The fall tore the world apart around me into streaks of motion and sound that no longer obeyed any natural sense of direction or time, the sky folding in on itself while the blood moon burned above like a wound that refused to close and the diamond rain sliced through the air in glittering lines that caught the light and shattered it into a thousand fragments. The wind screamed against my armour with a violence that felt personal, as though the mountain itself was trying to erase me before I could reach its surface, and the pressure of the descent drove the breath from my lungs until each inhale became a struggle against the weight of gravity and fear combined.
I forced my hands toward the controls embedded along my gauntlet, fingers trembling as I tried to engage the thrusters and stabilize the fall, but before the system could fully respond the air in front of me distorted again in that impossible way I had already come to dread, and he was there, the old man appearing within the falling space itself as though he had never been bound to the rules that governed the rest of us. His fist struck my abdomen with crushing force, not once but repeatedly, each blow landing with surgical precision that bypassed armour and drove pain directly into the organs beneath, and the impact shattered whatever focus I had left as a blackness edged into my vision for a fleeting moment.
The taste of iron flooded my mouth as I coughed mid-fall, the blood pulled away into the rushing air behind me, and then his foot slammed into my chest with a force so severe it accelerated my descent rather than stopping it, my body shooting downward like a broken projectile through the clouds.
I managed to trigger the thrusters in a desperate attempt to correct my trajectory, but the alignment came too late and too violently, sending me spinning sideways just as I collided with the jagged edge of a cliff that tore across my armour with a sound like metal screaming.
The impact rattled my bones and left my vision swimming, the world tilting in impossible angles as the stars and the blood moon twisted together above me. Before I could regain control he was there again, appearing within my falling path like a thought made manifest, and his foot drove into my chest once more, the force of it cracking something deep inside the plating and launching me toward the ground with an unstoppable velocity. There was no logic to his speed, no visible mechanism behind the way he moved, only the undeniable truth that he existed in a state beyond the constraints that bound the rest of us, and the realization of that truth began to carve a deeper fear into me than any wound he had inflicted so far.
The ground rushed upward in a blur of stone and shadow, the fires of the battlefield flickering into view again as the mist parted beneath my descent, and for a single frozen heartbeat I believed that this was where it ended, that I would strike the earth with enough force to break through armour, bone, and whatever pride remained inside me.
Then something massive intercepted my fall. Odowah's body surged upward from the battlefield below, its enormous form catching me midair with a precision that felt almost impossible given the chaos surrounding us, its claws wrapping around my armour and absorbing the impact in a way that saved my spine from snapping under the force. The creature's heat pressed against me, its breath hot and ragged against the side of my helmet as it twisted midair to redirect the momentum and bring us down toward the ground in a controlled descent.
We did not land cleanly. The shock of the impact still tore through my body, but it was survivable, and the difference between those two outcomes was everything. I barely had time to process the fact that I was still alive before the air split again with that same distortion, and the old man came at us once more, his scythe now moving in a slow arc behind him like a shadow that refused to detach from its master.
Odowah shifted immediately, placing itself between me and the incoming strike, its massive form braced for impact, but before the man could reach us another figure slammed into him from the side with enough force to drive him backward across the ground. Whitescale.
The collision of their bodies sent a shockwave through the surrounding terrain, dust and ash lifting into the air as the two forces met and separated in a violent exchange that felt like watching two opposing laws of nature collide. The old man skidded backward only slightly, his boots carving shallow lines into the earth before he came to a stop, and then he laughed softly, the sound carrying that same hoarse refinement that made every word feel like it had been dragged through centuries before reaching us.
"Ah," he said, his pale eyes settling on Whitescale with something almost like admiration. "The destroyer masquerading as a man. How delightful to finally meet you in the flesh."
Whitescale did not answer him. Instead he turned briefly to look at me, his gaze sharp and assessing despite the chaos unfolding around us, and gave a short signal to Odowah to move me away from the immediate threat. The creature tightened its grip around me, preparing to carry me out of the direct line of combat, but the old man lifted one hand slightly, the motion small yet absolute in its command.
"Oh no," he said, his voice lowering into something colder, something final. "This is where the games conclude, destroyer. I have indulged this farce long enough, and the cost of such indulgence has been… regrettable." He snapped his fingers. The world shifted.
From the surrounding mist and shadow figures began to emerge, red-armoured warriors stepping forward in disciplined formation while black-armoured soldiers filled the spaces between them like a living tide. Fifteen of the red-armoured elites revealed themselves in a slow tightening circle, their presence alone enough to alter the pressure of the battlefield, their weapons already drawn and positioned with the precision of a unit that had trained for exactly this moment. The ground seemed to shrink beneath us as they closed in, the faint glow of the insects and the flicker of fires casting long distorted shadows that turned the entire scene into something almost ritualistic, as though we had stepped into the final act of a performance we had never agreed to join.
My vision scanned the formation instinctively, mapping positions, identifying threats, calculating angles, and then it stopped. There, among them.
