Ilias felt it before he saw it.
A presence rising from beneath the city. Something vast and terrible and WRONG. The kind of presence that made reality itself recoil.
But right now, he had a more immediate problem.
Silas tore free from his grip, darkness exploding outward with enough force to send Ilias skidding back across the rooftop. The man rose to his feet, and shadows coiled around him like living serpents.
"I told you," Silas said, his voice hollow. "It's coming. And you can't stop it."
"I can try." Ilias raised his staff, and the Osh'Kora responded. Golden light blazed along its length, warming his hands, filling him with power that strained against invisible chains.
The locks Orun-Fela had placed were groaning. Not breaking—the god was holding them firm—but definitely straining under pressure.
*Not yet,* Orun-Fela whispered in his mind. *You're not ready for that power. Not alone.*
"Then help me get ready," Ilias muttered.
Silas attacked first.
Constructs of darkness erupted across the rooftop—blades as long as cars, chains that moved like striking snakes, hands that reached up from shadows to drag Ilias down. They came from every direction at once, overwhelming, relentless.
Ilias met them with light.
His staff whirled, and each strike shattered constructs like glass. But there were too many. For every shadow he destroyed, two more took its place. Silas was pulling power from everywhere—from the tunnels beneath the city, from the Pities spreading chaos, from the Entity itself.
A chain wrapped around Ilias's ankle. He spun, staff shifting in his grip—
It became a sword.
The blade of golden light cut through the chain like it was nothing. Ilias didn't question it, didn't hesitate. He just moved with it, letting the weapon flow from one form to another as naturally as breathing.
Sword to spear. Spear to hammer. Each transformation felt right, perfect, like the Osh'Kora was reading his mind and responding instantly.
"You're adapting," Silas observed, launching another wave of attacks. "Good. You'll need to."
Ilias didn't waste breath on a response. He charged forward, staff becoming a spear mid-stride. The point drove toward Silas's chest—but the man dissolved into shadow, reforming ten feet away.
"You can't reach me!" Silas shouted. "As long as there's darkness, I can—"
Ilias's staff transformed into a bow. He drew back on a string of pure light, and an arrow of golden fire materialized.
He fired.
Silas's eyes went wide. He barely managed to throw up a barrier before the arrow hit. The explosion tore a chunk out of the rooftop, and both men fell.
They crashed through three floors of an abandoned apartment building, trading blows the entire way down. Ilias's staff shifted constantly—shield to block, sword to slash, chains to bind—while Silas wrapped himself in layers of defensive shadows.
They hit the ground floor in a spray of rubble and dust.
Ilias rolled to his feet first. His staff became a massive hammer, and he brought it down where Silas had fallen.
Darkness caught the blow inches from Silas's head. The impact cratered the floor beneath them, sent cracks spider-webbing through the foundation.
"Listen to me!" Ilias shouted over the roar of their clashing powers. "You don't have to do this! The Entity is USING you!"
"I KNOW!" Silas's voice was raw with pain. Darkness surged, forcing Ilias back. "I've always known! But what choice do I have? What else is there for someone like me?"
"Life!" Ilias dodged a shadow-blade, staff becoming a shield again. "Healing! A chance to be MORE than your pain!"
"There is no more!" Silas rose, and the building around them began to shake. "There's only this! Only revenge! Only making them PAY!"
He thrust his hands forward, and the entire building collapsed.
Ilias barely escaped, launching himself through a window as tons of concrete came crashing down. His staff transformed into wings of light that let him glide to a safe distance.
The building finished collapsing in a cloud of dust and debris. For a moment, everything was silent.
Then Silas walked out of the rubble, completely unharmed, darkness flowing around him like armor.
"Your family wouldn't want this!" Ilias called across the ruined street. "Eleanor and Roslyn—they wouldn't want you to become this!"
Silas flinched. Just for a moment. "Don't. Don't say their names."
"Why not?" Ilias took a step forward. "Because it reminds you of who you used to be? Because it makes you remember that you were GOOD once?"
