The thing didn't move.
No breath, no sound, no blink—if it even had eyes to blink. Its stillness pressed down like suffocating silence, as if the world itself held its breath, caught between submission and flight. Beneath cracked golden veins, a slow, relentless pulse throbbed—ancient and deliberate. Older than kingdoms. Older than gods, maybe.
And yet it had spoken. Or something had. That voice earlier hadn't come from Arden, and it hadn't come from inside my head either. I was sure of it now. It had to be this thing. It had no mouth, no eyes, but it had found me. And it was watching me.
Every instinct I had screamed that I should get on my knees, lower my head, and pray it didn't decide I was worth snuffing out. But I didn't.
Instead, I stood there, trembling like a leaf, heart hammering behind my ribs, and tried to speak.
"…W-what do you want with me?"
It wasn't brave. My voice cracked like a snapped twig. My knees were seconds away from buckling. But I forced it out. Because if I was going to die here, I'd make sure it heard me first.
No answer.
It hovered, bending light wrong—a ripple tearing at reality's seams, peeling the surface away.
I swallowed hard, cursing fate's cruel thread that'd sewn me into this nightmare. I'd promised myself I wouldn't run anymore. I meant it. But this was no test. A death sentence wearing a mask.
Even Arden had been thrown like a broken doll. If he couldn't stop it, I had no business even standing here. Shield spell or not, I'd last less than a second if that thing so much as looked at me wrong again. I could feel it in my bones.
My thoughts spun in place, desperate for a plan that didn't involve immediate death or divine-level dismemberment. But there wasn't one. Nothing smart. Nothing brave. Just instinct.
And mine screamed one thing.
Run.
So I turned and bolted.
I didn't scream, didn't shout—just ran. Full sprint, no grace, no hesitation. Grass kicked up behind me in wet clumps as I fled in the direction Arden had vanished—toward the splintered trees and ruined forest that marked his crash site.
The potion he gave me was doing its job, thankfully. My legs moved like they belonged to someone else. I wasn't fast—never had been—but I was good at running. Pathetic as that was. If nothing else, life had trained me well in the art of escape. And right now, that was the only skill I had worth anything.
My chest burned, lungs clawed for air, and my heart hammered like a desperate prisoner trying to escape. Still, I didn't stop. I couldn't.
Behind me, the air twisted. Not a chase. Not yet. A shift. Something vast, slow, watching.
Please, Arden, I thought bitterly, don't be dead.
If he was, I didn't know what I'd do. Lie down and wait? Keep running until the world gave out? Fight and die in one hit like an idiot?
No. I wasn't ready to give up. Not yet.
I had said I wanted to grow stronger. That I wouldn't rely on others to shield me from everything. But that didn't mean I wanted to die before I even got the chance.
The way ahead blurred green and gold. Legs pumping on instinct, breath short and shallow. My body trembled—not from fatigue, but something primal. Not fear. Dread that whispers you're already dead, and your legs just haven't accepted it.
I looked behind me, just once, just long enough to see nothing—and in that heartbeat of distraction, slammed into something unyielding.
A cry escaped me as I fell back hard, breath knocked from my lungs. My hands scraped against stone, no—skin? I didn't know. It hadn't been there a moment ago.
I looked up.
It stood there. No sound. No motion. Only presence.
It arrived without a stir of wind, towering with glasslike form—fractured golden lines flickering beneath dark stone skin. The air trembled around it like a plucked string. Silence pressed into my ears, weight on my chest, the feeling of being judged by something utterly beyond me.
My breath hitched as it lifted a hand—slow, deliberate.
I flinched, raising my arms in a useless shield. Its touch brushed my forehead—a ghost of a touch, too soft to feel. Then my world shattered.
A scream ripped through my skull, sharp and endless, drowning everything. Thoughts scattered like ashes in a storm.
I was falling—or maybe not—but the world spun wildly, trees and sky and gold-lined blackness twisting. Limbs hung useless.
Its arms caught me.
And in that instant, I knew: if it had struck me with the same force it used on Arden, I would have died. Not broken. Not injured. Just—gone. Like mist in sunlight.
I hated that this was happening again. I cursed the string of cruel luck that seemed to follow me like a shadow with a smirk. And now… this. Of all things. Why did it have to be something divine? Why did it have to feel so serene and terrible at the same time?
