The moment Diana vanished into the pulsing rift the entire hall seemed to inhale sharply, as though the crimson chamber itself had recognized the gravity of what had just occurred and was preparing to devour the consequences. The air vibrated with a pressure that crawled across my skin like the slow tightening of invisible chains, and for a heartbeat none of us moved because the realization of what we had just witnessed struck deeper than any blade could have cut. The rift itself pulsed with renewed intensity now, its crimson glow spreading across the floor like a living tide that illuminated the dark streaks of blood running between the towering pillars. The stone faces carved into those pillars appeared almost animated in the shifting light, their expressions twisting into grotesque masks of worship and agony that seemed to watch our every movement with silent anticipation. The smell inside the hall was thick and metallic, a suffocating mixture of incense, blood, and ancient stone that tasted bitter on the back of my tongue, and somewhere within that suffocating atmosphere the whispers from the mist outside had followed us inside, their soft seductive voices brushing against the edges of my thoughts with promises of rest and surrender that sounded dangerously persuasive after the exhaustion of everything we had endured to reach this place.
I felt the tension ripple through our formation immediately, the silent calculations each of us made about how this battle would unfold racing behind our eyes even as our bodies remained poised on the edge of motion. Nine red-armoured warriors stood between us and the rift like statues carved from war itself, their cloaks hanging motionless despite the invisible currents swirling through the hall. Every instinct inside me recognized the truth of what we were facing; these were not merely elite soldiers placed here as guards but something closer to generals in their own right, warriors chosen specifically for the purpose of halting anyone reckless enough to challenge the threshold of the rift. My mind began mapping the battlefield almost automatically, measuring the distance between each of them and the narrow openings between the towering pillars that could become both cover and trap depending on how the fight unfolded. Beside me I could sense Sextus shifting his stance slightly behind the heavy shield strapped to his arm, Athena lowering her center of gravity with blades poised like silver crescents waiting to strike, and Jabir's breathing slow and steady despite the pain that still lingered in his wounded body. The question none of us spoke aloud hung heavy in the air: who among us could hold two of those red-armoured warriors long enough for the others to reach the rift.
The moment of hesitation lasted no more than a heartbeat before Whitescale moved. His body launched forward with the explosive grace of a predator finally released from its cage, twin swords carving through the air in wide arcs that glimmered briefly in the crimson light. I moved with him instinctively, the two of us surging toward the rift in perfect synchronization as though our thoughts had become a single command. The red-armoured warriors reacted immediately, two of them stepping forward to intercept our advance while another slipped backward toward the rift itself. I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye just as the second enemy warrior vanished through the crimson threshold behind Diana, and rage surged through my chest like a wildfire breaking loose across dry earth.
Whitescale's blades struck first, colliding with the weapons of the two defenders in a burst of sparks that scattered across the stone floor like fragments of burning stars. Their swords clashed with a sound like ringing bells inside the enclosed hall, the vibrations echoing against the pillars and rising into the vaulted ceiling where they seemed to multiply and return in distorted waves. I tried to slip past the clash and drive forward toward the rift, but one of the red-armoured warriors pivoted smoothly into my path, his spear cutting through the air in a brutal horizontal sweep that forced me to throw myself sideways to avoid having my ribs crushed by the impact.
Behind me the rest of our team surged into the fight with equal urgency. Quentin and Sextus descended upon the defenders from opposite angles like falling thunder, their weapons striking with such force that the ground itself trembled beneath their boots. Athena and Jabir followed seconds later, their movements weaving through the expanding chaos with a precision that transformed the battlefield into something almost choreographed. For a brief moment the hall erupted into a storm of clashing steel and shifting shadows as both sides collided in a violent dance of blades. Then the giant appeared.
The red-armoured warrior who moved toward me was unlike the others in a way that was immediately unsettling. Even through the distortion of the hall's crimson light I could see that he towered over the rest of his comrades by nearly half a body length, his armour thicker and more heavily reinforced than any of the others, the plates overlapping across his torso and shoulders like the scales of some ancient beast. He stood easily over seven feet tall even without the advantage of my armour's enhanced height, and unlike the others he wore no hood to obscure his face. His features were fully visible, sharp and composed in a way that suggested an unsettling confidence in the outcome of the battle. He moved faster than I expected someone of that size to move.
