Ercale watched from afar, standing atop one of the few guard towers still left intact. From his vantage point, he saw as the demon forces finally began their march toward the coliseum. They advanced in a deliberate three-pronged formation.
At the center, the Knight Commander led the frontal assault, flanked only by the most heavily armored demons, their ranks tight and disciplined. To the left side of the coliseum, Armada advanced with a force of more lightly armed and armored demons, moving faster, less rigid, but no less purposeful. And to the right—closest to Ercale's current position—came Arkanis, surrounded by what remained of the veinblood cherubs, their unnatural forms floating forward in eerie silence.
"Looks like they're finally making their move," Ercale muttered, a scoff slipping past his lips as his gaze fixed on the Demon Lord nearest to him.
"Arkanis," he continued under his breath, voice low with intent, "we're finishing our fight." His eyes shifted briefly toward the coliseum, its silhouette standing defiant against the darkened and violet sky. "But this time… I won't be alone."
His thoughts lingered for a moment. *She should be healed by now.*
---
Inside the chamber of the Healing Springs, Roland sat on the cold stone floor with his back pressed firmly against the door. He had been hiding here for the entirety of the invasion, refusing to let anyone enter. Part of it was fear—plain cowardice—but another part was so that they didn't find out he had stolen the water.
"Why didn't you give me something to teleport back to you or something, you shitty boss…" he whispered bitterly to himself. His eyes drifted back to the spring at the center of the chamber.
"Should I just soak in that?" he muttered, his voice trembling. "Maybe it would calm me down a little."
Slowly, hesitantly, he crawled toward the pool. When he reached the edge, he paused and stared down into the water. His reflection stared back—wide eyes rimmed with red.
"Goddess… my eyes are bloodshot," he said aloud. "I really haven't been blinking much, have I?"
He dipped a hand into the water. The warmth was immediate, soothing, and he let out a long, shaky sigh as the tension in his chest eased just a little.
"Screw it," he muttered, pulling his hand free. "It's not like I can do anything else right now."
He began to reach for his clothes—then froze.
The surface of the spring rippled. Not from the edges, but from the very center. Roland scrambled to his feet and stepped back as the ripples spread outward, gentle at first, then increasingly violent. The water churned as bubbles began to rise, popping rapidly as if something beneath the surface were struggling to emerge.
"What's going on?" he whispered, panic creeping into his voice. "Why is it behaving like this? I never heard about this being a thing…"
Then, without warning, it stopped.
The ripples vanished. The bubbles ceased. The water returned to perfect stillness, glass-smooth and unnervingly calm.
"Is… whatever that was, over?" Roland murmured, taking tentative, hesitant steps toward the spring. His gaze remained fixed on the still water, wary of any sudden movement. Just as he neared the edge, the center of the spring began to swell, rising with a deliberate, smooth motion that sent ripples fanning outward across the surface. The water parted as if it had a mind of its own, lifting a figure gracefully from its depths. Streams of water slid over her body, droplets scattering with each controlled movement, her emergence seamless—as though she were born of the spring itself.
It was a woman, though not an ordinary one. Roland, already tall enough to rarely look up at others, now found himself staring upward. She towered above him, an exceptional six-foot-six in height, her presence commanding even before her gaze met his. Her hair was a vibrant green, cascading all the way to her knees, slick with water but retaining an almost unnatural vitality. Her figure was formidable—every line of her body taut and well-toned, a balance of strength and elegance. She rolled her shoulders, the muscles along her back cracking audibly as though greeting the world again, her movements deliberate, fluid, and utterly confident.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice deep yet undeniably feminine. She turned toward Roland, her eyes flickering through a spectrum of colors before finally settling on a piercing yellow.
"Who are you?" she continued, stretching, the cracking of her joints echoing softly in the chamber, entirely indifferent to—or perhaps unaware of—her nude form.
"I… I… I…" Roland stammered, words failing him. What could he even say in the face of someone like this, rising from a spring like a goddess returned?
"I, I, I… what's wrong? Never seen a naked woman?" she asked, stepping from the water with a mischievous tilt, her gaze sharp as it scanned him. Then, without warning, a black dress began to form around her, wrapping her body seamlessly from neck to ankle. She halted in front of him, towering over him, her eyes glowing faintly, radiating a quiet authority that made him step back instinctively.
Her attention shifted, scanning the room. "What's this? Why do I feel the presence of demons?" she murmured, her voice low but edged with curiosity and latent power.
Roland finally found his voice. "D-d-demons are invading the city," he stammered, recalling fragments of conversation he had overheard outside.
"Is that so?" she said, turning back toward him briefly before her gaze swept to the door. She stepped past him, her boots clicking sharply against the stone floor. "Well, it looks like it's time to do my job again… right after I come back to life too," she said, her grin vicious and unrestrained, announcing the return of Violet Absaar to face the demon invasion once more.