"I was never good." Silas's voice was bitter. "I was Darkness-Tuned. Always one bad day away from becoming a monster. They just... they kept me human. And when they died, there was nothing left to hold me back."
"That's not true—"
"IT IS!" Silas's power exploded outward, and Ilias had to brace himself against the wave of force. "You don't understand what it's like! To be born with power that WANTS to destroy! To feel darkness calling to you every second of every day, telling you to give in, to let go, to embrace what you really are!"
"Then fight it!" Ilias raised his staff, and the golden light grew brighter. He felt the power inside him growing—not breaking through, but definitely increasing. Maybe twenty percent now. Maybe twenty-five. "Fight the darkness! Choose to be better!"
"I'm TIRED of fighting!" Silas launched himself forward, and they clashed in the center of the street.
The impact sent shockwaves through the district. Windows shattered for blocks. The ground beneath them cracked and split.
They moved through the city like hurricanes, destroying everything they touched. Ilias's staff shifted through a dozen forms—sword, spear, hammer, shield, whip, chains—each one meeting Silas's darkness with light that refused to be extinguished.
Buildings collapsed in their wake. Streets tore open. The sky above them darkened as their powers clashed, light and shadow painting the smoke-filled air in patterns of gold and black.
"You're getting stronger," Silas noted during a brief pause. They stood on opposite sides of a ruined plaza, both breathing hard. "I can feel it. Your locks are straining."
"Not breaking." Ilias planted his staff. "Orun-Fela won't let them. Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not ready." Ilias looked at his hands. They glowed with golden light, stronger than before but still contained. "I'm growing, but I'm not... complete. Not yet."
"Then you'll die incomplete." Silas raised his hands, and massive constructs of darkness began forming behind him. "Because I won't hold back anymore."
The constructs attacked—three massive serpents made of shadow, each one fifty feet long with fangs like swords. They moved with terrible speed, converging on Ilias from three directions.
Ilias's staff became a spear, and he launched himself at the first serpent. The spear drove through its head, and the construct shattered. He spun mid-air, staff becoming a sword, and cut the second serpent in half.
The third caught him.
Fangs closed around his torso, and Ilias screamed as darkness burned into him. It felt like ice and fire at once, like every nerve was being flayed.
His staff pulsed, and golden light exploded from him. The serpent dissolved, screaming.
Ilias fell to the ground, gasping, clutching his ribs. The wounds were already healing—blessed regeneration kicking in—but they HURT.
"You felt that," Silas said quietly. He stood above Ilias, looking down with something that might have been regret. "That's what the Entity's power feels like. And it has so much more than I do."
"I don't care." Ilias forced himself to his feet. "I'll fight it anyway."
"You'll lose."
"Maybe." Ilias raised his staff. "But I'll die trying to protect the people I love. Can you say the same?"
Silas was quiet for a long moment. Then he raised his hands again—but slower this time. Hesitant.
"I used to protect people," he said softly. "My family. My village. Everyone who couldn't protect themselves. That's who I was."
"That's who you can be again."
"Is it?" Silas's darkness flickered. "After everything I've done? All the families I've destroyed? Can I really go back to being that man?"
"Not back." Ilias lowered his staff slightly. "Forward. Become someone new. Someone better."
"I don't know if I can."
"You can." Ilias took a step forward. Extended his hand. "I'll help you. We all will. You just have to choose."
Silas stared at the offered hand. His own hand rose, trembling.
And in his mind, images began to surface. Memories he'd buried under years of pain and rage.
Eleanor laughing as she danced in their kitchen, flour on her nose from baking bread. Roslyn's first steps, her tiny hands reaching for him, trusting him to catch her. The village festival where everyone gathered under the stars, sharing food and stories and joy.
Marcus joking about his terrible singing. Hellen showing him the garden she'd grown. Old Johan teaching him how to carve wood, patient and kind even when Silas's darkness made the tools hard to control.
All of them accepting him. Loving him. Seeing the man underneath the power.
"They wouldn't want this," Silas whispered, tears streaming down his face. "They'd want me to... to try. To be better. To honor their memory by becoming what they believed I could be."
"Yes." Ilias's hand remained extended. "They would."
