The sky above Sanctum turned black at noon.
Not gradually. Not with storm clouds or eclipse.
It simply stopped being blue.
One moment sunlight fell on the broken plaza; the next, a perfect circle of absolute darkness replaced it—swallowing the sun, the light, the colour of the world. The edges of the black disk shimmered with faint violet static, as though reality itself had been burned away at the rim.
People in the streets looked up—then froze.
No birds sang.
No wind moved.
The temperature dropped ten degrees in seconds.
Elias felt it before he saw it.
He was still on the monastery roof—kneeling beside the low wall—when the sigil at his chest flared so violently he doubled over. Black veins surged outward from the mark, racing across his skin like spilled ink, while the golden cracks on his right side burned white-hot in protest.
Abaddon's voice rolled through him—not triumphant, not angry, but satisfied in a way that felt final.
The second sun rises.
Elias forced himself upright.
Above the city, hanging where the real sun should have been, was a void made visible—a black sphere the size of the moon but infinitely darker. No light escaped it. No heat. Only absence. Plants in window boxes and rooftop gardens began to wither instantly; leaves curled black and fell. Animals in the streets howled once, then fell silent. People clutched at their throats as though the air itself had thinned.
Elara climbed up beside him—face pale.
"That's not an eclipse."
"It's not anything natural," Elias answered. His voice shook. "It's him."
Inside, Abaddon spoke again—calm, inevitable.
The Black Sun. First herald. It drinks light. It drinks life. It drinks time. When it finishes with this city, it will drink the rest.
Elias gripped the parapet until stone crumbled under his fingers.
"How do we stop it?"
You do not stop it. You feed it or you flee it. There is no third choice.
Elias looked down at the plaza.
People were already collapsing—some clutching loved ones, some praying to a Light that no longer answered, some simply staring upward in mute horror as their skin paled, their breath shortened.
He felt it—the slow drain. Not just physical. Something deeper. Memories flickered at the edges of his vision: his mother's face before the fire, Mira's smile, the first moment the obelisk drank his blood. They dimmed—not gone, but fainter, as though the Black Sun were drinking the past itself.
Behemoth appeared at the roof's edge—stone skin dull, cracks no longer healing.
"Stone weakens," he rumbled. "Even stone."
Liora followed—shadows around her thin, translucent.
"It's eating the dark too," she whispered. "My shadows… they're fading."
Elias looked at them—then back at the Black Sun.
Lucian was still inside—still breathing, still fighting whatever war continued in his sleep—but Elias could feel the tether between them thinning. The golden cracks on his own body flickered erratically, as though the light they carried was being siphoned away.
Abaddon spoke once more—almost gentle.
Let it happen, vessel. Let the Black Sun finish what you began when you refused me. The world ends cleanly. No pain. No memory. Only silence.
Elias closed his eyes.
He saw everything again—the village burning, the cathedral cracking, Lucian begging to die, the angels falling, the people in the plaza looking up in terror.
He saw Mira's face—stubborn, kind, still believing he could come home.
He opened his eyes.
"No."
The word was quiet.
But it carried.
Black flames erupted—not from his hands, not from the sigil, but from every pore—cold, defiant, alive. They raced upward—toward the Black Sun—like roots seeking water in reverse.
The void-disk shuddered.
Violet static flared along its edge.
The drain slowed.
Not stopped.
Slowed.
People in the plaza gasped as breath returned—shallow, painful, but real.
Leaves stopped falling.
Animals stirred.
Elias's knees buckled.
Elara caught him—held him upright.
"You're pushing it back," she whispered.
"I'm… buying time," he rasped. Blood trickled from his nose again—black this time, then gold, then black again.
The Black Sun pulsed—angry now, not indifferent.
Abaddon snarled inside him.
You cannot hold forever.
"I don't have to," Elias answered through gritted teeth. "I just have to hold long enough."
For what, he did not know.
For Lucian to wake.
For Lucifer to falter.
For the Entity to grow bored again.
For one more impossible choice.
The black flames stretched higher—thinner, fainter—straining to reach the void.
The Black Sun pressed downward—harder, hungrier.
And in the silence between heartbeats, Elias whispered to no one and everyone:
"Please… just a little longer."
The world—dying—listened.
And for one fragile, impossible moment, it waited.
End of Chapter 35