had become something more—independent, alive, *its own creature*. And Prince's influence, his ability to evolve his thralls, had worked wonders on it.
The little beast was now the size of a small dragon, its wings stretched wide as it soared over the battlefield like a nightmare in velvet skin. Big enough for two to ride. Terrifying enough to make even the Fallen flinch.
Together, the outsiders regrouped in silence. Saint and Puffy melted back into the mist and shadow, waiting for the next signal.
And Sunny… looked ahead.
Their goal was almost in sight.
'Seven severed heads… guarding seven locks…'
This was what Cassie had told them a nearly a year ago, at the start of this cursed journey. Somewhere at the base of the Crimson Spire, there was a place where one could insert seven keys into seven locks to seal the curse of the all-consuming darkness underground once more, thus restoring the oath of the ancient heroes.
Shard Memories had given his cohort these keys, and now, Sunny held all of them in his soul.
And they had found the locks.
'*'
Seven golems stood in their path, unmoving sentinels of crimson coral. They blocked the bridge to the Star Sigil, shoulder to shoulder, carved from the same twisted material as the cursed Spire itself. Yet it wasn't their unnatural forms or sheer size that gave Sunny pause—it was their shapes.
He recognized them.
The armored bulk of the Knight. The slender, hunched silhouette of the Slayer. The graceful poise of the Priestess, arms raised in silent benediction.
Each one a grotesque mockery of a memory. Vile, corrupted facsimiles of the Seven Heroes—the legendary souls once said to have lit the dark with their courage. But there was no courage in these things. No nobility. Only blasphemy carved into living coral. Their movements were jerky and wrong, like puppets pulled by unseen strings, and yet power radiated from them—awful, wrong power, stolen and reshaped into something profane.
Sunny stopped a few steps short, staring up at them with quiet contempt. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Behind him, Saint waited in silence, her onyx helm glinting dimly in the mist. Alice adjusted her grip on her fan, and Harus's chain creaked with slow, dangerous tension.
He grinned, cold and cruel.
"Seven of you? Is that it?" he asked softly, his voice echoing through the stillness. "You think this is enough to defy *my* will?"
His eyes shimmered with that familiar, bottomless black—shadow incarnate, cold and pitiless.
"…Fools. Come and meet your end."
And then he moved.
With a blur of motion, Sunny surged forward, shadows boiling around his limbs. One empowered each arm, flooding his muscles with supernatural strength, while another slipped to Saint, enhancing her already monstrous grace.
The first blow came not from him, but from Harus—his chain snapped out like a whip, wrapping around the arm of the golem that had once resembled the Stranger. With a growl, Harus *yanked*, and the thing stumbled, crashing into the bridge. Before it could rise, Alice was already there, flicking open her war fan. A blossom of mist detonated in its face, the humid air bursting into steam that tore a jagged hole through its chest.
Sunny didn't pause to watch. His eyes were locked on the one at the back.
*The Lord Golden.*
It hadn't raised a weapon. It hadn't joined the fight. Instead, it stood behind the others, hands raised as if in supplication.
He smiled grimly.
Of course it was hiding. Support units always did.
The four remaining golems closed in, their grotesque bodies crashing against the stone with thunderous weight. Blades of coral swung in brutal arcs. Sunny ducked, danced, and slid between them, a blur of motion that slipped through gaps before they closed. His cloak flared behind him, shadows weaving around his form like protective tendrils.
Saint moved in tandem—meeting two of the coral beasts head-on. Her shield cracked the ground with each strike, and her blade—silent and certain—cut through corrupted coral like it was flesh. One of the golems staggered, head twisted askew, as Saint advanced like a storm given form.
Alice vanished and reappeared behind another, her war fan slashing across its back. Harus snarled as his chains lashed out again and again, dragging his foe into positions where Sunny could pass unharmed.
And Sunny?
He had eyes only for the Lord.
It tried to retreat. Too slow.
With a sudden burst of speed, Sunny dashed across the blood-slick stone. He passed beneath a wide sweep from the Priestess and slid across the ground, his twin blades hissing out. The first one slashed across the Lord's leg, severing it at the knee. The creature fell with a shriek that was half wind, half rusted metal.
Before it could scream again, Sunny was already on it.
He pressed one hand to the creature's chest and pushed—driving it down—and raised his other blade.
