There are moments in life where time slows.
A first kiss.
A final exam.
That one instant when your party leader screams "He's activating all five relics!" and the ceiling catches fire.
This was one of those moments.
The change didn't come with a roar.
It came with a ripple—a low, sick hum that rolled out from his chest like a bell tolling for the end of things. The relics that had once sat like ornaments on his armor now pulsed like tumors, splitting and cracking, leaking molten light through glowing fractures that spread across his body like veins of magma under skin made of obsidian.
His chest expanded as if the world was too small for him. Magic flared across his limbs. Something twisted inside the iron cage of his armor, and the air around him buckled.
One of his eyes flared—and then became two. Then four. Then six.
Not arranged like a creature of this world, but sprawled unevenly across his face, each one burning with molten gold and flickering crimson, twitching independently like they were each watching a different future. The room dimmed around them. Even the torches flickered as if in shame.
Behind his shoulders, something bone-like uncoiled with an audible, wet snap—a jagged, crooked ridge of ridged spikes rising from his back like the vertebrae of something ancient and angry, each one vibrating with a thin, keening shriek. The sound dug into the base of my spine and stayed there.
Above him, iron twisted itself out of nothing—folding inward, then spinning outward like a conjured galaxy made of knives and hate. It hovered just above his horns, orbiting faster and faster, drawing in the air itself until it howled with every rotation. A crown—but one that reigned over annihilation, not dominion.
And then his hand—his gauntlet—curled into a fist, and the room shivered. The air pulled backward like it was caught in a riptide, and every stray spell, every enchantment, every protective thread we had left was ripped from the air and consumed, drawn into the hungry shimmer of his clenched hand. Velis's floating barrier vanished in a pop. Lyra's protective aura flickered out like a dying candle. My relic pulsed once—then fell silent, like even it was holding its breath.
At the center of it all, just behind the split in his armor, a glow pulsed. It wasn't fire. It wasn't light. It was raw power, beating like a heart with no rhythm, just angry, defiant surges. The throne hall dimmed with every pulse, as if the world itself couldn't decide whether to hold together or not.
And then—he opened his mouth.
But it wasn't just him speaking.
It was voices. Layered. Dissonant. Like a choir of mockery and fury channeled through one throat, each syllable twisted by something that had seen too much and laughed at all of it.
"Behold," he said, "I am—"
Before he could finish, Velis raised her staff, eyes blazing.
"Try shutting up."
A bolt of lightning cracked through the room.
It twisted mid-air.
Curved.
Bent backwards like the spell changed its mind.
And slammed into the wall behind her with a crash of sparks and stone dust.
Velis didn't blink. "Worth a try."
The room itself changed.
The throne hall stretched—walls expanding, warping. The ground rotated ninety degrees sideways and the air turned magnetized, forcing our weapons to hum like they were tuning themselves.
The Demon Lord began casting spells without gestures. Entire waves of fire, mind-rending illusions, spatial tears.
We ran.
Lyra skidded beside me, dragging a burning Silas behind her.
"He's breaking the space we're standing on!"
"That feels illegal!"
"It IS!"
Velis created a spell disruption field by spelling her incantations wrong. Backwards Latin, foot-written glyphs, spoken in what might've been baby talk. It scrambled his prediction field just enough for Iria to land a slash on his shoulder.
Iria went full unstoppable knight mode. Her armor was cracked, her cape was half-burned, and she still marched forward, Edelbrecht swinging in full arcs of divine light. She locked swords with him—her greatsword against his. The impact cracked the floor again.
Lyra braced herself and cast a healing field laced with sonic interference—a combo of light and low-frequency chants that softened the Spine's scream. The Demon Lord visibly flinched as his soul-rupture field was disrupted.
Silas—gods bless that gremlin—hurled a poison-drenched bolt directly into the Gauntlet's knuckle joint.
It screamed.
Like, the gauntlet screamed.
Then it spasmed—and dropped a huge blast of stolen fire magic onto the floor, hitting the Demon Lord himself.
"You're welcome!" Silas yelled, ducking behind a spinning altar.
Me?
I was dancing between shadow blasts and void geysers, cat-shield raised like I was swatting flies with a frying pan.
The Demon Lord's lava sword missed me by centimeters.
I rolled.
I didn't know how I rolled, I just kind of panicked forward and gravity disagreed.
The relic orb on my belt began to pulse—reacting violently to the Heart of the Worldsplitter.
Then it spoke.
[ Unstable Core Detected. Command Authorization... Suggested. ]
[ Recommend: Interruption Protocol — Reality Anchor Lock. ]
"I don't know what that means," I whispered.
[ You rarely do. Activating anyway. ]
The orb lashed out—white light against the Demon Lord's red. A tether linked our relics. He stumbled.
Velis shouted, "Kaname, you're syncing with his power source!"
"Wait, I don't want to do that—!"
[ You already are. Good luck. ]
He roared.
Spoke in twisted sarcasm: "Little mascot thinks he's relevant now?"
He threw Maledictor—yes, threw it—like a missile.
I threw up the shield.
The sword bounced. Not off the shield. Off the floor—where the King's Sword was still awkwardly wedged from earlier.
Maledictor ricocheted sideways, blasted through a column, and embedded itself in the throne.
I blinked.
"...That counts as strategy."
Lyra: "No it doesn't!"
Velis aimed her staff at the floating Crown. "The relic's keeping him locked in position—no way to move him dimensionally."
Iria: "Then we'll have to break it."
She leapt.
The Crown rotated to block.
But Iria's sword burned white.
"For honor, for steel, for the unshakable middle of our team."
She swung.
The Crown cracked. Sparks flew. The leyline tether glitched.
The throne hall began to collapse into glitching magic.
The Demon Lord buckled—his body surging with chaotic feedback.
He was mutating now. Less human. More shape.
Velis screamed, "We've almost got him! Break the Heart!"
I looked down.
The orb was glowing hot against my belt.
The relic link was flaring—overwriting his power field.
He turned to me.
"You. YOU. You're not supposed to be here. You're not supposed to EXIST!"
I raised my shield.
He charged.
I tripped.
He tripped.
We both crashed.
The Heart pulsed.
And cracked.