Smoke and dust still spiraled through the throne hall like ghosts refusing to fade.
From the sky’s shattered ceiling, Dirga fell—his body limp with exhaustion.
He crashed into the stone below.
Like a broken doll, he bounced once—then rolled.
Blood in his mouth. Vision blurred.
He pushed himself up, slow, ragged.
The Crimson Core shifted in his palm, reshaping into a long blade. Not his strongest form—but a fallback. A fighter’s instinct.
That hammer drop wasn’t enough. He knew it.
It looked spectacular. Felt overwhelming.
That wasn’t the kind of enemy you crushed with spectacle.
And maybe... even his Ultimate.
But the Ultimate required too much setup—too many moving parts, too much control. That had always been Dirga’s weakness. He’d worked to fix it, but...
Laughter cut through the crumbling silence.
"Hahahaha... well done, human."
From beneath the rubble, the Butcher rose again—bit by bit. The dust slid off his grotesque form like oil over glass.
Chunks of stone fell from his bloated shoulders.
Black and red, pulsing like congealed blood molded by will. A breastplate of hardened fluid. Shoulders jagged. Legs reinforced. The halberd? Larger. Hungrier. Warped.
Blood wasn’t just a weapon now—it was part of him.
"You used a Concept, didn’t you?" the Butcher grinned, his stomach-mouth drooling again. "I felt it. Gravity. Collapse. Ahhh... delicious. You chose a path. You are becoming."
"And now... this ends."
The halberd swung—harder than before.
Dirga reacted fast, Crimson Core shifting into a tower shield—but even bracing wasn’t enough.
A thin, glowing wall materialized in front of Dirga.
Then another. And another. Five total.
Each wall shattered like glass as the halberd tore through them—but the force bled off, bit by bit.
By the time the halberd struck Dirga’s shield, it was weakened—enough for him to deflect it with a grunt and sidestep the worst of it.
Eyes glowing. Hands pulsing with runes.
"Sorry I’m late," she said, breathing heavily.
The Butcher turned, single eye twitching sideways.
"Oho? Another mosquito joins the swarm."
His voice deepened. "A Niphari. That glow... oh yes. I’ve devoured your kind before."
He lunged—another swing. Faster. Hungrier.
A shadow rose from the floor, solidifying into a wall of darkness just before impact.
The halberd slammed into it, splashing black tendrils everywhere—but stopped.
From the smoke stepped Theryn, eyes sharp as blades.
"Apologies for the delay," she said calmly.
The Butcher’s gaze flicked.
"An elf... no. A Duskborn."
The eye narrowed. "No, no—not just that. You’re of the High Duskborn. You walk with shadow. Rare. Very rare..."
His interest deepened. Hungry.
Dirga stood between them now, shield in one hand, sword in the other.
"Where’s Kaela?" he asked.
"...She’s preparing something," Saelari said, glancing toward the corridor. "Whatever it is... if she succeeds..."
Her fingers tightened around a rune already half-formed.
"We can kill this thing."
Dirga gave a single nod. Slow. Grim.
He didn’t know what Kaela was doing.
But he didn’t need to.
He understood the mission:
As the Butcher’s halberd scraped against the stone, a realization struck Dirga.
These girls... they weren’t just survivors.
Kaela—with those molten eyes that saw Zarion itself.
Theryn—who bent shadow like it was breath.
Saelari—with her glowing runes that could shape defense or destruction on a whim.
They had been kidnapped... but not devoured.
Because even monsters knew not to eat loaded guns.
Back to the battlefield.
Dirga stepped forward—the vanguard.
Shield in one hand. Sword in the other.
Behind him, Theryn moved like living dusk, her shadows dancing along the floor, striking when least expected—binding limbs, stabbing joints, blinding vision.
And from the rear, Saelari raised a glowing palm.
Runes shimmered midair—defensive barriers, amplifying marks, acceleration glyphs.
Support. Precision. Timing.
They had become a unit.
Dirga let out a breath.
The Crimson Core shimmered—then split.
One blade became six.
Two gripped in his hands.
Four floating in the air—spinning, poised, guided by telekinesis.
Like fangs orbiting a predator’s maw.
Dirga’s first strike met the Butcher’s blood-forged halberd. Sparks erupted.
He pivoted, ducked, came up with a rising slash—missed by inches, but a floating sword stabbed in from behind.
A shallow wound across the Butcher’s back.
"RRRAAGHHH!" the monster roared.
It twisted, tail lashing—too late.
Theryn’s shadows caught the limb mid-whip—like chains of living ink.
She yanked, spinning the creature off balance.
Dirga surged forward, blades slashing—
Each strike left a mark, small but building.
The Butcher bellowed and spun again, halberd crashing down like a guillotine.
A glowing rune shield exploded into place just in time—Saelari gasping as she poured energy into defense.
The halberd rebounded—Dirga stepped into the gap.
Another sword flew past him, carving a crimson line across the Butcher’s plated thigh.
The creature was bleeding now—real blood. Steaming. Corrupted.
"You humans..." it growled. "You amuse me."
"But it won’t matter."
Its muscles coiled, ready to unleash another brutal combo—
"We don’t need to win," he said coldly.
"We just need to hold you here."
Her breath came ragged.
Her hands trembled, coated in blood that dripped from beneath her fingernails.
Focus, Kaela told herself, eyes locked on the arcane circle spreading across the ground before her.
Not metaphorically—literally.
The Zarion resisted her. It fought back as she wove it, raw and wild, trying to reject the intricate glyphs she carved with sight alone.
Her God Eyes—that cursed, blessed sight—glowed with furious golden fire, veins creeping like molten cracks across her temples.
And now... they bled.
This wasn’t just any spell.
It was one only those with her eyes could perform.
One that took everything.
A spell not of magic, but of will made law.
It rewrote cause and effect.
If it landed, the Butcher would not simply die.
He would be erased—ripped from reality by judgment passed down through divine sight.
Zarion coiled violently around her body, each circuit threatening to rupture. Her lungs burned with every inhale. The circle beneath her sparked.
Kaela clutched her chest, panting, whispering to herself.
"Just a few more lines. Hold on, everyone... please..."
But her resolve never did.
Because she had seen the outcome if they failed.
And she refused to watch any of them die.