"This world has no place for the weak." he whispered.
Then he struck.
One sword plunged down, straight through the coral mockery's head. There was no blood, only a shudder. The Lord twitched, spasmed…
And then it was still.
Behind him, one of the remaining golems faltered, then collapsed in a heap of broken coral.
Sunny rose slowly, his breath steady, his sword dripping with golden ichor.
One down.
Six desecrations left.
He didn't smile. He didn't speak.
He just turned, raised both blades once more, and moved forward.
'*'
Cassie stood alone at the stem of the Soul Devouring Tree, surrounded by the low, rhythmic hum of the ancient thing as it pulsed with stolen life. Her echoes flitted through the battlefield like drifting spirits, drawn by instinct and pain to the places she believed they were needed most. They had saved many—pulling soldiers from the brink, shielding them in desperate moments after the bulwark had shattered like glass—but not enough.
Never enough.
She heard them. Screams, sobs, the brutal finality of death. Again and again, the melody of endings reached her ears. Each one was a cut she could not heal, a thread she could not grasp before it unraveled. She tried—gods, she tried—but the tide was endless, and her hands remained empty. Slowly, agonizingly, a whisper of doubt began to curl inside her chest.
*Was destiny ever truly in her hands?*
Sunny had always believed so. That stubborn, exasperating boy who had looked at fate not with awe but with defiance. He had claimed they could seize the reins of it—that *she* could. He had spoken of paths and choices, and how much power lived in a single step.
But now, all she could feel was helplessness.
The battlefield was a storm of ruin, and she was a single point of stillness within it—blind, aching, and small.
She had shared her vision with Nephis more than she had with Sunny, not because she trusted one more, but because they were both… everything. Her beacons. Her anchors. Her *loved ones*. The only people in this broken world who had ever truly reached her.
Sunny had dragged her out of the darkness in the Academy—literally and figuratively. He had found her on the Forgotten Shore, the blind girl adrift in nightmare, and taken on burdens so immense she had often feared they would crush him. But he bore them anyway, with grit and silence, painting himself as the villain so others wouldn't have to bleed.
And Nephis… Nephis had been her first shelter in that hellish place. The one who had taken her in with no reason other than a flicker of warmth deep in her heart. She hadn't known how to love—still didn't, not really—but Cassie *felt* it. In the quiet, in the stillness, in the way Nephis had stood beside her without asking for anything in return. She had become everyone's hope, but Cassie's first.
So the choice Cassie had made cut deeper than she could bear.
Because if the shadows struck down the angel… if Sunny's path led him to kill the angel …
She would lose something irreplaceable.
She would lose *them*. Both of them. And so, she had made her choice—not with logic, not with clarity, but with love. And selfishness.
Now, the storm was here. It howled across the ruins like an open wound. She felt it even before the darkness took form, before the sky fractured and brought with it the tide of the Dark Sea.
She *listened*, blind eyes turned skyward, as the world trembled… and the darkness was banished.
She *felt* the Tree recoil beneath her feet as the sun's malevolent rays pierced the storm. Its bark cracked and split, burning with divine fire. The hungry, hateful life inside it screamed—a sound only she could truly hear—as it writhed, buckled…
And was gone.
Cassie staggered back, away from the dying stem, the last breath of the Tree fading into shadow . Alone again in the silence that followed, she breathed out slowly—ragged, uncertain.
She had saved something precious.
But she had also destroyed something in herself to do it.
'*'
In manhwa and novels, there was always *that* moment—the noble self-sacrifice. Someone stepping forward, arms spread, to throw themselves onto the altar of the greater good. It made for good drama. Stirring speeches, tearful farewells, and usually—because fiction was a lie crafted to comfort—the character survived by some miracle.
Sunless had never bought into it.
He'd always known those stories were propaganda. Thinly veiled attempts by governments and sovereigns to condition the young into obedience, into martyrdom dressed as heroism. In the real world, people who threw themselves into the fire didn't come back out. They just burned.
So no, he'd never seen the appeal.
Why sacrifice yourself when someone else could do it for you? Why gamble your life when survival was the only currency that ever mattered? To him, self-sacrifice wasn't noble—it was *stupid.* Naïve. Reckless. And worst of all, unnecessary.
He had believed that all his life.
