The cosmic veil tore open like flayed flesh, revealing the final shroud—an endless, lightless expanse where existence itself bled away. Here, gravity twisted, sound died, and the air tasted of rust and endings. Crimson lightning crawled across a sky of shattered stars, illuminating a colossal structure at the heart of the void: the Final Throne, a cathedral of blackened iron and bone that pulsed like a dying heart. Xavier Draven stepped forward, the Bloodpearl and Bloodstone in his chest now blazing in perfect unison, their crimson light pouring from his eyes, mouth, and scars. Roshan hung at his hip, its runes no longer bleeding—they burned white-hot, singing a single word: End.
Lyra walked at his side, green eyes reflecting the storm, her blood-oath scar glowing like molten gold against her palm. She did not speak. She simply laced her fingers through his, their scars kissing, the mate bond a silent roar that drowned every whisper of the void. Lucian and Zamiel followed, the alpha's arm locked protectively around the omega's waist, Wrath's End drawn and hungry.
A single rune ignited across every relic they had claimed—ring, chalice, amulet, crown, orb, scepter, mantle, tome—forming a circle of crimson fire around the pack. The prophecy's final line burned into Xavier's mind, spoken not by the stones but by the void itself:
The enigma's heart holds the shroud's end.
One beat to bind. One beat to break.
Before them, the Final Throne's gates yawned open. Inside waited the last relic—and the champion of the unbound god.
The chamber was a cathedral of corpses. Thousands of cultists hung crucified on chains of blackened iron, their bodies still twitching, eyes glowing green, mouths sewn shut with threads of void. At the center rose a dais of bone, and upon it stood the champion: Kael'thuun, once high priest of the old world, now a twelve-foot abomination of fused flesh and relic-armor, his chest cracked open to reveal a second, beating heart made of pure crimson void. In his right hand he carried the final relic—the Heart-Crystal, a fist-sized gem that throbbed with the exact rhythm of Xavier's own heart.
Kael'thuun's voice was the sound of graves opening.
"Welcome, enigma. The god has waited long for its true vessel."
Xavier's answer was to shift.
The God form erupted—not the flickering gold of before, but a blinding aurora of white-crimson fire. Eight feet became twelve. Bones lengthened, muscles corded with starlight, fur became living flame. Roshan lengthened into a scythe of pure light. The relics orbiting him fused into a crown of blazing sigils above his brow.
Lyra's wolf form exploded beside him—larger, faster, claws dripping molten silver from Clawstorm. Lucian roared into his massive battle-alpha shape, Wrath's End now a two-handed greatsword of molten runes. Zamiel, pale and trembling, raised the tablet with both hands; Eclipse Ward flared into a dome of violet-white light that sealed the entire cathedral, cutting off every escape, every reinforcement, every retreat.
There would be no running. Only ending.
Kael'thuun laughed and slammed the Heart-Crystal into his own exposed chest. The void heart fused with it, and the cathedral screamed. Chains snapped. The crucified cultists tore free, bodies splitting open to birth void-born horrors—hundreds, then thousands. The floor became a tide of claws, teeth, and molten ichor.
Xavier moved.
Voidstep.
He was nowhere and everywhere. Roshan carved arcs of white fire that erased fifty cultists with every swing. Bloodfire Strike became a storm of suns—each claw swipe a detonation that turned swathes of the horde to ash. Lyra danced through the chaos, a silver-green blur, Clawstorm shredding limbs and torsos in whirlwinds of gore. Lucian waded like a titan, Wrath's Cleave bisecting horrors in sprays of black blood, roaring Zamiel's name with every kill. Zamiel stood at the center, violet eyes bleeding light, tablet cracking under the strain as he held the ward against the void itself.
Kael'thuun met Xavier at the dais.
Their clash shattered the floor into floating islands of bone. Scythe met void-forged gauntlet. Each impact birthed supernovas of crimson and white. The champion's second heart pulsed faster, trying to sync with Xavier's own. Every beat sent a spike of agony through the enigma's chest—the god trying to crawl inside him, to wear him like skin.
Kael'thuun drove a fist into Xavier's sternum. The impact cracked reality. Xavier tasted blood and starlight.
The champion leaned close, voice a venomous whisper only Xavier could hear.
"Give in. Become the god. They will kneel. She will kneel."
For one heartbeat, the void surged. Xavier saw it—Lyra on her knees, green eyes empty, the pack broken, himself enthroned in an ocean of blood.
Then Lyra was there.
She slammed into Kael'thuun from the side, claws raking across the void heart, silver fire meeting crimson. The champion roared, backhanding her across the cathedral. She hit a pillar of bone and slid down, blood pouring from her mouth—yet her eyes never left Xavier's.
Their blood-oath scars flared in perfect sync.
Xavier caught her gaze across the maelstrom.
No words. No kiss. Just the unbreakable truth blazing between them.
He smiled—feral, loving, absolute.
And the God form answered.
White-crimson fire became pure, blinding dawn. The relics orbiting him fused into a single halo of power. Roshan lengthened into a greatsword of living sunlight. Xavier stepped forward, and the void itself bowed.
He spoke one word, and the cathedral heard it like thunder:
"Mine."
Voidstep carried him through Kael'thuun's guard. Roshan descended in a single, perfect arc.
The blade pierced both hearts—Kael'thuun's void heart and the stolen Heart-Crystal—then kept going, cleaving the champion from crown to groin in a single stroke of blinding light.
The void heart exploded.
A shockwave of crimson-black force ripped outward. Zamiel's ward shattered. The cathedral began to collapse into itself.
Xavier caught the falling Heart-Crystal as it tore free. It pulsed once—then flew to his chest, merging with the Bloodpearl and Bloodstone in a final, searing fusion.
The relics flared, then dissolved into streams of light that poured into him.
Power beyond comprehension flooded his veins.
The Final Shroud tore open like paper.
For one eternal second, the pack saw it—the unbound god itself, a colossus of darkness and devoured stars, reaching for Xavier with a hand made of galaxies.
Xavier met its gaze.
And closed his fist.
The shroud sealed.
Silence fell.
The cathedral, the void, the cosmic veil—everything collapsed into a single point of white light that winked out.
When reality returned, the four of them stood on a quiet hill under a night sky filled with ordinary stars.
The relics were gone. Roshan was simply a sword again. The Bloodpearl and Bloodstone were quiet.
Xavier looked down at his chest. A new scar—shaped like an eight-pointed star—glowed faintly over his heart, then faded.
Lyra stepped close, pressed her blood-oath palm to that scar, and rested her forehead against his.
No kiss. Just breath shared, hearts beating in perfect rhythm.
Lucian wrapped an arm around Zamiel, who was swaying on his feet, tablet shattered but eyes bright with exhausted triumph.
The prophecy was silent for the first time in centuries.