Arthur's false moon glowed through the rain. Its light shimmered across the puddles, cold and steady. The lunar spirits circled him, pale shapes weaving in the downpour.
He lifted his sword of mana and light. Then he vanished.
Azrael turned at the last second. Their blades clashed, a bright spark in the storm. Arthur drove forward, his strikes fast and sharp, cutting through the veil of smoke around them.
The air rippled. Azrael's eyes flickered. Time slowed. Raindrops hung in the air like glass.
Arthur felt it lock around him, his body heavy, his breath trapped. The moon above him pulsed once. The spirits screamed, their glow cutting through the distortion. The world snapped back. He surged forward, slicing through the haze.
Azrael blurred away, leaving only trails of shadow. Arthur followed, each step churning the water beneath him.
Lyra stood behind, her barriers flickering with violet light. She studied Azrael's movements, tracing their rhythm. He bends time on himself. Every shift leaves a delay. He can't hold it long.
A wall of light formed at her command, thin and curved. Azrael appeared beside it, trying to phase through. The barrier caught him, cracking the air. Arthur closed in and struck, his blade cutting into smoke.
Azrael moved again, faster now. The world bent, time speeding for him. He appeared behind Lyra.
She spun, barrier raised. His strike hit, pushing her back a step. Too far from me. The structure weakens. She reinforced it, layers of light folding into one another.
Arthur's voice was rough. "He's breaking your focus."
"I see it," she said. Her tone stayed calm, but her pulse quickened. Another shield rippled out to cover him.
The moon dimmed. Arthur's mana burned through his veins. The spirits circled tighter, their forms turning wild. They rushed into his sword, feeding it their light.
He charged. His blade tore through smoke, through rain, through the moment itself. The moon flared, drowning the field in white. For an instant, nothing moved.
When the light faded, Azrael was on one knee. The shadow leaking from him drifted apart into mist. Arthur's sword was pressed against his chest.
Arthur's grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles paled. The rain crawled down his face, dripping from his jaw, mixing with the blood on his armor. He glared into the darkness. His voice trembled.
"Why won't you speak? How am I supposed to—"
The words cracked before he could finish.
Azrael didn't move. His red eyes gleamed faintly under the hood, a stillness colder than the storm itself. Then his body began to lose shape—edges melting, armor dissolving into a rising haze.
Arthur raised his blade, expecting another strike. Lyra summoned a barrier, her expression focused and sharp. But the smoke only drifted. It thinned into the air, curling away like a dying breath.
The wind carried him off. No burst of power, no sound of defeat. Just the quiet unraveling of a man who'd fought too long.
Arthur lowered his sword. The tip met the mud with a soft clink. His breath hitched once. Then again. The storm drowned the sound of his voice when he dropped to his knees. His reflection shimmered faintly in the puddle below him—his father's shadow in his face.
Lyra knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Rain traced down her sleeve, collecting between her fingers. "You're a leader here, Arthur," she said, voice low but firm. "I know how it feels to lose someone. But you need to stay grounded."
He lifted his head slowly, eyes red. "I never got to know what it was like to have a real father."
Lyra froze. The words hit her harder than she expected. For a second, she saw the boy he must've been—small, furious, reaching for something that never reached back. She straightened, tucking her wet hair behind one ear. "We should check on the others," she said quietly. "If you destroy Julius, then… his death won't be in vain."
Arthur wiped his eyes with his wrist. His voice steadied. "I don't feel Cain's presence. Let's move."
He rose, and she followed. Yet as they walked, her gaze drifted to the mist curling where Azrael had vanished. Something about it lingered—a wrongness that didn't fade with the rain. He wasn't like the others, she thought. He could've killed us. So why didn't he?
⸻
The rain grew heavier near the ruins. Reid stumbled out from the shattered gate, Rin slung over his shoulder. Steam rose from the wet stone behind him.
"About time," he called, forcing a grin despite the limp. "I was starting to think you'd gotten yourselves killed."
Lyra smiled faintly, seeing her brother. "You look terrible," she said. "We need to reach Ren and the commander fast."
Reid sighed, his hair plastered to his face. "Right. The Machine… at least it's almost over, huh?"
"Don't say that yet." Rin's voice was weak but edged with sarcasm. She pressed a hand to her side. "Don't jinx it."
Reid crouched, setting her down by the castle steps. "I patched her up best I could," he said. "Cain didn't hold back."
