The dagger trembled in Praise's grip, its edge still biting into Sera's throat.
Zane's shadow-twin blades melted into the earth, becoming nothing more than inky stains beneath his boots. Around him, Astrid's mercenaries collapsed mid-scream. There were no wounds—no blood. Their shadows had simply vanished, and when they did, so did their bodies.
The air reeked of burnt iron and cold ash.
Only the Crimson Shroud agents above remained, suspended in the air on their magic platforms. They stared down at Zane as if he were an animal in a cage.
Praise smirked, pressing the dagger harder.
"Don't try to be a hero," she said in that sugar-poison voice. "Before you reach me, she'll die. I've already linked her life to my heart—if I die, she dies."
Zane's jaw clenched. "...Alright. I surrender."
He raised his empty hands. The shadows under his boots stilled.
Astrid stepped forward, her crimson cloak flowing like spilled blood. "Good choice."
But Praise's smile twisted into something crueler.
"Oops."
Her wrist flicked.
The blade tore clean across Sera's throat.
For a moment, there was only a thin red line… then blood bloomed, spilling over her collar. Sera's eyes went wide—her lips moved soundlessly. Her body collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.
Zane's scream tore the air apart.
"NOOOOOO!"
A single system message seared itself across his vision:
--Warning (Host has reached critical levels)
---
---
Somewhere, far deeper than thought or soul, the Void stirred.
A voice—ancient, resonant, and hungering—whispered:
Finally.
The world fell silent.
Every creature of the Void, in every realm, vanished in an instant—as if summoned to a single point. The sun itself dimmed… and then went out.
The sky became a black canvas.
Something moved in the darkness.
They came without sound—shapes darker than the night itself. Their edges shifted like smoke and teeth. When they touched flesh, there was no scream, no wound—just instant, total erasure. Friend. Foe. It didn't matter.
Zane's body convulsed as shadows poured over his skin, sealing him inside a living armor of writhing black tendrils. His eyes—no longer eyes—were pits of endless void.
And when he spoke, it was his voice… and something else's.
"Finally… the chosen reveals himself."
Astrid's bloodless face twisted in shock. She turned sharply to Praise.
"You were not supposed to kill her!"
Her voice cracked into a near-scream.
"Don't you know what you just did?! You've released the only thing we've been trying to hold back!"
The Crimson Shroud agents struck from above, unleashing blades, lightning, fire—none of it mattered. The creatures of the dark fell on them in silence, shredding them apart like parchment in a storm.
A portal bloomed in the air—black, red, and burning at the edges.
From it stepped a figure.
Astrid and Praise dropped to one knee instantly, their faces pale.
The man's presence was suffocating.
He looked like Zane—but not. Hair the color of fresh-spilled blood. Eyes burning with the glow of molten rubies. His mere existence bent the light around him, and in his right hand, a red greatsword coalesced from nothingness.
"What have you done?" the man asked, his voice heavy as the grave.
Shadows-Zane's gaze locked on him.
"You… You are the cause of all of this."
The red-haired figure tilted his head, studying Zane like a predator sizing up prey.
"Hm…" His lips curled into something between a grin and a snarl. "It's time. There can only be one of us."
The night itself seemed to hold its breath.