Dark red mana **coiled once more** around Draven's arm.
Not rushed.
Not frantic.
It gathered with **terrible patience**, as though the world itself had already accepted what was coming and could do nothing but wait for the blow.
Across the command deck of the **Lux Invicta**, seasoned officers froze in place. Veterans who had stared down demon lords felt their knees weaken. With every breath, the air grew heavier, pressure settling not only on flesh and bone—but on the soul itself.
Someone whispered, almost reverently,
"…He's going to do it again."
Theron did not look away.
His golden gaze burned brighter, fixed upon the lone figure suspended in the sky—blood-streaked, head bowed, fist drawing in power enough to end a city.
"Barrier," Theron said sharply. "Reactivate it. Now."
The reply came instantly, voice trembling.
"…Impossible, Your Majesty. The sanctum lattice is shattered. The core needs hours—no, days—to recover."
A flicker crossed Theron's eyes.
Not fear.
**Decision.**
"Then the cannons," he said. "Status."
The officer swallowed hard. "Fully charged. All arrays at maximum output."
Theron exhaled slowly.
"Good."
He turned, cloak snapping behind him as the decks shuddered beneath distant clashes raging above.
"Lux Invicta is to retreat immediately," Theron ordered, his voice calm—absolute.
"Full reverse. Maximum acceleration."
Several officers stiffened.
"Your Majesty—!"
"That is not a suggestion."
The command rune flared.
Outside, massive thrusters ignited. Holy sigils roared to life as the flagship began pulling back, metal groaning under the sudden strain of acceleration.
Theron's gaze shifted to the two airships hovering behind.
"The remaining vessels," he continued, "advance."
Both captains answered at once.
"Barriers to full power," Theron commanded. "All reserves. Burn the cores if you have to."
Golden light **erupted**.
The two ships surged forward, barriers flaring into **towering domes of radiant brilliance**, thicker and denser than before—layer upon layer of divine reinforcement overlapping like shields nested within shields.
Priests screamed prayers.
Runes bled light.
Engines howled.
Below—
Draven slowly raised his head.
For the first time since the barrier shattered, his gaze lifted fully.
Black sclera.
Crimson pupils.
He looked at the advancing ships.
And smiled.
It wasn't wide.
It wasn't cruel.
It was small.
Tired.
Certain.
The mana around his fist compressed further still. Space distorted. Light bent inward, as though afraid to exist near it.
Above, even Kaelen felt it. He turned mid-battle, eyes widening.
"…Draven," he breathed.
Theron watched from the retreating flagship, golden eyes narrowing.
"Fire," he said quietly.
"All cannons."
The two advancing ships answered as one.
The sky ignited.
Lances of condensed divinity tore through the heavens, crossing paths as they converged upon a single point—**Draven**.
The air screamed.
Then—
Draven's fist **closed**.
He didn't brace.
He didn't shout.
He didn't accelerate.
He simply **threw the punch forward**.
The collision was instantaneous.
Light devoured the sky.
A blinding eruption tore outward as fist met bombardment—white and crimson grinding against gold in a violent, screaming stalemate. For a fraction of a second, the forces locked—
Divine annihilation
against
abyssal will.
Then the sky **detonated**.
The explosion did not bloom outward like fire.
It **collapsed inward**, crushing air, mana, and light into a deafening implosion—before rebounding in a cataclysmic shockwave that tore across the heavens.
The barriers of both advancing ships screamed.
Cracks spiderwebbed instantly—thin at first, then racing wildly across the radiant domes like shattered glass beneath a hammer. Priests collapsed to their knees as conduits ruptured, holy runes flickering and dying.
"B–Barrier integrity failing—!"
Too late.
With a thunderous **shatter**, both barriers broke apart, exploding into countless fragments of fading light that scattered like dying stars.
The shockwave slammed into the hulls.
Both ships were hurled backward, engines shrieking as stabilizers failed. Entire decks buckled. Crew were thrown from their feet as the sky itself seemed to flip.
And then—
*CRASH.*
The forward observation windows of **all three airships**, including the retreating **Lux Invicta**, shattered at once.
Glass exploded inward across command decks. Officers raised their arms too late as shards rained down. Consoles sparked. Alarms wailed.
Wind howled through the breaches.
Theron did not move.
Golden eyes locked through the ruined viewport, staring at the epicenter of the blast.
The light faded.
The smoke tore apart.
The airships groaned—but they **held**.
Emergency runes flared across their hulls. Engines screamed as stabilizers fought against the lingering shockwave. Decks lay torn, windows gone, crews bloodied and shaken—
But the ships remained aloft.
For a heartbeat—
Relief.
Some laughed weakly. Others collapsed to their knees. Voices trembled across shattered command decks.
"Th–They survived…"
"We're still in the air…"
"By the Radiant—"
Then they looked forward again.
Draven was still there.
Floating in the open sky, framed by torn clouds and fading light—**staring directly at them**.
The relief curdled into ice.
No barrier.
No chant.
No effort.
Just him.
A low murmur spread through the decks, fear seeping into every word.
"Wh… what is he?"
"How is he still standing after that?"
"That was full bombardment—"
"He didn't even move…"
A thin line of blood slid down Draven's cheek.
Several officers seized upon it like drowning men grasping at driftwood.
"He's wounded—!"
"He bled—!"
But before the thought could finish—
The wound **sealed**.
Skin knit together seamlessly. Flesh closed as though time itself had reversed. No scar. No mark. Not even a trace it had ever existed.
The decks fell silent.
Even the alarms seemed to quiet.
Draven's gaze never wavered.
Theron stood amid shattered glass, golden eyes locked onto him, unblinking. Neither looked away. Neither spoke. Across the vast distance, it felt less like staring—
And more like two forces **measuring the end of the world**.
Then—
Something changed.
The black that had swallowed Draven's eyes began to **fade**.
Not all at once. Slowly. Like ink thinning in water. The cracks across his face dimmed. The crushing pressure in the air eased—just slightly.
Draven's eyelids fluttered.
His pupils trembled.
Then his eyes **closed**.
His body tilted.
For the first time since Elliana fell—
Draven **fell**.
Straight down.
No resistance.
No levitation.
No shadow reaching out to catch him.
Just gravity.
Below, knights gasped. Apostles stiffened. Kaelen's expression snapped from fury to shock.
"Draven—!"
The wind screamed as his body plummeted, white hair trailing upward, mana bleeding from him like embers fading into ash.
Above, on the **Lux Invicta**, Theron finally spoke—quiet, measured, and grim.
"…So even monsters have limits."
No one answered.
Because far below—
As Draven fell toward the shattered earth—
Something ancient, something patient, **stirred**.
And the darkness that had receded…
Had not left.
It was only **waiting**.