Its smooth, eyeless face stared at me. I couldn't even blink. Just lay there, stuck in its grip, numb and dead to everything—until its head blew up in a burst of black and violet fire.
The sharp crack of shattering glass sliced the forest's stillness. Its hand jerked reflexively, tilting its head toward the attack. No scream, no stagger—just cold, patient gaze.
Then the sky turned violent.
Bolts of black-violet fire hammered it, relentless and blinding. Faster than I could follow, a colossal clawed hand slammed into its side, sending it crashing through trees. The earth trembled, leaves erupted, air shimmered like molten heat.
Someone was running.
My vision was still blurred. I could barely lift my head. But I felt them—whoever they were—kneeling beside me, a flicker of color and warmth. I could hear them speaking, but the words reached me like echoes from underwater. Soft, quick. A note of worry, even… concern.
Not Arden. Not his way. Too feminine.
Familiarity tugged at the edges of my mind.
Something wrapped around me—cool and silky, like being pulled into a cocoon of velvet. My thoughts cleared. My hearing returned, sharp and sudden. I blinked rapidly and looked up—
"Master?" The voice was softer now, a little unsteady. Then a mischievous smirk curled at the corner of her lips, revealing tiny fangs. "You okay? That thing looked serious... really serious."
"…Lilith?" I rasped, still dazed. "How...?"
She helped me up, wings fluttering nervously. Her silver-pink hair shimmered faintly in the weird forest glow. That ridiculous gothic dress looked less silly here—more like shadows clinging to her.
For a moment, she was quiet, eyes scanning the trees, the ground, the heavy air. Then with a sharp breath, she threw up a V-sign, that smug grin blooming back.
"You did summon me," she said, a little too proud for someone who looked like she'd just seen a ghost. "You were in trouble, so poof—here I am. Bet it was unconscious. We're definitely connected or something."
She tilted her head, finally noticing our strange surroundings. "Wait... this isn't the capital. Are we even in the Empire anymore? What is this place?"
I didn't answer right away. My heart hammered. I was still reeling.
"Lilith… you have no idea what that thing was. We need to get out of here. It… it even knocked Arden back like he was nothing."
The grin faded from her face.
Before she could speak, a gust of wind tore through the clearing. Birds screeched and scattered from the trees. We both looked up.
There it was.
Hovering like a god, untouched and unbothered.
The glowing cracks across its body pulsed brighter now—especially the lines across its face, right where eyes should have been. It twitched, an unnatural jerk, then floated still once more. Its limbs hung in the air like it was submerged in water, adrift in the sky.
Then the light gathered.
A sun bloomed above its head—a perfect sphere of blinding radiance humming with energy. Then it rained fire.
Beams—no, spears—rained from the orb, howling like judgment made manifest. Heat hit before they landed.
My instincts screamed.
I threw up my hands, shaping the light into a barrier—clear, steady, whole. It didn't flicker or collapse like before. For the first time, the spell held.
But it wasn't enough.
The blast slammed into it like a battering ram, and the shield cracked, then splintered, shattering in a burst of brilliance. One of the shards of energy scraped past my shoulder, and I cried out, stumbling back as pain bloomed sharp and immediate.
My fingers instinctively went to the wound—a shallow but burning cut that trickled dark red down my arm. The sting was fierce, a raw reminder that this battle was no illusion.
Lilith darted forward, arms rising like a shield. "Stay behind me, Master!"
A veil of black and red shimmered—not a barrier, but a hungry void drinking flames whole, twisting and folding them away like blood down a drain.
Her wings flared as she absorbed the fire. A faint crackle ran through her bones. When she shifted stance, a wince crossed her face—a thin streak of crimson stained her cheek—one of the spears had grazed her in the chaos.
"Leave it to me," she said, voice low but laced with grit. "This is what a loyal familiar is for."
The being stilled mid-air, its dreadful barrage vanishing like dust from a shelf. It floated, unshakable, as if nothing could touch it. Maybe nothing could.
Then the ground lurched.
There was no warning—only a sudden tremor, then a jolt as a slab of earth thrust itself upward beneath our feet. It wasn't a violent upheaval. It was smooth. Deliberate. As if the world itself had decided to lift us closer to the heavens. Higher and higher we rose, piercing through thinning clouds until the air turned sharp and cold, and the skies opened up around us.
A vast plateau awaited—jagged rock and rough soil, floating high above the world. No trees. No shelter. Just naked earth, empty sky, horizon swallowed by mist. In the center, the being floated. Upright. Waiting. Like an obsidian statue carved from dread.
