Shrak was still.
The sky darkened. Clouds, ash-grey and heavy, swirled overhead as if the realm itself grieved.
Zariel-Kar stood atop a shattered Djinnic valley. His eyes glowed, faint black aura flickering around him.
"You've grown soft, cousin," he said, voice low and venomous. Behind him, the Tidebound Five snarled. "The great Ramiel. The last flame of a dead people."
Ramiel stood alone. Alec watched from the sidelines, insignificant in anyway one considered the situation.
"You brought five," Ramiel said quietly. "You'll leave with none."
Zariel laughed. The laugh was humourless."You couldn't save your race. You think you can stop me?"
Ramiel said nothing.
Wasn't the bastard a Djinn?
His six wings unfolded — Unlike Lucifer's own they where effortlessly elegant and dangerous — it was a signature Djinnic move.
The fight began.
Zariel struck first, a molten blade slicing faster than light. Ramiel melted into smoke, reforming behind him with a palm ablaze. Three of the Tidebound Five went up in cinders.
One charged. Ramiel crushed it mid-lunge with a single look. Two more tried flanking. Time warped under his touch; sending them 40 m away.
But Zariel endured. He was a half demon after all.
Rage-fueled strikes rained down. Ramiel blocked, deflected, cursed, and bent himself around each attack, but even the last Djinn was human in some measure — fatigue etched into his movements.
A misstep. A deep, black cut across his ribs. Another through his shoulder.
Finally after playing with his prey, Zariel screamed and drove his blade into Ramiel's gut.
The Ash-Walker fell to one knee, coughing blood. Alec stared with horror all over his face.
Zariel leaned close.
"Where's God now, cousin?"
Ramiel looked up, blood dripping down his lips.
"Tell Elyon he should have interfered earlier"
Zariel froze.
Ramiel rose.
Barely standing. Bleeding from every joint. His wings cracked, flickering.
Ramiel was certain the Valkyries where watching this battle. He had to re-assert his authority.
"In all the realms of heaven and earth... I alone am the honoured one."
His hand flared — endless lightling wrapped around it.
Zariel's eyes widened.
"Wait—"
The sky split.
Ramiel flung Zariel back with a blast that nearly knocked him down too.
Zariel crashed through a spire, his status unknown.
Ramiel turned to the Valkyries.
Blood soaked his robes. His breath was shallow.
He dropped the ruined cloth of his people's banner at their feet.
"You were late."
The lead Valkyrie stepped forward. "Ramiel..."
He didn't let her finish.
"Take my words to Elyon. This war is no longer his."
He then fell.
The last Djinn — the Equal of Heaven, the Ash-Walker, the Voice of Forgotten Thrones — collapsed beside the bones of his kingdom.
The wind seemed to notice the change. The Valkyries turned solemn.
Zariel was gone, dragged back into the rift by his remaining follower, his fury echoing faintly as Shrak shut its doors behind him.
The Valkyries remained motionless in what Alec thought was.... awe. One of them, the youngest, touched the blood-stained sand where Ramiel had fallen.
"He's still breathing," she murmured.
The wind shifted.
It was not the heat of Hell nor the ghost-wind of Shrak.
This was... colder.
Sharper.
From the western dunes, shadows formed.
They had a lean form and moved with grace
Vampires.
At their lead was a woman whose presence made the air curve and settle in reverence — tall, robed in blood-red silk that fluttered like smoke, eyes glowing faint amaranth.
She walked like poetry with teeth.
Varyselle.
The lead Valkyrie tensed. "Child of the Hollow Veil. This realm is not yours."
Varyselle didn't look at her. Her eyes were locked on the crumpled form of the fallen Djinn.
"Then it's fortunate I'm not here for the realm."
She knelt, slow and deliberate, beside Ramiel. Her pale fingers brushed his cheek — once, lightly, reverently. For a moment, her face cracked beneath centuries of poise.
"You said you'd never return here," she whispered. "You liar."
He stirred.
Barely.
But enough.
A corner of his mouth twitched. "You're late."
"I had to look good," she said softly. Then her voice sharpened. "Don't die yet, you bastard. I didn't forgive you."
The vampires moved wordlessly, lifting Ramiel onto a floating obsidian litter. It hovered gently above the ground, held aloft by a relic spell — likely Vladmir's design.
The Valkyrie stepped forward. "He is not yours to take."
Varyselle turned, smile flickering like a blade.
"He was never yours to begin with."
The vampire host began their retreat, vanishing into shadow one by one. The wind picked up, covering their tracks with unnatural silence.
The last Djinn was carried away barely alive, but not alone.
Not anymore.