Location: Sector 5, The Necropolis (The Cathedral of Silence).
Time: Unknown (Time is fluid here).
The spectral rune didn't open a door; it opened a shadow.
Dante and Valerius stepped through the green rift and emerged into a world that smelled of heavy incense, dry earth, and formaldehyde.
Sector 5 was not a ruin. It was a masterpiece of macabre architecture. The skyscrapers were carved from the colossal vertebrae of leviathans, spiraling up into a sky that was perpetually twilight. The streetlamps were rib-cages holding spheres of green witch-fire, casting long, dancing shadows.
There was no noise. No wind, no engines, no voices. Just the silent, rhythmic shuffle-click of millions of dead citizens going about their eternal business.
"It is... orderly," Valerius whispered, his hand resting white-knuckled on the hilt of his sword. He looked at a group of skeletons building a wall. They moved with perfect synchronization, like clockwork automata without the ticking.
"Entropy is chaos," Dante noted, adjusting his coat and checking the charge on his arm. "Death is absolute order. Everything in its place. Forever. It's the ultimate bureaucracy."
They walked up the stairs of the Cathedral of Silence. It was a massive structure made of black marble and gold, guarded by two Grave-Titans—giants stitched together from thousands of corpses, standing motionless as statues, their sewn-shut eyes watching the entrance.
The doors groaned open with the sound of a tomb unsealing.
The Throne of Dust
The interior of the Cathedral was a single, vast hall. The floor was a lake of still, black water that reflected the ceiling miles above. A walkway of floating tombstones led to the far end.
There, sitting on a throne that looked suspiciously like a pile of melted crowns and broken swords, was Mortis.
He was small. Not the giant projection from the plaza. In person, the Necromancer was a withered corpse wrapped in fine, tattered grey silk. His face was a skull, the skin pulled tight like parchment, with emeralds set in the eye sockets.
He held the Fourth Axiom—a lantern containing a swirling, screaming vortex of souls—in his lap.
"Welcome, Pale King," Mortis rasped. His voice didn't echo; it was absorbed by the damp walls. "And the Chimera. You are bold to walk into the mouth of the grave."
"I was invited," Dante said, walking across the floating stones. He stopped ten paces from the throne. "And I brought my own lighting."
Dante tapped his mechanical arm. The War Engine flared red in his eyes, a warning that he was armed and nuclear.
Mortis chuckled—a dry, rattling sound like dice in a cup.
"Peace, Scavenger. If I wanted you dead, I would have let the Zealot erase you. You are more useful to me breathing."
Mortis gestured to the black water. An image rippled on the surface.
It showed the Southern Border. The White Void was advancing. It moved like an eraser across a chalkboard. Mountains, cities, armies—they didn't explode. They simply ceased to be.
"The Zealot," Dante said. "Who is he?"
"His name was Lucian," Mortis explained, his voice filled with ancient venom. "He was a priest before the world broke. He found the Third Axiom: The Light. He believes that the world is broken because it is impure. He believes that sin, decay, and entropy are errors in the code."
Mortis leaned forward, the souls in his lantern screaming softly as the glass fogged.
"He is not trying to conquer the world, Dante. He is trying to debug it. He wants to delete everything that is not 'Perfect Light'. And that includes you, me, and everyone else who casts a shadow."
The Seven Keys
Dante looked at the lantern. Then at his own arm. Then at the spectral projection.
"The Axioms," Dante said. "There are seven. We have three between us."
"Correct," Mortis nodded. "The Origin was shattered into seven concepts."
He raised a skeletal finger, counting them off:
* The Mind (The Library): "You hold the Blueprint. The Intellect."
* The Physics (The Engine): "You hold the Force. The Conflict."
* The Light (The Zealot): "Lucian holds the Purity. The Erasure."
* The Spirit (Mortis): "I hold the Cycle. The Soul."
"That leaves three," Dante calculated. "Where are they?"