It turned slowly. Radiant and still. Air shimmered subtly. Its hand rose. A single finger pointed at us.
Behind it, the sky twisted.
Light formed. No—spears. Dozens, then hundreds of them, long and cruel, materializing in a vast crescent arc behind the being like a broken halo. Their sharp tips glinted with cold purpose, humming with some unknowable magic.
Then the ground cracked—not to lift, but to birth.
Stone limbs broke the surface. Golems. Half-buried hulks of rock and raw mass clawed their way up with sluggish menace.
"Rock golems," Lilith muttered beside me, voice dripping with mild irritation. "Cheap summons, but they swarm like cockroaches."
I swallowed hard. "Just perfect."
Her wings twitched once, and she stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. "Let me handle this. You'll just slow things down."
I hesitated. Everything in me wanted to step back, to let her take control like she always did—to cling to the illusion that maybe I'd survive this if I just stayed out of the way. But something burned inside me. A bitter ember. Maybe it was Arden's insane training. Maybe the humiliation of being the tag-along. Or maybe I was sick of watching others bleed while I shook.
I clenched my fists and stepped up beside her. My voice came out quiet, but firm. "No. I'm helping this time."
Lilith gave me a sharp look, eyebrow raised—then unexpectedly grinned. "Well, since you insist..." She reached into her bodice, fingers vanishing into the tight neckline of her gothic dress. I blinked. She didn't exactly have a cleavage, so the motion was more confusing than anything.
"What are you—"
She pulled out a small, gleaming object: the magi-gun. My magi-gun—the prototype I'd picked as a reward back in the capital.
"You've been keeping that—?" I started, stunned.
"Safe place. Don't judge me." She winked. "The 'important thing' I mentioned earlier? I got Veyran and Thalia to help me tinker with it. You deserve at least one weapon that's not just your fists and good intentions."
I stared at the thing. The design was sleek but strange, humming faintly. Runes danced along its barrel in faint patterns, and its handle was warm to the touch when she handed it to me. It didn't look powerful. But it felt… alive.
She continued, tone more serious now. "It's still a prototype. The Empire built it based on recovered tech from the ancients, but this one's brand new. I hoped it'd be stronger, but even after upgrades, it's not… well, divine-slaying strong."
I mentally facepalmed. Of course a newly-forged weapon wouldn't turn me into a gods-blasted hero overnight.
Still—I nodded. "Thanks. I'll make it count."
"You'd better," she smirked. "It's powered by your mana, so don't blow your core out."
As I moved into position and aimed at the nearest golem, the gun vibrated faintly in my grip, syncing to my flow of magic. It drank from me like an open conduit—and I immediately felt the strain, the same exhausting pull I remembered from training with Arden. Not unbearable… but definitely not subtle.
I fired.
The shot blasted forward—a crackling bolt of compressed mana and flame. It struck a golem in the chest and sent a spray of stone shards outward. The thing reeled, took a knee, and collapsed in a heap. I stared.
"...Did I just—?"
Another one turned toward me. I panicked and fired again. Missed. Then again—grazed it.
Fourth time, I hit it dead center and it cracked apart.
Okay, I thought, breath shaky. This is real. This is working.
One golem surged from my blind side—I barely saw it in time. I pivoted, raised the gun, and fired a clumsy shot that glanced off its arm. It roared and closed in. I staggered back, lungs burning, magic tugging from my gut like threads unraveling—
"Focus, Master!" Lilith's sharp voice cut through the chaos, and violet fire blasted the golem mid-swing. It disintegrated into glowing gravel.
I shot her a wide-eyed look. She didn't glance back—just wove through enemy fire like a wraith in velvet.
The silence didn't last.
The creature moved. Not fast, but with an inevitability that made my skin crawl. The sky cracked open—no warning, no chant—just motion and consequence. Spears of light and stone tore through the clouds, howling like they hated the air itself.
The golems ground forward, a dozen of them, their massive limbs gouging the mountainside with every step. No hesitation. No mercy. Raw intent.
Lilith's wings snapped open. She launched skyward, violet fire erupting around her like a blooming curse. Beautiful and terrible—crimson and black ribbons in the storm—catching spears mid-flight and igniting them before they could crash into the cliffs below.
