The battlefield had changed again by the time I forced my legs into motion and began sprinting back toward the red hall, and the shift was not simply one of positions or casualties but something deeper and more unsettling, as though the entire mountain had quietly decided to lean closer and observe the final movements of the war unfolding upon its slopes. The fires burning throughout the enemy settlement had dropped into a darker, slower rhythm now, each flame licking upward through shattered tents and collapsed weapon racks with the stubborn persistence of a wound refusing to close.
The smoke drifting from those fires hung low across the ground, thick and oily, catching the faint luminescence of night insects that floated through the mist in slow wandering spirals, their pale lights turning the battlefield into a moving constellation of shadows. Every step I took crushed debris and broken armour beneath my boots while the distant clang of weapons echoed across the valley like iron bells ringing beneath the earth. The mist had thickened further as the night deepened, sliding between ruined barricades and bodies with a strange intimacy, wrapping around my legs as I ran as though the mountain itself wished to slow my passage.
Within that shifting fog the whispers had grown stronger again, their voices now smoother, more patient, whispering suggestions that sounded less like temptation and more like invitations to rest. The tone of those voices had changed in a way that made my spine crawl because they no longer pleaded for surrender; instead they spoke with the quiet assurance of something that believed it already owned the ending of the story unfolding here.
I pushed through it all with the dull, throbbing rhythm of adrenaline pounding inside my chest, my breath echoing harshly inside the helmet as I cut across the battlefield toward the red hall. My muscles burned with exhaustion and my ribs ached where Gallow's kick had driven the breath from me earlier, yet the urgency clawing at the back of my mind would not allow even a moment's hesitation. Somewhere inside that crimson chamber Athena was still alive, chained near the rift where the enemy had dragged Diana, and the thought of what those creatures might do to her if we failed to reach her first drove my legs harder with every stride.
Through the drifting smoke I caught sight of Sextus engaged with his opponent near the shattered edge of the courtyard. The massive warrior fought like a falling fortress, his war axe rising and falling in brutal arcs that split sparks across the darkness each time it collided with the red-armoured enemy's weapon. Their movements had settled into a violent rhythm that seemed to shake the ground itself with every impact. Sextus had begun to overwhelm the man through sheer strength, driving him backward step by step toward a broken barricade, yet the enemy still managed to hold his ground by slipping just enough out of range to avoid the killing strike. I recognized the stalemate immediately and reacted without breaking stride. My hand reached instinctively to the bandolier across my chest, pulling free one of the thin whistle blades clipped there and launching it in a sharp spinning arc toward the enemy's exposed flank.
The blade cut through the smoke with a faint keening sound that lived up to its name, the pitch rising just enough to draw the enemy's attention away from Sextus for a single fatal heartbeat. His katana snapped upward toward the incoming distraction in a reflexive motion meant to deflect the projectile before it could strike his armour. That moment of divided focus was all Sextus needed. The great warrior stepped inside the enemy's guard with terrifying speed, his axe swinging low and sideways with a brutal force that ripped through the man's side plate and into the flesh beneath.
The sound that followed was not the clean clash of steel but something wetter, a grinding impact that tore through armour, muscle, and bone together. The enemy tried to twist away from the strike, but Sextus had already dragged the axe free and shifted his stance with the brutal efficiency of a soldier who had spent his entire life perfecting the act of killing. The second blow landed squarely in the man's chest, the blade punching through the breastplate and driving him backward against the barricade before the light faded from his eyes.
I did not slow down to watch the end of the fight. By the time the enemy's body hit the ground Sextus had already turned and begun running toward me, his heavy footsteps pounding across the debris-strewn ground as he closed the distance. Gunish's voice reached him through their telepathic link a moment later, and I could see the shift in his expression even before he spoke the words aloud.
"Jabir's losing," he said quickly, his breath rough but steady as he fell into stride beside me. "Gunish says he's pinned."
The news cut through my chest like another blade, but there was no time to turn back.
"You keep going," Sextus added before I could even form the question. "Find anyone left alive. I'll handle this."
I met his eyes for a brief moment and saw the decision already hardened there. There was no point arguing.
I nodded once and increased the thrust from my gravity boots.
The acceleration pushed me forward with a sudden violent burst of speed that sent the battlefield blurring past my visor. Wind howled around the edges of my armour as I crossed the remaining distance to the towering gates of the red hall. The structure loomed ahead like the mouth of some vast stone predator, its crimson surfaces reflecting the flicker of fires behind me while the pulsing glow of the rift inside bled outward through the open entrance like the heartbeat of something buried deep within the mountain.
I crossed the threshold at full speed.
The moment I stepped inside the hall the air changed.
The smell of blood was overwhelming here, thick and metallic, mingling with the faint scent of incense that drifted through the chamber like the remnants of a ritual performed long before we arrived. The crimson pillars carved with twisted faces stretched upward into darkness, their surfaces stained with centuries of violence that seemed to shimmer in the dim light cast by the rift.
And there she was.