Before I could adjust my stance he launched forward and seized me mid-flight, one massive hand closing around the front of my armour as though I weighed nothing more than a child's toy. My fist drove toward his face instinctively, but the impact landed with a dull crack that barely seemed to register in his expression. Instead of reacting he simply tightened his grip and twisted his body with terrifying strength, carrying me with him as he vaulted backward through the shattered entrance of the hall and into the cold night beyond.
The world spun violently around me as he hurled me through the air and across the courtyard outside, my armour absorbing the worst of the impact when I struck the ground but still rattling my bones with enough force to blur my vision for a moment. By the time I rolled back to my feet he had already landed several paces away, his massive frame silhouetted against the burning campfires and drifting smoke of the battlefield below.
He studied me for a moment with a calm curiosity that felt deeply unnatural given the violence of the situation.
"Ah," he said softly, his voice carrying the refined cadence of a man who had spent his life among the halls of aristocrats rather than battlefields. The accent struck me immediately, the unmistakable tones of old Victorian England echoing through his words like a ghost from a forgotten age of Prime Earth. "We are at last afforded a moment of privacy."
He straightened slightly and bowed with theatrical elegance that felt disturbingly out of place amid the blood and fire surrounding us.
"The name is Gallow, my young prince." The way he spoke my title sent a ripple of unease through my spine. He lifted his head and gave me a small, almost playful wink. "You must forgive the discourtesy of my colleagues," he continued in the same polished tone. "The evening has been rather… lively."
I remained silent, studying him the way one studies a chess opponent whose opening move has already disrupted the entire board.
Gallow began pacing slowly around me in a wide circle, his boots crunching softly against the gravel and broken stone scattered across the courtyard.
"You appear confused, Your Lordship," he said thoughtfully. "That is perfectly understandable. You see, history is a rather curious creature. It behaves very much like a manuscript whose pages are rewritten by the victor, and those unfortunate enough to lose rarely enjoy the luxury of editing their own narrative."
His gaze lingered on me with unsettling amusement. "And I regret to inform you that the chronicle of your house has reached its final chapter." The words struck harder than any blade.
For a moment flashes of memory surged through my mind like sparks in a storm, my father standing proud in the halls of our home, my uncle's laughter echoing through the courtyard gardens, Argelia's final battle burning across the sky above Mercury. Every face lost in this war rose before my eyes in silent accusation. All of them dead. For this.
For a story written by men who believed themselves authors of history. "You speak of victory," I said finally, my voice low and steady despite the storm raging inside my chest. "Yet you hide in shadows and hunt like thieves." Gallow stopped pacing.
A faint chuckle escaped his lips, soft and almost affectionate. "My dear prince," he replied, folding his hands behind his back as though we were discussing philosophy rather than preparing to kill each other. "You possess a fine mind, but I fear you have misunderstood the most efficient methods of extinguishing an empire."
He tilted his head slightly. "You believed yourselves defenders of honour and justice. Noble pursuits, certainly. Admirable even. But the truth of power is far less romantic." His smile widened faintly.
"One does not conquer a kingdom by charging headlong into its gates. One dismantles its foundations quietly, patiently, until the great towers collapse under their own weight."
The whispers in the mist seemed to grow louder around us as he spoke, their voices curling through my thoughts like smoke through broken windows.
"You fought for honour," Gallow continued softly. "Allow me the courtesy of offering you dignity." His eyes gleamed with something almost reverent. "Let me inherit your heart, Aziri. Let me consume your realm into mine so that you may live forever within the boundaries of my universe."
For a moment I simply stared at him. The madness behind his words felt almost surreal. Then I exhaled slowly. "Death," I said quietly, "is merely a harbour where every traveler eventually anchors." My blade rose into guard position.
"If you wish to be the ferryman who carries me across that water, then so be it. But know this, Gallow my heart and my realm are not things you can inherit." The wind shifted around us. "For they are guarded by forces even I do not fully understand."
My sword cut a sudden arc behind me as I stepped forward, the blade flashing through the air in a swift strike aimed at the space where he had been standing moments earlier.
But Gallow was already gone. He vaulted upward with impossible grace, his massive frame lifting into the air before landing lightly several meters behind me.
He glanced down at the glowing line my blade had carved through the gravel. Then he nodded approvingly. "Yes," he said softly. "Perform well for the stars, young prince." His smile sharpened. "For our Lord is watching."