God Realm – The Celestial Palace
The marble hall did not tremble.
It simply cracked.
A hairline fracture raced outward from Gluf's boots, sharp as a whipcrack in the sudden stillness. The air reeked of scorched stone and ozone.
"Kidnapped. By humans."
The words hung like frost. Lanterns froze mid-air, flames guttering blue before dying still. Breath fogged in front of every mouth.
Gluf's voice came low, almost gentle.
"Who gave insects permission to touch my daughter?"
The captain of the Void Guard folded forward until his helmet scraped the floor. The metal rang once, then silence.
"Eclipse breach, Majesty. Someone inside opened the forbidden gate. Princess Elisa is… below."
Gluf's pupils narrowed to burning slits.
"Humans have no crests."
A senior advisor swallowed audibly.
"Some stole scraps. Blood rites. Machines bolted to the bones of the Chaos Crest. Enough to cut, not enough to live long."
Gluf closed his eyes. When they opened again, the light leaking from his crest was white and dead—the colour of bone left too long in the sun.
Rika entered as if the guards were shadows. Silver hair half-unraveled from its braid clung to her damp cheeks. The scent of rain and lightning followed her. Her hands glowed with creation energy so bright the veins of light showed through her skin.
"She's bleeding somewhere I can't reach," she said, voice scraped raw. "The bond is thinning like wet paper."
Gluf's throat worked once.
"How long?"
Rika met his eyes.
"Hours. Maybe less."
A void spear clattered behind the throne. Aurora emerged from the shadows barefoot, armor half-unbuckled, eyes swollen and dry. The smell of old sweat and arena dust clung to her.
Gluf did not turn.
"Sound the horns. Every cohort. Every war-forged. At dawn we open the gates and turn their world to ash."
He took one step toward the doors.
"My lord—" The informer's voice cracked like a child's. "The Oracle bled out these words before he died: 'Only one may cross, or both Realms tear. That one must leave half the Seal Crest behind.'"
The temperature plunged. Frost bloomed across the marble in fern patterns.
Gluf halted. The white fire crawling over his armor dimmed, as if even it listened.
Aurora lowered herself to one knee, slow, deliberate. The floor stung through her greaves.
"Then I'm going," she said. The words came hoarse, tasting of copper and guilt. "Half power. Alone. I owe her my life already; I'll spend whatever's left."
Gluf finally looked at her. For the first time in centuries, the Supreme Ruler's shoulders sagged—just a fraction.
"You'll burn out in days," he said, quieter than frost.
Aurora's laugh was small and ugly.
"Good. Maybe the pain will keep me moving."
Rika's fingers curled. Creation energy snapped and hissed between them like a trapped storm.
Gluf stared at the distant gates leading downward, to the Human Realm. His voice, when it came, was almost human.
"Take the spare core from Elisa's vault. Split mine if you have to."
A shaky breath.
"Tell the legions to stand down."
White fire reignited across his armor, hotter than before, trembling now.
"If the Realms only allow one blade…"
He looked at the crack in the floor, at the shape of his own boot printed in shattered marble.
"Then one blade will be enough."
The frost kept spreading.
Human Realm – Steve's Old House
6:42 a.m. slid into 9:30 a.m. without anyone noticing.
The first weak sunlight crawled through grimy curtains, laying pale gold bars across the bedroom floor. It smelled of cold dust, old blood, and the sour ghost of last night's panic. The air was winter-sharp though the calendar insisted it was spring; cracked windows let the chill in like an unwanted guest.
Elisa slept on, silver hair tangled across a pillow that smelled faintly of motor oil and cheap detergent. Her chest rose and fell, steady now. The towel folded under her side was spotted rust-brown instead of soaked crimson. A small mercy, but enormous.
Jack hadn't moved since midnight. His spine fused to the wooden chair slats; his neck cracked when he turned it. Both hands cradled hers, thumbs moving in slow, mindless circles over her knuckles, counting heartbeats. His eyes were red-rimmed, pupils blown wide from exhaustion and leftover terror. Every few minutes he leaned forward just enough to feel the warmth of her breath against his wrist, proof she hadn't slipped away while he blinked.
Steve sprawled on the floorboards like a discarded coat, one boot on, one boot off, snoring through his mouth. An empty coffee mug left a brown ring on his T-shirt. The whiskey bottle beside him glinted in the new light, bone-dry.
Elester stood at the window, coat draped over the radiator, sleeves rolled high. Faint gold scars on his forearm looked like healed lightning. He watched the sun crawl over broken factory roofs and felt the ache in his own bones where the crest had burned itself out to keep her alive.
Jack's voice came cracked and ancient.
"She made it through the night."
"Yeah," Elester said softly. "She did."
Jack's shoulders shuddered once, then locked again. He pressed his forehead to their joined hands so no one would see whatever was trying to leak out of his eyes.
Downstairs, something clattered. Steve jerked awake, mug rolling off his chest and clacking across the floor. He blinked at the sunlight, then at Elisa's face, then let out a wet, relieved laugh that sounded almost like crying.
"Well, shit," he croaked. "Apocalypse's running late. I'm not complaining."
He hauled himself up, joints popping, and disappeared down the creaking stairs. The house groaned with him, floorboards protesting every step like they were personally offended.
Minutes slid by. The sun climbed. The room warmed by slow degrees until the chill retreated from the corners.
Steve returned with two chipped mugs that steamed and stank of burnt instant coffee and cheap whiskey chaser. He shoved one into Jack's free hand.
"Drink, zombie boy. You look like death's unpaid intern."
Jack took it but didn't taste it. His gaze stayed fixed on Elisa.
Steve leaned in the doorway, surveying peeling nicotine wallpaper, water-stained continents on the ceiling, the single bare bulb swaying in a draft that shouldn't exist.
"Y'know," he said, voice low, "Grandpa always swore this house would either kill us or save us. Never thought he'd be right twice in one week."
He glanced at the sleeping girl from another world, then at the faint gold burns on Elester's arm.
"Place is ugly as original sin, smells like wet dog and broken dreams, and the fridge needs therapy… but right now it's the only fortress we've got."
He sipped the coffee, winced theatrically.
"Tastes like battery acid and bad decisions. Perfect."
Jack finally lifted the mug, took one scalding swallow, and let the heat punch him awake. His voice was barely a whisper.
"If anything comes through that door for her, they'll have to go through me first."
Steve bumped his shoulder, gentle.
"Through us, man. Crappy house, crappier coffee, and three idiots who somehow haven't died yet. We got her this far."
Downstairs, the ancient fridge rattled, coughed twice like an old smoker, then settled into a steady, stubborn hum—as if the house itself had decided it wasn't done fighting either.
Upstairs, sunlight reached Elisa's face and turned her hair into living moonlight. Her fingers curled, just a fraction, around Jack's.
Outside, the city woke loud and indifferent. Inside, four exhausted humans held their breath and let the fragile quiet stretch a little longer.
The worst was over. For now.