A red-armoured enemy stood slightly apart from the others, and at her waist, hanging as though it belonged there, was a blade I knew more intimately than my own breath. My mother's sword. The world narrowed to a single point.
My heart began to hammer against my ribs with a violence that felt unnatural, each beat louder than the last until it drowned out the sounds of the battlefield entirely.
"You," I said, my voice low at first, almost unrecognizable even to myself. "How do you have my mother's sword?" The words scraped out of me like broken glass.
Sextus, Quentin, and Jabir landed beside me moments later, their presence forming a defensive line as they drew their weapons and faced the encroaching enemies, but I barely registered their arrival. My eyes remained fixed on her, on the blade, on the memory of everything it represented.
"ANSWER ME," I roared.
The sound that tore from my throat did not feel like it belonged to me anymore. Heat surged outward from my body, the air around me warping slightly as my vision shifted, the silver of my eyes bleeding into something brighter, something unnatural. Gold. The enemy laughed.
The sound was high and manic, carrying a mocking delight that twisted something deep inside me.
"Oh," she said, tilting her head slightly as she looked at me. "That? I took it from her when she tried to protect that little girl." The words struck like a hammer. Everything stopped.
"No," I whispered, though I could already feel the truth carving itself into me. "You're lying." Her smile widened.
"She begged," the woman continued, her voice dripping with amusement. "Please spare her, she's only a child." The name rose in my throat before I could stop it. "Sofia…" The world fractured.
"You killed Sofia," I said, though the words felt distant, like they were being spoken by someone standing far behind me. "No… no, no, no"The denial collapsed into a scream.
The sound tore through the battlefield, layered and distorted, carrying something deeper than human grief. The air around me ignited.
Odowah recoiled instinctively, pulling away from me as the pressure building within my body began to distort the space itself. Gunish coiled tighter around Sextus, while Jaanus descended in a sudden rush, its massive wings beating hard as it grabbed Quentin and Jabir and pulled them back from me.
The old man moved again, his speed still beyond comprehension, his foot slamming into my body and sending me flying across the terrain into the trunk of a massive tree that splintered under the impact.
"Oh be silent, child," he said dismissively, already turning away from me as though I were no longer worth his attention. "Your time will come."
The laughter started again, the same woman. The same voice repeating itself. Mocking it. Sofia. Something broke. There was no warning. No transition. One moment I was on the ground, breath ragged, vision blurred next I was standing in front of her. No one saw me move. My sword was already inside her mouth.
The blade punched through her skull, the metal tearing through bone and flesh as her body convulsed around it, her laughter cutting off into a wet choking silence. The battlefield froze. Then I moved again.
The arc of my blade cut through the air with impossible speed, severing limbs, splitting bodies at the waist, the resistance of armour and bone feeling like nothing more than soft resistance beneath the edge of the weapon. It wasn't a fight anymore. It was a massacre.
Whitescale's voice cut through the chaos. "Control yourself, Aziri!" I turned toward him, the look in his eyes shifted instantly. Cold. Fear.
Something he had never shown me before. Tears ran down my face, though I did not remember crying. My vision burned gold.
The air around me steamed with heat, each breath leaving my mouth in a visible distortion like fire struggling to escape. The old man came at me again. This time, I didn't move. My arm rose. I caught him.
The impact of our collision cracked the ground beneath us, and before he could react I drove my foot into his chest with a force that sent him flying backward through trees, through stone, through the gate itself, his body tearing into the hall beyond.
The remaining red-armoured enemies reacted instantly, shouting orders to attack and retreat simultaneously, some moving toward me while others began falling back toward the rift. Too slow. I was already among them.
I moved through their formation like a shadow given form, my blade cutting through armour and flesh with terrifying ease, each strike precise, efficient, absolute. There was no hesitation. No thought. Only movement. Only destruction.
Bodies fell in pieces around me, the ground becoming slick with blood as I advanced toward the hall, toward the rift, toward whatever remained inside. "Aziri…please…" Whitescale's voice broke again behind me. I turned. I smiled.
"Oh poor child," a voice said through me, layered and ancient, carrying something that was not mine. "Do you still believe your kin is present within this vessel?"
My fist drove into his chest, sending him backward, Odowah catching him before he hit the ground. "I shall grant you your wish," the voice continued, calm, philosophical, inevitable. "Watch through my eyes as I deliver judgment." The ground beneath me began to break. "let my pain be your fuel, consume their life and bring fear into their hearts, let there be absolute carnage absent of innocence and sin be their martyr and become my hollow".
Darkness poured outward in waves, the earth itself splitting as massive root-like structures tore through the surface, twisting and lashing outward with destructive force. The air became suffocating. The pressure unbearable. Above me, Something formed.
It was almost invisible, a vast serpentine shape coiling through the air, its presence bending the light around it, revealing only glimpses of its form. Four golden eyes opened. And the sound it made, Was not meant for the living.