Silas reached out. His fingers were inches from Ilias's when something burned through his chest.
Fire. White-hot, crystalline fire that erupted from his body, tearing through flesh and bone.
Silas looked down, confused. Saw the spike of flame protruding from his sternum. Felt his darkness flickering, dying.
Behind him, something laughed.
The Entity's possessed Sanctifier rose from a fissure in the ground, and it was laughing with a thousand stolen voices. Twelve meters tall, covered in crystalline growths and writhing cables, its multiple arms ending in weapons of bone and metal. Too many eyes scattered across its form, all glowing with void-light.
"PERFECT TIMING," it said, gleeful and terrible. "JUST AS YOU WERE BECOMING USEFUL AGAIN. JUST AS YOU REMEMBERED HOW TO BE A PROPER TOOL."
Silas coughed blood. "We... had a deal..."
"WE DID." The Entity twisted the spike, and Silas screamed. "AND YOU FAILED TO UPHOLD IT. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO DELIVER THE BLESSED. INSTEAD, YOU GREW SOFT. SENTIMENTAL. WEAK."
"I was... trying..."
"YOU WERE TRYING TO REDEEM YOURSELF." The Entity's many eyes focused on Ilias, who stood frozen in horror. "TOUCHING, REALLY. THE BROKEN MONSTER SEEKING SALVATION IN THE LIGHT. BUT I DON'T NEED TOOLS THAT THINK. I NEED WEAPONS THAT OBEY."
It ripped the spike free, and Silas collapsed.
Ilias caught him before he hit the ground, lowering him gently. Blood poured from the wound—too much blood, too fast. The Entity's fire had burned more than flesh. It had destroyed Silas's connection to resonance, to power, to life itself.
"No, no, no—" Ilias's hands glowed golden, trying to heal, but the damage was too deep. Too fundamental.
"It's... okay..." Silas's voice was weak, fading. "I deserve... this..."
"You don't—"
"I do." Silas's hand found Ilias's, gripped it weakly. "For everything... I've done... all the families I destroyed... I deserve this."
"THE BLESSED IS MINE NOW," the Entity announced, moving forward with steps that cracked the earth. "AND YOU, SILAS VOREN, ARE DISMISSED FROM MY SERVICE."
But Silas wasn't listening anymore. His eyes were distant, seeing something beyond the physical world.
He saw Eleanor standing in their kitchen, flour on her nose, laughing at some joke he'd made. Saw Roslyn running through the village square, chasing butterflies, her laughter like music. Saw Marcus and Hellen and old Johan standing by a fire, waving him over, smiling.
He saw his family. His friends. His home.
"Eleanor..." he whispered. "I'm sorry... I couldn't save you... couldn't save any of them..."
"They wouldn't want this for you," Ilias said, tears streaming down his face. "They'd want you to live. To be better."
"Too late... for that now..." Silas's breathing was slowing, each breath harder than the last. "But maybe... maybe not too late... to help..."
His hand tightened on Ilias's. "Don't let it... take you... don't let it win..."
"I won't."
"Promise me... you'll remember... remember what happens... when you let darkness... consume you..." Silas's eyes focused on Ilias one last time. Clear. Human. Free. "Don't become... what I became..."
"I promise."
"Good..." A smile crossed Silas's face. Peaceful. Relieved. "I see them... Eleanor's here... Roslyn's running to me... they're..."
His hand went slack. His eyes closed. The smile remained.
Silas Voren—husband, father, protector turned monster—died seeing his family welcome him home.
Ilias lowered him gently to the ground, closed his eyes properly, then stood.
The golden light around him flared. Brighter. Hotter. Angrier.
"YOU KILLED HIM," he said, voice cold as winter.
"YES." The Entity sounded pleased. "ONE LESS DISTRACTION. ONE LESS FAILURE. NOW WE CAN FOCUS ON WHAT TRULY MATTERS—CLAIMING YOUR BODY AS MY ETERNAL VESSEL."