…And yet, here he was, sprinting straight toward a Terror, with the [Mantle of the Underworld] wrapped tight around his body like a funeral shroud.
He *knew* this was foolish. He *knew* that this wasn't the smart play. Selfishness had kept him alive this long—caution, distance, strategy. Not reckless bravery. Not sentiment.
But when he felt the agony ripple through the roots of the Soul Devouring Tree—when he *felt* the soul-piercing agony that sunlight was inflicting on it—something in him cracked.
Not from guilt.
From understanding.
The solar rays weren't just burning flesh. They were unraveling *souls.* His tree, with its essence linked to him and his army, was being hollowed out from the inside. And the damage wasn't something just anyone could endure—much less fix.
Saint could bear it. So could he. Both had resistances. But more than that…
He *couldn't* trust anyone else with this.
Not when this act—this one moment—could decide everything. Not when the margin between survival and ruin was a single heartbeat wide. And especially not when it meant *they* might get through it.
If he succeeded… maybe Rain would live with him in her life.
Maybe Cassie would meet her parents again, and hold them with trembling hands.
Maybe Kai would get to hum another stupid jingle on that insipid singing show he kept dreaming about.
Maybe Effie would finally eat until she exploded and mock him between bites.
Maybe Harus would finally get over himself and ask Alice *that* question she pretended not to wait for.
And maybe… maybe Nephis could walk under the real sun one day. Visit her mother. Just exist without carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
That was too much to risk.
Too precious to entrust to anyone but himself.
Especially not with fate on his side.
So, for the first time in his life, Sunless made the stupid choice.
He climbed.
Silent as dusk, veiled in the cold embrace of shadows, he began his ascent up the burning Spire—alone.
'*'
The Terror was… revolting.
Sunless had expected something else—*anything* else. Some radiant monstrosity, perhaps. A twisted echo of the angel Cassie had seen in her vision nearly a year ago. That had been the warning, hadn't it? A being of impossible light, something divine and terrible in equal measure.
But this? This was no angel.
It was a grotesque mass—a throbbing tumor of flesh and crimson coral, stitched together with screaming faces. Hundreds of them. Human mouths frozen mid-scream, eyes wide in agony, the contours of skulls barely contained beneath stretched, weeping skin. The entire thing pulsed and folded inward like a heartbeat gone mad, with blinding white light shining through every jagged seam, every orifice. It was a grotesque chrysalis, neither living nor dead, and it stank of burning salt and old prayers.
Sunless stared in silence, his grip tightening around the hilts of his twin swords. Every nerve in his body screamed caution. One mistake, one misstep, and he would die—not just in body, but in soul.
And yet… something was wrong.
The abomination wasn't attacking. It wasn't lashing out or screaming or flailing. Instead, it *curled in on itself*, folding layers of raw flesh and coral inward like a flower closing at dusk.
He blinked.
No. Not closing.
*Forming.*
It hit him like cold iron: it was *evolving.*
It was devouring the flood of souls—those fallen in the battle below—and feeding on their essence. Not to heal. Not to survive. To ascend. It was preparing to break the threshold, to claw its way into the realm of *Titans.*
And that meant, for the moment—it was vulnerable.
It was a monster mid-metamorphosis. A horror asleep in its cradle. Still impossibly dangerous, still capable of snuffing his soul with a breath, but not yet aware. Not yet complete. Like a sleeping god in the shell of a dying child.
Sunless paused. He wasn't Nephis. He didn't have her blade of pure incandescent fury. He wasn't Gunlaug, hurling destruction like a storm given shape.
But he *was* a planner.
And in planning, he was second to none.
Without hesitation, he drew in his shadows. All four bent to his will, slithering around Saint's towering form like living smoke. He handed her his Ascended sword, the metal thrumming with suppressed lethality.
Then he gave her *everything.*
Fourfold strength. A demon made divine by sheer focus and precision. The shadow-bound knight surged forward, the ground shattering beneath her feet as she exploded into motion—faster than any mortal thing should move. Her onyx blade gleamed red in the fractured light.
And then—
*She struck.*
The sword bit deep. Coral cracked. Skin split. A thousand mouths shrieked in unison as Saint cleaved the Terror nearly in two.
And then came the light.