Athena hung chained high above the ground near the center of the chamber, her wrists bound to iron restraints embedded in one of the massive pillars that stood directly before the rift. Her armour had been torn in several places and dried blood streaked across her cheek and throat, yet even from a distance I could see the fury still burning in her eyes as she struggled against the chains.
Standing beneath her was the man I had prayed never to see again.
The old figure turned slowly at the sound of my entrance, his pale blue eyes settling upon me with a calm curiosity that made the hairs along the back of my neck stand upright. In the dim light of the hall he looked even more monstrous than he had during the distant moment when I watched him tear Argelia's heart from her chest. His armour was a deeper shade of crimson than the others, the plates darker and thicker as though forged for a being who did not need to fear the weight of metal. The cloak draped across his shoulders was black and embroidered with lines of red script that seemed almost to shift in the flickering light. His beard hung long and grey against the armour, stained in places with old blood that had darkened into brown patches along the coarse strands.
In his hand he carried a long black scythe.
Its blade curved outward like a crescent moon carved from shadow.
He did not speak. The silence stretched between us like a drawn blade.
Something about his gaze unsettled me so deeply that my instincts screamed to retreat even before my mind could explain why. I tightened my grip around my sword and began to step backward, trying to create distance between us. I never finished the movement. He vanished.
The world lurched violently as he appeared directly in front of me, so fast that my eyes barely registered the shift before a sudden burning pain exploded across my abdomen. For a moment I believed the scythe had pierced me, but when I looked down I saw something far worse. His hand was inside my body. The fingers had punched cleanly through the armour and into the flesh beneath, the metal bending inward around his wrist like paper as blood began to seep across the cracked plating.
Behind him the scythe floated in midair exactly where he had stood a moment earlier, suspended above the floor without touching it. The shock of the sight drove the breath from my lungs. I coughed, tasting blood in the back of my throat as my knees threatened to buckle beneath me. "You must be confused," the old man said quietly. His voice carried the same refined Victorian cadence I had heard from Gallow, yet there was something heavier inside it, something ancient and worn that made each word echo across the chamber like a slow tolling bell.
"Do not worry," he continued softly. "Death is not awaiting you tonight, Aziri." I stared at him through the haze of pain. "Who are you?" I managed to rasp. My hands closed around his wrist in a desperate attempt to force him away from my body. The motion succeeded only in pulling the wound wider as I stumbled backward and dropped to one knee. The man watched me with a faint smile that never reached his eyes. When I forced myself upright and swung my sword toward his throat he disappeared again. The next thing I felt was his foot slamming into my chest.
The impact hurled me across the hall like a thrown object, my body smashing into one of the crimson pillars with a force that cracked the stone behind me. Pain exploded across my ribs and spine as I collapsed to the floor.
I tried to stand. My legs trembled violently beneath the weight of the armour. "Oh child," the man murmured as he walked slowly toward me. His footsteps echoed across the hall with each measured step.
"You are a persistent one." The hoarse texture of his voice made every word sound like a dry leaf scraping across stone. "I find your movements in these battles rather maladroit," he continued, the word sliding into the air with deliberate precision.
The insult struck deeper than the blow had.
Frustration flared hot inside my chest.
"You hide in shadows," I spat through clenched teeth. "You hunt like parasites and call yourselves warriors." The words had barely left my mouth when he appeared before me again. His fist crashed into my face with a brutal impact that snapped my head backward before his hand closed around my throat. Another strike slammed into my celiac plexus. Even through the armour the blow drove the air violently from my lungs, leaving me gasping and helpless as he lifted me from the ground. The strength in his grip made my heavy armour feel like little more than a child's toy.
He dragged me toward the entrance of the hall and then launched upward into the night sky. The sudden acceleration left my stomach lurching violently as the mountain dropped away beneath us. Within seconds we had risen above the clouds. The world below vanished into a rolling sea of white mist. Above us the sky burned with the deep crimson glow of another blood moon.
The sight was almost unbearably beautiful.
The clouds parted slightly as we climbed higher, revealing streaks of glittering light falling slowly through the sky like shards of broken glass. Diamond rain.
Each crystalline fragment caught the moonlight as it descended, turning the night into a storm of falling stars. The old man tightened his grip around my throat and pulled me closer. "Your kin ruled this world for centuries," he said softly. "Domus Draconum." His pale eyes reflected the crimson moon. "Once your family commanded dragons themselves." He paused to glance upward at the shimmering rain. "Ah," he murmured. "A diamond storm. A phenomenon that once killed millions. Now it is celebrated as a beautiful memory of time."
He leaned closer to my ear. "We have existed in the shadows of your civilization far longer than you imagine." His voice dropped into a whisper.
"You have no idea whose hands truly move the curtains of life." Before I could answer he released his grip. Suddenly I was falling. The wind screamed past my armour as gravity dragged me downward through the clouds. Above me the blood moon glowed like a wound in the sky while the diamond rain intensified around it, countless shards of light streaking through the darkness like celestial knives. For a moment the entire universe seemed frozen in that impossible image. Then the clouds rushed upward to meet me.