The demons slammed against the splintered gates like a living battering ram. Iron screamed, hinges popped, and the breach widened with every heartbeat. Overhead, winged fiends wheeled and dove, shrieking as they dropped lesser demons into Septon's streets like sacks of meat. The sky was a storm of claws and fire.
Michael planted himself in the breach, flames licking his gauntlets.
"General Norman! Take the inner city, cleanse every street! I'll hold the gate!"
Norman's eyes blazed.
"On your life, Michael. Don't let them through."
He spun, cloak snapping, and thundered down the inner stair. Fury radiated off him like heat from a forge.
Inside the walls, chaos reigned. Fiends crashed onto rooftops, talons punching through tiles. Griffin stood in the central square, arms raised, telekinetic force crushing every fiend that crossed the wall. Wings snapped like dry branches; bodies burst mid-air, raining gore. But more came. Always more.
Norman's boots splashed through blood and entrails as he charged the main thoroughfare. Corpses of fiends lay in heaps, limbs twisted, wings shredded, skulls caved in by Griffin's invisible grip. He vaulted a twitching carcass and kept moving.
Demons battered locked doors, claws gouging wood, snarling at the scent of terrified families inside.
"ATTACK!" Norman roared.
Knights surged behind him, blades flashing. Steel met demon hide in a wet crunch. Norman's eyes locked on a shattered doorway, splinters still falling. A child's scream leaked from within.
He kicked the remnants aside and stormed upstairs. A hulking demon hammered at an attic door, each blow splintering oak. It sensed him, whirled, and charged, jaws gaping.
Norman didn't blink. His sword rose in a single, fluid arc. The blade hissed through the air, cleaved the demon from collarbone to hip. Black blood sprayed the walls. The corpse hit the floor in two sliding halves.
Silence.
Norman kicked the ruined door open. A family huddled in the corner, father shielding two small children, mother clutching a candlestick like a spear. Tears streaked their faces.
"Are you all right?" Norman's voice was iron wrapped in velvet.
The father could only nod, throat working soundlessly.
"Stay low. Lock what's left of the door. We'll hold the streets."
Norman turned, already moving. Outside, the war still screamed.
Michael's shout tore through the smoke.
"Water mages, drown the fiends! Fire and stone, smash the ground army! HOLD!"
The gates screamed. Iron buckled. Demons clawed through the cracks like rats. Michael's teeth ground so hard blood filled his mouth.
"Benjamin!"
Benjamin was on his knees, blood pouring from ears and nose. The wind crystal slipped from shaking fingers, cracked and dim.
"I… I can't feel my hands," he gasped. "It's killing me…"
Michael's eyes burned. He couldn't use fire here. It would roast his own men. Around him, knights bled and broke.
Near the gate, an older knight, Sergeant Garrick, gray beard soaked red, grabbed a young recruit by the collar. The boy's sword was snapped clean, the jagged edge dripping. Tears cut clean lines down his soot-black face.
"I-I can't, Sarge!" the boy sobbed, voice cracking. "They're inside! My sword's gone! We're dead!"
Garrick's big, scarred hand cupped the boy's cheek.
"Look at me, lad. Breathe. You're still here. That's enough."
The boy shook harder. "I don't want to die! I promised Ma I'd come home!"
Garrick pulled him close, armor clanking. "Then live for her. One more minute. One more swing. That's all we've got."
The boy clung to him, shoulders heaving. "I'm scared…"
"So am I," Garrick whispered, voice thick. "But fear don't win battles. You do."
Michael saw them. His heart cracked. This is it.
"Benjamin, eyes on me."
Benjamin looked up, blood on his lips. "Michael…?"
"I'll end it. One blast. Everything. After, you finish what's left. Swear it."
Benjamin's voice broke. "NO! You'll burn! We still have—"
"WE HAVE NOTHING!" Michael roared, tears spilling. "Look at them! They're kids! They're dying!"
The boy knight heard. His sobs turned to wails. "Don't leave us! Please!"
Knights dropped weapons. Some prayed. Some just stared.
Michael closed his eyes. Heat exploded inside. Skin glowed. Armor melted. The air screamed. He was a star about to burst.
"STOP!" Benjamin crawled forward, fingers clawing stone. "You're my brother! Don't!"
Then—THOOM.
A pressure hit like a god's fist. Demons froze. Hellhounds whimpered. Fiends hung mid-air. The boy knight's sobs cut off. Garrick's arms tightened around him.
Michael's fire died. He staggered, laughing through tears.
"Alfred… you bastard. You came."