An eruption of brilliance unlike anything he'd ever seen. Not just radiant, but *holy*, profane in its intensity—pure soulfire. It tore through the sky, vaporized the shadows, and screamed against the very laws of existence. Sunless reeled as it hit him, the wave of power like a sun detonating in his chest.
He would've been obliterated—reduced to ash, *unmade*—if not for the armor shielding his body, the [Web] holding his soul together by fraying threads, and [Trinity] bracing the core of his being against total collapse.
But it was still too much.
The pain seared through him, not physical but spiritual—burning through every memory, every scar, every secret. His body dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, limbs twitching as his consciousness gave way to black.
And Sunless fell into the silence.
'*'
---
The first thing he felt, as his consciousness clawed its way back from the void, was *her*.
Nephis.
Frantic hands gripped his shoulders—small, strong hands trembling with desperation. She was shaking him with the force of someone trying to drag a soul back from death, as if her touch alone could defy fate. Through the haze of agony and smoke, his blurred vision cleared—just enough to see her face.
Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, tracing shining trails through the grime and blood. Her silver eyes, always so composed, were wide and red-rimmed now, filled with anguish so raw it pierced him. They shimmered like shattered starlight, wild and glistening, reflecting both relief and sorrow.
And then she was in his arms—no hesitation, no restraint. Just a desperate embrace, crushing and tender all at once, as though she was afraid he might vanish again if she let go.
"You're alive…" she breathed. The words were little more than a whisper, but to him, they struck like thunder.
His heart stumbled.
She was warm. *Real*. Her body pressed tightly to his, trembling with emotion. Her breath was shallow against his neck, and then—
Her lips touched his.
Soft. Desperate. *Real*.
Time stopped.
For a heartbeat, there was no world—no ash, no war, no death, no despair. Just her kiss. Just the impossible, dizzying fact that she had chosen this moment, of all moments, to reach for him. He had always known he was drawn to her—how could he not be? But this… this was everything. This was stolen paradise. A brief glimpse of the life that could have been, if only things had been different.
"Neph… what—?"
He tried to speak, voice thick with disbelief, but she kissed him again, deeper this time—like she wanted to leave a piece of her soul behind.
"We don't have much time," she murmured against his lips, her voice hoarse and trembling. "So listen… *go, Lost from Light.*"
His breath caught.
He froze.
She had spoken it—his true name. The one truth he had buried beneath a thousand masks. The name almost no one knew.
And then he felt it.
His body stiffened. Trembled. His gaze dropped to his arm—he tried to move it, to lift it, to reach for her—but it remained still. Dead. As though it no longer belonged to him.
Panic bloomed in his chest.
He turned back to her, eyes wide with shock, but Nephis only stared at him with a sad, gentle smile—one that broke his heart all over again.
"So, then. I guess… I guess this is goodbye," she said quietly. "I hope you take care of yourself and of Cassie."
And then, softer, her voice cracking—
"Please. If you can forgive me… *wait for me.*"
He wanted to scream. To fight. To defy her command.
But his body had already begun to move.
All he could do was to leave behind a farewell gift.
Step. Step. Another step. Toward the glowing ring of the Gateway.
*'Stop… stop!'* his mind begged. *'Don't do this!'*
But it didn't matter. His will was no longer his own.
The ache in his chest bloomed into something hollow and vast. A thousand silent screams echoed inside him, but his feet kept moving, relentless and indifferent.
He had become a shadow again—bound to the one who had spoken his true name.
Up the stairs he walked, toward the halo of runes, each step shattering something inside him.
He reached the circle of the Gateway.
Passed through it.
And the moment he crossed the threshold, light swallowed him whole.
*'No! I refuse!'*
The radiance intensified, burning like the heart of a dying star, until even his silhouette was consumed.
*'No!'*
And then he was gone.
Vanished—like a dream upon waking. Like a promise never kept.
The Gateway's light flickered… and died.
Just seconds too late, the crack reached the runes and split the array apart. The circle ruptured, its power bleeding away. In that same moment, the sun of the Forgotten Shore ignited one last time—flaring like a funeral pyre in the sky—and then extinguished forever.
Darkness fell.
Alone, in the collapsing ruin of the world, Nephis—beaten, broken, radiant—stood in silence. Without light to catch her, she dissolved into shadow.
And was gone.
End of volume 2: the city