Chapter 9: When Gods Weep
Smoke still curled over the blackened fields of the Rift as dawn crept slowly over the ruined horizon. The land mourned. What once was lush had been reduced to ash and shadow.
In the infirmary tent, Karl sat alone, shirt half-open, his bandaged torso rising and falling with shallow breaths. The cost of the mission weighed heavily on his mind.
Across from him, Ilisha watched silently. Her hand brushed his. She didn't need to speak; her presence was grounding.
"I should've stopped it," Karl muttered. "We weren't ready."
"You couldn't have known," Ilisha whispered. "None of us did. And you still brought most of us back."
Karl didn't answer. His mind drifted — not to the battle, but to the prince. That thing didn't fight for territory. He fought with purpose. With hunger.
---
Far from the front, in the divine city of Altherion, the Council of Seven Wings convened.
Seraphiel stood before them, scorched armor still gleaming faintly, wings half-folded in exhaustion.
"The Rift is gone. And with it, our chance to push into the demon lands."
The archangel Aetherion looked down at him, eyes like pale suns. "Then we must break the silence," he said.
Gasps rippled through the council.
"You can't mean—" another began.
"I do," Aetherion said. "Summon the humans. We need to meet. Together."
For the first time in three centuries, the angels would set foot on human soil in peace.
---
Back in the war camp, tension simmered.
Rumors flew. Some blamed the angels. Some blamed Karl. Some said the Rift was a trap from the beginning — a test, perhaps, or a sacrifice.
Karl was summoned to the high command tent by General Holt.
"You're being reassigned," Holt said bluntly. "After what happened, the council wants someone else commanding Rift strategy."
Karl didn't react. "So where are you sending me?"
"To represent us at the ceasefire summit," Holt said.
Karl blinked. "A peace summit? We're losing."
"Exactly. That's when alliances matter most."
---
Meanwhile, in the demon capital of Zertharion, the prince stood at his balcony, watching black storms brew over distant skies.
"My spies tell me they're gathering," his advisor hissed. "Angels and humans, meeting as one."
The prince smiled without warmth. "Then we must remind them why they feared us."
He raised his hand.
From the depths of the Void, a shape stirred — massive, ancient, coiled in flame and shadow.
"Let them gather," the prince whispered. "And when they do… we'll feed them to the Abyss."
---
Later that night, Ilisha found Karl sitting beneath the ruins of an old chapel, lost in thought.
She sat beside him quietly, the wind whispering through the broken windows.
"Are you afraid?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No. But I'm tired. I'm tired of watching people die."
She leaned closer. "We all are. But you… you make it matter."
He looked at her, saw the storm in her eyes, the flicker of hope behind the pain.
And in the silence, something broke — or maybe, something healed.
She kissed him.
Not out of desperation, but defiance. A choice.
He kissed her back, holding her as if the world around them wasn't crumbling.
For that moment, nothing else mattered.
---
But far beyond the campfires and crumbling cities, a massive gate opened in the demon lands.
From it poured shadows with burning eyes — elite hellspawn bred for one purpose: to kill gods.
At the front stood the prince.
"Let the summit begin," he said with a smile. "And let it end in blood."