From the dark street, footsteps. Slow. Sure. Alfred walked alone. Then, lift. He rose. Golden light poured from him, warm as sunrise, washing over blood and fear.
Knights gasped.
"what is that?"
"Is that the hero?"
"We're saved!"
The boy knight looked up, tears shining. "Sarge… the light… it's warm…"
Garrick's voice shook. "Aye, lad. Hold on. Just hold on."
Alfred floated above the walls. Black clouds turned gold. The kingdom glowed.
Demons stared up in terror.
Alfred raised his hand. A golden halo crowned him. His eyes opened, sparks of pure light.
His voice was soft, but it filled every heart.
"RAIN DOWN."
Golden drops fell from the sky. Not cold. Not wet. Warm. Like sunlight made liquid.
Where it touched a demon, it burned. Skin bubbled. Bones melted. A hellhound screamed as its legs turned to ash and it fell. A flying fiend crashed, wings burning away like paper. The lesser demons dropped from the sky, dead before they hit the ground.
But for the knights, the rain was life.
A bleeding knight looked at his arm—cuts closing, pain gone. "It's… healing me!"
A crying boy laughed through tears. "I can breathe again!"
The old veteran fell to his knees, face in the golden rain. "Thank you… thank you…"
Inside the houses, doors flew open. People ran out.
A mother held her baby up to the light. "Look, little one! The gods sent rain!"
An old man with a cane danced in the street. "I'm young again!"
A little girl in a blue dress ran out, arms wide. Golden drops fell on her palms. She spun, laughing. "It tickles! It's warm! Mama, we're safe!"
Her father hugged her tight, crying. "Yes, baby. We're safe. The light saved us."
The rain kept falling. Demons ran. Screamed. Begged. But the golden drops followed. Found them. Ended them.
The battlefield grew quiet. Smoke rose from melted bodies. The gates still stood, cracked but holding.
Alfred looked far away at the Apostle. The golden light around him flickered—just once. Like a candle in wind.
He closed his right hand. Light gathered into a glowing ball, bright as the sun. He pointed with his left hand, aimed straight at the Apostle.
"This ends now."
He threw.
The golden ball shot forward like a comet. It tore through the air, leaving a trail of light. It flew straight at the Apostle's chest.
The skeletal horse stepped back. The Apostle raised one hand—and caught it.
The ball shook in its grip. Golden light fought black shadow. Sparks flew. Then—with a slow, cruel squeeze—the Apostle crushed it. The light broke into nothing. Vanished.
Silence.
Alfred's golden aura dimmed. Just a little. His eyes narrowed.
The Apostle didn't move. Didn't speak. But the air grew colder. Heavier.
A knight whispered, "He… he stopped it…"
Benjamin clenched his fist. "This isn't over. Alfred's still up there."
Michael looked up, voice steady. "We're not done. Hope's still alive."
The golden rain slowed. The kingdom glowed. The people cheered. The knights stood taller.
But far away, the Apostle turned its horse. Slowly. And rode into the dark.
Alfred hovered above the glowing streets, golden light still clinging to him like a second skin. Below, the people of Septon spilled from their homes, arms wrapped around each other, tears mixing with the last drops of golden rain. A mother pressed her child to her chest, sobbing thanks to the sky. An old man knelt, palms open, whispering prayers. Laughter and cries of joy rose like a song.
He looked down at Michael.
Michael stood in the breach, armor scorched, face streaked with blood and soot. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His eyes said it all:
'You were late. But you came. Thank you.'
Alfred gave a small nod. Michael returned it, slow, tired, but real.
Then Alfred's gaze found Benjamin.
His friend sat against a broken wall, head in his hands. The wind crystal lay cracked and dark beside him. His shoulders shook, not from cold, but from the weight of the fight. Benjamin didn't look up. He didn't need to. Alfred felt the exhaustion, the pain, the 'why did it have to be like this?'
Alfred scanned the crowd for Griffin.
Nothing.
No broad shoulders. No greatsword. No calm voice cutting through panic.
'He's helping people,' Alfred thought. 'Always the first to carry the wounded, the last to rest.'
A quiet smile touched Alfred's lips.
'My light saved another kingdom. Again.'
But the smile faded.
He stared into the dark beyond the walls. The smoke still rose. The ground was black with demon blood. And in his mind, the image of the Apostle, still, silent, unmoved, burned like a brand.
'This is the second Apostle I've faced.
How many are there?
How strong are they?
And the Demon King… who is he? What does he want?'
The golden halo above Alfred's head flickered, just for a breath.
He lowered slowly to the ground. His boots touched stone. The light around him dimmed, folding into his skin like embers sinking into ash.
The war wasn't over.
Not yet.