The battlefield of Axis still smoked from Sid's impossible awakening, but the war did not pause.
Where gods hesitated, demons surged.
The sky bled crimson as Azareth spread his wings, blotting out what remained of daylight. His voice thundered across the broken land, not with words but with pure intent: Advance.
From the shattered horizon, the Seven Demon Lords emerged in unison — titans of ruin, clad in shadows and fire. Their armies howled as they poured into the cracks of the earth, Hollow swarms spilling like rivers of teeth and claws.
Lucien, Reinhardt, Kael, and the scattered survivors could only watch in horror. Sid had vanished into the rift, his golden-white fire consumed by a tearing seam of unreality.
"Sid…" Lucien whispered, knuckles white around his blade. He stared at the place where his friend had fallen. "Where did he go?"
Nox's feathers smoldered with nervous heat. "Between worlds. He is neither here nor gone. But if he does not return…" His eyes flicked upward at the storm of demons. "…then this war is already lost."
Reinhardt spat into the ash. His armor was cracked, his face pale with exhaustion, yet his grip on his axe never wavered. "Then we hold. Sid or no Sid. If the bastards want this world, they'll carve through us first."
Kael, panting heavily, pushed his spear into the dirt to keep upright. "Reinhardt, look at them. That's not a battle we can win. That's extinction."
The ground shook violently as one of the Demon Lords struck down a divine construct with a single swing of its obsidian cleaver. The god-forged colossus shattered like glass, its fragments raining across the broken plain.
Above, the gods' avatars faltered. Their once-impenetrable formations wavered as Azareth drove the assault personally, his command uniting demons that had once squabbled among themselves.
It was unthinkable, yet it was happening — the gods were being forced back.
Lucien clenched his teeth, a memory flashing through him: Aureon's warning, Sid's scream, the impossible light. He forced the image down and turned to the others. "If Sid is trapped, then we protect what's left. Yara's command is still alive — she's rallying the mortals outside the Spire. If they fall, we lose more than a war. We lose everything."
Far from their desperate struggle, Velgrin moved unseen.
While gods and demons clashed like storms, he walked quietly among ruins, his cloak brushing the ash without stirring it. The second Nightroot Fragment pulsed faintly in his palm, veins of black fire crawling up his wrist.
The Ashen Architect's shadow flitted at his side, whispering in a voice that only Velgrin could hear.
"The path is clear. The cathedral lies empty. Their eyes are turned to slaughter."
Velgrin's smile was thin, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Good. Let them bleed and roar. Noise covers truth."
He adjusted the Fragment's glow, pressing it against his chest. It sang with faint echoes — the call of something older, something waiting.
"The Fourth Flame," Velgrin murmured. "No. The Eighth, hidden beneath the Fourth. They will not see until it is too late."
He vanished into a shimmer of broken reality, leaving the war to rage behind him.
At the mortal encampments, chaos ruled.
Yara stood at the front lines, her banner torn and her armor cracked. Hollow swarms poured over makeshift barricades, their screeches piercing through smoke and flame. Mortals — farmers, smiths, hunters, children with stolen blades — fought desperately against creatures born of endless hunger.
"Hold!" Yara's voice cut through the panic like a blade. She spun her glaive in a wide arc, decapitating three Hollow in one sweep. "They bleed! They break! Stand, damn you, stand!"
Her lieutenants rallied, dragging terrified men and women back into formation. The humans, though weak, found courage in her voice. For every one that fell, two more stepped forward, teeth bared, weapons shaking in their hands.
A Hollow lunged, claws flashing — and a boy no older than twelve rammed a spear into its chest with a scream. The monster shrieked and crumbled to ash. The boy fell to his knees, sobbing, but alive.
Yara grabbed his shoulder, hauling him back up. "Breathe later. Fight now."
The mortal line steadied. Not unbroken, but unyielding.
Yet Yara's gaze flicked upward, to the burning heavens where gods themselves staggered beneath Azareth's assault. A bitter truth twisted in her chest. "If Sid doesn't return soon…" She whispered it only to herself. "…all this courage will mean nothing."
Back at the ruins of the battlefield, Reinhardt drove his axe into the ground, panting. "Where the hell is he, Nox? You said Sid was between worlds. Between doesn't help us here."
Nox's feathers glowed faintly, his eyes sharp. "Between means choice. He is walking a path only he can see. Gods and demons cannot reach him. Not even Velgrin dares interfere with that crossing."
Lucien looked toward the rift, its edges still sparking faintly like torn cloth. His voice was raw, heavy with fear. "Then Sid had better choose fast. Because the world won't wait for him."
Above them, the roar of the Demon Lords shook the sky, as if to prove his point.
The war pressed forward, merciless and unstoppable.
And Sid — their key, their anchor, their friend — was gone.