"Lost," Mortis said. "Or hidden."
* The Flesh (The Biologist): "Gorm sought it, but failed. It creates life without soul. It is lost in the swamps."
* The Forge (The Builder): "The power to craft matter that cannot be destroyed."
* The Void (The End): "The Seventh... no one speaks of the Seventh. It is the hole at the bottom of the universe."
Mortis stood up. He walked down the steps of his throne, the silk dragging on the water.
"Lucian's Light dissolves matter. It dissolves spirit. I threw a legion of Death Knights at him. He turned them into nothingness. My magic cannot touch him because he denies the concept of Death."
He looked at Dante.
"But your magic... Entropy... and War... you deal in physical laws. You deal in the breaking of things."
"You want me to break the Light?" Dante asked.
"I want us to build a wall," Mortis corrected. "A wall he cannot delete."
The Fifth Axiom
Mortis waved his hand over the water. The image changed.
It showed a volcano in the East. Not a natural one—a geometric cone of steel and fire, venting black smog. Sector 3: The Industrial Zone.
"The Fifth Axiom: The Forge," Mortis revealed. "It is currently held by a dormant AI known as The Vulcan. It is a factory that can print god-metal."
"Adamantine," Valerius whispered.
"Better," Mortis hissed. "Star-Metal. If we can secure the Forge, we can build a shield. A physical barrier that refracts the Zealot's Light. We can contain the deletion."
Dante smiled. The Silvergrin caught the green light of the lantern.
"You want to heist a factory," Dante said. "From a rogue AI."
"I provide the labor," Mortis offered. "Countless undead workers who do not tire. You provide the leadership. And the firepower. The Vulcan does not negotiate with the dead... but it might listen to the God of War."
Dante looked at Valerius.
"We just finished building a fortress," Dante mused. "Now we're going to build a dam to hold back the apocalypse."
Dante extended his mechanical hand.
"Alliance accepted, Mortis. But one condition."
"Name it."
"When the Zealot is gone," Dante said, his eyes cold. "You and I go back to being enemies. I don't share power."
Mortis laughed again, louder this time.
"Agreed, Pale King. The dead are patient. I will attend your funeral eventually."
Mortis gripped Dante's hand. Green fire met Red mana.
The Pact was sealed.
The Alarm
Suddenly, the water in the pool boiled.
Mortis froze. He looked at the lantern. The souls inside were shrieking in terror, clawing at the glass.
"He is here," Mortis whispered.
"Who?"
"The Zealot. He is not just erasing the border. He is... projecting."
CRACK.
The roof of the Cathedral of Silence split open.
A beam of pure, blinding white light slammed into the center of the Necropolis.
It didn't destroy the buildings. It whitewashed them. The bone towers turned into smooth, white marble. The green fire turned to white light. The skeletons standing in the street didn't crumble; they were rewritten. Their bones fused, smoothed, and reshaped into kneeling statues of angels.
A voice descended from the sky. It wasn't loud. It was terrifyingly calm. It sounded like a choir of mathematically perfect notes.
"I SENSE IMPURITY."
Dante shielded his eyes. "Prime! Analysis!"
"Warning. Reality Integrity failing. The local physics are being overwritten. Threat Level: Omega."
Mortis screamed, clutching his lantern. "Run! He is targeting the Cathedral!"
The beam of light moved. It swept toward them, erasing the black water, erasing the floating tombstones, turning everything into a featureless white void.
"Valerius!" Dante yelled. "Get us out!"
Valerius grabbed Dante. He grabbed the spectral key.
"Where do we go?" Valerius shouted.
"Sector 3!" Dante roared. "The Forge! It's the only place he can't erase!"
The white light consumed the throne. Mortis vanished into a shadow-step, fleeing instantly.
Valerius activated the key. The shadows wrapped around them.
Just as they dissolved, the White Light hit the spot where they had been standing.
The floor ceased to exist.