The sky was still burning red.
Kaelen hovered amid the ruin of shattered clouds and torn light, **dominating the battlefield** in a way that left no room for doubt—this was no longer a clash.
It was a **hunt**.
The Head Apostle was trapped in his grasp, Kaelen's arm locked around the being's neck, fingers **sunk into luminous flesh** like iron hooks. Holy light bled through Kaelen's knuckles as the Apostle thrashed, wings spasming violently in a futile struggle.
Kaelen tightened his grip.
Bones—divine or otherwise—**cracked**.
The Apostle's voice collapsed into a wet, broken rasp.
In front of him, the second Apostle staggered backward, one arm **missing entirely**, torn away at the shoulder. Radiant blood poured from the wound as light struggled to reassemble itself. The limb **began to reform**, threads of divinity knitting together—
—but it was slow.
Too slow.
Behind Kaelen, the Apostle whose head had been severed hovered unsteadily, their once-lost head **regrowing** in a grotesque bloom of holy radiance. A new face emerged where the old had been erased, eyes blinking open in raw, stunned shock.
Kaelen watched them all.
Calmly.
Coldly.
With disgust.
"So," he said, his voice low and soaked in contempt, "you regenerate even your heads."
His crimson eyes narrowed.
"Good."
The Apostle trapped in his grasp tried to speak again, holy light flaring desperately around their crushed throat.
"You—are—an abomination that will be exterminated—!"
Kaelen smiled.
Not wide.
Not cruel.
Just **final**.
"Correct."
His free hand rose—
—and plunged forward.
Straight through the Apostle whose arm was still reforming.
Holy light **screamed** as Kaelen's fingers closed around something solid, something radiant and violently pulsing—
The core.
The source.
The Apostle convulsed violently.
Kaelen **ripped**.
The core tore free in a burst of blinding brilliance, divine blood spraying outward like shattered stars. The Apostle's body went limp instantly, wings disintegrating into drifting motes of light as Kaelen released the corpse.
It vanished before it could reach the clouds.
Erased.
The remaining Apostles froze.
For the first time since descending from the heavens—
They hesitated.
Kaelen turned toward them slowly, blood dripping from his hand, crimson mana rolling off him in suffocating waves.
"You thought I wouldn't notice," he said quietly.
"You thought I wouldn't reach him in time."
"You thought killing my wife would **break** him."
His gaze sharpened, murderous intent **condensing** until the air itself groaned beneath the pressure.
"You were wrong."
The last Apostle—its head freshly regrown, eyes wide with dawning terror—finally understood.
This was not a battle.
This was extermination.
Kaelen advanced, step by step through the air, each movement crushing pressure down upon the heavens themselves.
Then—
Kaelen's head snapped downward.
For the first time since the sky began bleeding—
**his focus broke**.
"…Draven."
The name tore free from his throat, raw and almost disbelieving.
He felt it clearly now.
That crushing, abyssal presence—the one that had made Apostles hesitate and airships retreat—
**was gone**.
Not withdrawn.
Not hidden.
Gone.
Kaelen's crimson eyes widened as he saw it.
Far below, through torn clouds and drifting ash—
**Draven was falling**.
His body limp.
Arms slack at his sides.
White hair fluttering weightlessly as gravity reclaimed him.
"No—!"
Kaelen surged forward, blood-mana detonating behind him as he **lunged toward the ground**, tearing the sky open in his haste.
He was fast.
Faster than thought.
Faster than lightning.
Still—
He didn't make it two steps.
Light **exploded** in front of him.
A wall.
A blade.
A presence that should not have been able to move that fast.
An Apostle slammed into his path, wings flaring wide, holy radiance burning like a second sun as they **blocked him head-on**.
"Move," Kaelen snarled.
The Apostle did not answer.
It attacked.
A condensed spear of judgment slammed into Kaelen's chest, detonating in a blast of blinding white. Kaelen barely staggered—but the delay was enough.
Another Apostle appeared at his flank.
Then another.
They did not speak.
They did not preach.
They **desperately attacked**.
Kaelen roared.
Crimson mana erupted outward in a violent shockwave, tearing holy light apart as he met them in a brutal clash. Blood-blade and radiant steel collided again and again, each impact shattering clouds and warping the sky.
"GET OUT OF MY WAY!" Kaelen bellowed, fangs fully extended.
He smashed one Apostle aside, crushing their wing and sending them spiraling—but another replaced them instantly, blade locking against his.
Below—
Draven continued to fall.
Kaelen saw it between strikes.
Saw his son's body slowly turning through the air.
Too fast.
Kaelen's strikes grew **sloppier**.
Wilder.
More vicious.
"You think this will save you?!" he roared, tearing through an Apostle's shoulder and hurling them away. "You think blocking me changes anything?!"
He drove his fist straight through another Apostle's chest, ripping them apart in a storm of blood and light—
—but still, another slammed into him, radiant bindings snapping shut and **biting into his mana**, chaining him in place.
Kaelen strained.
Crimson power surged.
Veins of blood-light crawled across his arms as he fought the restraint with the fury of a cornered god.
Below—
Draven's fall accelerated.
The forest rushed up to meet him.
Kaelen felt something tear inside his chest—not his heart.
Something worse.
"Hold on," he muttered hoarsely, fighting with everything he had.
"Hold on—just a little longer, Draven—"
The Apostles pressed harder, pouring everything into stopping him.
They were endless.
Not reborn.
Not summoned.
**Copies**.
Each time Kaelen tore one apart—wing shattered, core destroyed—another emerged from fractured light, identical in form, identical in will.
Same cold eyes.
Same merciless silence.
Same purpose.
Delay him.
Stop him.
No matter the cost.
Kaelen ripped through them anyway.
Blood-blade screaming, crimson mana erupting in waves that crushed radiance and tore halos apart. Bodies of light were destroyed mid-formation, erased before they could even finish manifesting.
But still—
More came.
"Pathetic," Kaelen snarled, tearing one in half. "You think numbers matter to me?"
Then—
**Space cracked.**
Not shattered.
Not distorted.
It split—like glass pushed beyond its limit.
A jagged fissure tore open behind Kaelen, silent and wrong, the air folding inward as if reality itself had drawn a breath it could not hold.
Kaelen felt it an instant too late.
A blur of motion.
A flash of something **ancient**.
And then—
Pain.
Not physical.
**Existential.**
Kaelen froze mid-motion.
His eyes widened—just slightly.
He looked down.
There was a hole in his chest.
Perfectly round.
Clean.
Where his heart should have been—
There was **nothing**.
No blood spilled.
No wound widened.
Only absence.
Crimson mana faltered for the first time, stuttering like a flame starved of air. The blood-blade in his hand flickered, its howl cutting off mid-note.
The Apostles stopped attacking.
They hovered.
Watching.