"You're not taking me." Ilias raised his staff, and power surged through him. The locks strained harder, groaning under pressure. Twenty-five percent. Maybe thirty. More than he'd ever accessed before. "You're not taking anyone else. This ends NOW."
"BOLD WORDS FROM A CHILD PLAYING WITH A FRACTION OF HIS POWER." The Entity's massive form loomed over him, casting everything in shadow. "I AM PRIMORDIAL. I AM ETERNAL. I EXISTED BEFORE YOUR GODS, BEFORE MUSIC, BEFORE CREATION ITSELF."
"I don't care what you are." Ilias's staff became a spear of pure light. "You're hurting people. That's all that matters."
He attacked.
The spear drove toward the Entity's core with every ounce of power he possessed. The Entity caught it with one massive hand, squeezed—
The light didn't crack. Didn't break.
It burned.
"INTERESTING," the Entity said, genuine surprise in its voice. "YOU'RE STRONGER THAN EXPECTED. PERHAPS YOUR GOD IS LOOSENING YOUR CHAINS?"
"He's letting me grow." Ilias pushed harder. "Letting me earn the power instead of just giving it to me."
"HOW QUAINT." The Entity's grip tightened, and cracks appeared in the spear's light. "BUT INSUFFICIENT."
It yanked Ilias forward and struck him with another arm. The blow sent Ilias through a building, through another street, into the wall of a third structure that collapsed around him.
Ilias dragged himself from the rubble, ribs screaming. His regeneration was working—faster now with the increased power—but it still hurt.
The Entity approached, each step methodical, inevitable.
"YOU FIGHT WELL FOR A CHILD," it said conversationally. "BETTER THAN MOST WHO'VE OPPOSED ME OVER THE MILLENNIA. BUT YOU'RE STILL LOCKED. STILL CONTAINED. STILL WEAK."
Ilias's staff became a bow. He fired three arrows in rapid succession—each one exploding against the Entity's form with enough force to level buildings.
The Entity walked through the explosions like they were rain.
"YOU SEE? FUTILE." It raised multiple arms, and projectiles of crystalline fire erupted toward Ilias. "EVEN WITH YOUR INCREASED POWER, EVEN WITH YOUR DIVINE WEAPON, YOU CANNOT MATCH ME."
Ilias's staff became a shield. The projectiles hammered against it, each impact driving him back, cracking the ground beneath his feet.
He was losing. Even at thirty percent, even with the Osh'Kora responding to his will, he couldn't match this thing.
*I need more,* he thought desperately. *I need—*
Orun-Fela's voice echoed in his mind. *Not yet. You'll break if I give you more. Your body can't handle it.*
"Then what do I do?!"
*Fight. Learn. Grow. Show me you're worthy of more.*
The Entity's hand came down like a falling mountain. Ilias rolled aside, staff becoming a spear again, driving upward into the Entity's arm.
The spear pierced through, and the Entity actually screamed.
"YOU DARE—"
Ilias twisted the spear, poured more light into it. The Entity's arm began to crack, to fragment.
"I TIRE OF THIS GAME." The Entity's other arms grabbed Ilias, lifted him, and threw him with devastating force.
Ilias flew through the air, over buildings, over streets, finally crashing into the ruins of the old cathedral plaza where this had all begun.
He hit the ground hard enough to crater it, and for a moment, everything went dark.
When his vision cleared, the Entity was standing over him, all those terrible eyes focused on his prone form.
"THE TIME FOR GAMES IS OVER, BLESSED. YOU ARE ALONE. YOUR POWER IS INSUFFICIENT. YOUR GOD WITHHOLDS YOUR STRENGTH."
It reached down with multiple hands, ready to tear Ilias apart, ready to claim his body and power for its own.
Ilias stared up at it, bloodied, broken, but still defiant.
His staff pulsed once in his grip.
And deep in his chest, something began to shift.
The locks weren't breaking. But they were straining. Groaning. As if Orun-Fela was testing them. Seeing how much Ilias could take.
*Show me,* the god whispered. *Show me you can handle what comes next.*
Ilias didn't know what that meant. Didn't know what was coming.
But he gripped his staff tighter, and golden light blazed around him one more time.