Lyra knelt beside Rin. Her hands glowed faintly as she whispered an incantation. Threads of light slipped into the wounds, sealing torn flesh. The storm fell quiet around her spell. Minutes passed. Then Rin's breathing steadied.
Lyra exhaled and reached into her belt pouch. "We have two crystals. Arthur?"
He nodded and produced one from his coat. "Let's go meet them."
But before he could stand, the air cracked.
It wasn't thunder. It was mana; dense, crushing, absolute. A force pressed down on their chests, shaking the stones beneath them. Arthur's blade dropped from his hand. Reid fell to one knee, gasping. Lyra clutched her head, vision swimming.
The sky turned pale gold. Then the ground split.
"You wouldn't be speaking about these two, would you?"
Julius stepped through the haze, towering. His hands dangled limp bodies, Ren and Virgil, like trophies. He tossed them aside, the sound of impact lost under the roar of rain. His grin cut across his face, wide and sharp.
"I feel perfect." He stretched, every joint cracking like breaking glass. "This euphoric sensation… I haven't felt it in a hundred years." His gaze turned toward Lyra. "You should be praised, woman."
An orange portal shimmered open behind him. From it stepped a Blight, dragging Elowen by the throat. Her healer's robes were shredded, her body limp. Julius reached out and cupped her bloodied cheek with frightening gentleness.
"She's quite the medic," he murmured. "No wonder you've survived this long. Unfortunately, that ends now. I'm growing tired of swatting at flies."
Rin crawled forward, rain plastering her hair to her skin. Her eyes burned. Every breath shook. "You—won't—win," she forced out, each word a blade.
Julius stepped like a man walking through a gallery, boots soft on wet stone. He smiled as he passed ruined walls. "I'm glad you left the wreckage for me. Saves time. I'm thinking gold. What about you?"
Arthur pushed himself up on his sword, slow and raw. His jaw was white with effort.
Julius sent a narrow blast of mana at him. It slammed Arthur back into the mud. He laughed as Arthur hit the ground. "You people never give up. How quaint. I suppose I must squash you now." He raised his boot above Rin's head. "An unsatisfying end."
Light knifed the sky.
BOOM.
A bolt of lightning split the rain. It struck the air between them and Julius staggered, steam hissing from his white coat. He wiped a palm across his sleeve and grinned like a man who has been interrupted at a party. "That was quick," he said, amusement in his voice.
Violet lightning tore the world open near the ruins. The portal was wrong. It bucked and screamed with raw mana. Hot, unstable power licked the edges and threw shards of light outward. A streak of violet arced and stopped above Rin like a blade poised midfall.
Sosuke knelt beside her. His hand settled on her shoulder. He wore a black uniform trimmed in gold plate and a cloak the color of midnight bruises. The crest of Westoria sat on his breast, small and hard. Rain ran off the cloak in thin rivers. He breathed once and then spoke, voice even and certain. "I'll take it from here."
"Sosuke… you can't." Rin's eyes widened. Fear and something like pleading tangled in her tone. "Your core—don't. You're giving up so much—"
He shook his head and smiled, simple and terrible. "I know." His fingers pressed to the place on his chest where mana pulsed beneath skin. The glow there was faint and uneven, like a lamp running low. "What matters is the end. If I burn part of myself now, we can end this war."
Julius clapped, the sound small in the storm. "A fine recovery," he said. The amusement sharpened. "But you did not gain enough power in so short a time to face me alone."
Sosuke's eyes narrowed. A smirk split his face, not triumph but hard promise. "Part of a core's strength is driven by the heart," he said. He pressed his palm to his chest again. The light there flared, thin threads unfurling into the air and snapping like wires. "Right now my heart wants to protect my friends." His eyes burned, light bleeding from their edges. "And the rage spilling from my core."
"How sappy." Julius shook his head and his voice was a blade.
Sosuke drew his katana in a single motion. Steel slid free with a cold whisper. He settled into a low, wide stance, blade angled like a falling crescent, balance centered on a single, coiled point. The rain bounced off the edge and ran in a silver line. Breath steadied.
Julius stepped forward. His arms flared with raw, hot mana. "Estrella," he said, his voice low and patient. "You should have learned when I made that mark across your eye."
Sosuke's face changed. The smirk fell away and a sound ripped from deep in him, a sound that had lived inside for years and finally found a way out. He drew in a breath so sharp the air seemed to crack.
"JULIUS!"
The scream tore through the rain, through the portal's violet thunder, through every chest around the ruined courtyard. It was pure force and grief and fury braided into one. The sound carried farther than anyone dared believe possible. The storm leaned in.