The tower was gone.
The heart of the hive was a crater of scorched stone and smoking metal, glowing faintly with the afterburn of collapsed leyline energy. The air reeked of sulfur and triumph.
We sat on the edge of the ruins like tired fireworks.
I leaned back on my elbows, still holding my shield, which was now slightly cracked and smelled like toasted marshmallow.
Velis stood beside me, arms crossed, wind tossing her hair in cinematic defiance.
"We severed the primary grid. The arcane infrastructure's fried. The miasma's no longer self-regulating."
"So," I said, blinking up at the gray sky, "we broke their Wi-Fi."
She nodded. "Permanently."
The collapse wasn't a single boom. It was a slow, glorious implosion.
Bridges crumbled. Spires folded. Whole platforms buckled like soggy cardboard. Roars echoed from inside as demons scrambled to flee—some crawling, some flying, some arguing loudly about who forgot to maintain the hellfire vents.
Rebel banners rose.
Imps threw parties in what used to be the census chamber. They were roasting something that looked like a scorpion-pig hybrid. I didn't ask.
One of them climbed onto a chunk of broken wall and shouted:
> "THE MEOW-BEARER HAS DELIVERED US!"
A cheer followed. Several threw pink-glowing mushrooms into the air. One held up a small plush doll that looked way too much like me.
Lyra elbowed me gently. "Still think you're not their chosen one?"
"I think I need a restraining order."
We regrouped with the rebel leaders near what used to be the hive's central planning spire. It was now a pile of very confused bricks.
The chain-clad demon woman looked... pleased.
"You've done more than we ever hoped," she said. "The hive is finished. The supply line to the outer legions is gone."
Iria saluted. "Then your path is yours again."
Silas nodded. "Time to start your own version of hell."
The male defector—the one who first found us—stepped forward.
"We'll hold here. Build something... different. Not human. Not demonic. Something new."
He looked at me.
"We'll remember what you did here, Soft-Pawed One."
I held up a hand. "Please stop calling me that."
He didn't.
It happened just as we were leaving.
The wind stopped.
The heat faded.
Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
From the cliffside ruins, we saw it: a shadow in the sky. Wings. Armor. Eyes like eclipses.
It hovered far off—just far enough that we couldn't see a face.
But we felt it.
A presence that bent the world around it.
I stepped forward.
"Is that...?"
Velis's voice dropped. "A general. Of the Demon Lord."
Iria's hand went to her sword.
Lyra's breath caught.
Silas had already vanished behind a rock.
The figure hovered. Watching.
Silent.
Then turned.
And vanished into the clouds without a word.
We didn't speak for a while.
Even the imps seemed quieter. Like they knew.
Finally, Velis knelt by the map she'd etched into the dirt with chalk and burnt nails.
"The capital lies three sectors deeper. Beyond the Black Divide. We'll need to cross through unpatrolled wildlands to avoid direct confrontation."
"Good," I said. "I'd love some unpatrolled trauma for a change."
Silas emerged from the rubble with stolen snacks. "I got us some demon trail mix."
Lyra sniffed it and nearly gagged. "That's just charcoal and ghost peppers."
"It's themed!"
Iria shouldered her greatsword. "Then our path is clear."
Velis stood.
The map glowed softly—our next destination marked in violet.
The demon capital.
I exhaled.
"Here we go again."