I kept low, half-crawling, half-sprinting, doing everything I could to draw the golems' attention away from her. I didn't need to win—I just needed to exist loudly enough to keep them focused on me.
Clutching the magi-gun Lilith had slipped me—a small, gleaming weapon I still wasn't sure I deserved—I tried to steady my breath. I'd barely had time to understand it, and now I had to use it against real enemies.
Mana pulsed painfully through my veins as I fired. The weapon drank greedily, each shot draining me like the most exhausting magic I'd ever attempted. The barrel flared with light, bolts of condensed magic shooting out—sometimes true, sometimes wild. More than once, I lost focus trying to dodge spears of radiant fire while lining up a shot.
I darted between golems, using their hulking forms as shields. Close enough to hide behind their massive shoulders, but far enough to avoid being crushed by their fists. The gun was heavier than I expected, awkward in my grip, and every missed shot sent a jolt of frustration through me.
One bolt caught a golem's knee; it staggered, stone cracking with a satisfying crunch. My heart jumped—but before I could celebrate, a massive fist slammed down inches from where I'd been.
I swallowed a curse and adjusted my stance, feeling the familiar, draining burn of mana fatigue wash over me—the same relentless exhaustion I'd felt after hours training with Arden. This gun demanded more than aim; it demanded will.
God or not, I was no soldier. But I was determined.
The ground trembled again beneath my feet. A deep, bone-humming quake that ran up my legs and settled cold in my chest. I staggered a step back, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a curse.
This place—whatever it had become—refused to sit still.
Always shifting. Always spiraling further into unreality.
Pain laced my side where a rock fragment had struck me during a careless dodge. Nothing grave, but enough to remind me I wasn't invincible. Not by far.
But this time, something else answered the quake.
All around us, stone surged from the earth like roots twisting free of soil. Walls rose, thick and dark, veined with some silvery substance that shimmered faintly under the false sky. Pillars grew upward in slow, deliberate pulses, arranging themselves with impossible precision into some ancient geometry I couldn't begin to decipher. Arched ceilings curved into being overhead, enclosing us in something vast and cold and eerily symmetrical.
A structure, yes—but not a fortress. Not a palace.
A temple. Not one built for prayer. No idols. No altars. Just clean, brutal shapes. Empty of comfort. Full of judgment.
The creature tilted its faceless head, taking in the change. Its obsidian-like body glinted under the light. It hadn't moved since Arden vanished. Still floating just above the ground, untouched by the world's weight. But something shifted—barely. As if confused or expecting this.
Before I could think further, a voice broke the silence, low and raw, but cutting through the stillness like thunder beneath velvet.
"Containment magic…"
I turned sharply. Arden was there—stepping from the shadows beyond the creature. One arm hung loose at his side, cape torn and soaked with blood trailing beneath the fabric. His glasses sat crooked on his nose; one lens shattered. He was breathing hard, but steady. Standing. Not victorious, not broken—Irritated.
"Temple of Ruin," he said, voice ragged but sharp enough to make the walls lean closer.
At his words, the space answered.
Chains burst from the walls—thick as tree trunks, blackened and writhing like living things, steaming as they moved. Dozens of them shot forward, slamming into the creature's limbs with thunderous iron strikes.
One through each wrist. One through each ankle. More pierced its chest, shoulders, back. The thing didn't flinch. Didn't even try to pull away—as if it was already bound deep beneath the surface.
The air pulsed with dread and something else: finality. The scent of endings. A tomb sealing shut.
Arden raised both bloodied hands slowly, fingers curling together like a prayer. His palms clapped sharply—a sound that echoed like judgment.
"Iron Maiden."
Behind the chained figure, the air convulsed and twisted, then split.
From shadow and silence, a massive construct unfolded—towering, metallic, terrible. It looked like a monstrous cage made of cold, shining metal—some nightmare forged for pain. Strange glowing symbols covered its surface, sharp spikes lining every edge, ready to slice flesh like paper. Cruel. Elegant. A dark promise of agony.
Slowly—agonizingly slowly—it began to close.
The creature made no sound. No groan. Only a faint pulse traced through the golden cracks in its stone-like skin—a slow, steady heartbeat fading into silence.
Each movement deliberate, pressing shut doors forged from the hardest obsidian. Quiet, but absolute.
When the doors sealed, the world held its breath.
No crash. No battle cry. Just a solemn verdict.
Final. Terrible. Like a god condemned—locked away.