The cathedral entrance lay in ruins, the aftermath of battle staining every surface. An entire west wall had been shattered, exposing the stormy night beyond. Rain cascaded in through the gaping wound, pooling across cracked stone floors littered with shards of stained glass. The jagged remnants glimmered weakly, reflecting the flicker of distant lightning. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt undead and the faint tang of ozone—a lingering echo of the armored warrior whose lifeless body now lay still, entombed in his ruined plate.
Above him, Wild Wizard stood triumphant, the scythe of Lord Death gleaming in his skeletal grip. The mage’s undead aura pulsed with dark intent, a sinister contrast to the solemn stillness of Godric’s fallen figure. Erazon’s heart tightened at the sight of his friend’s lifeless body. He had known this was coming—he’d felt it in his bones. Not even Rhadon’s power could have stopped Wild and his legions. And yet, knowing did nothing to dull the ache.
The moment Godric fell, time seemed to halt. Erazon stared at the body of his comrade, his vision narrowing as cold clarity washed over him. Every sacrifice, every moment of dedication, all the battles fought to reach this point—none of it would be in vain. His eyes flashed with sacred light, burning with fury. His spellbook vibrated at his side, ominously humming with growing energy, sensing the shift in his heart. Hatred filled him, raw and absolute.
A voice, insidious and persistent, slithered into his mind. “Ascend to your true self. Show them what true death feels like.”
The dagger hidden beneath his cloak quivered, thirsting for blood, eager to feast on his sacrifice. With grim resolve, he gave in. The blade flashed, biting deep into his palm, and blood poured freely onto the shattered stone floor—a crimson offering to the storm of magic swirling around him.
Moving forward he witnessed the corpses of the Order of Crimson—the mages who had fallen to the lightning smith—rose once more. Ghostly mages flickered into existence, their forms half-torn between life and death. They raised their wands, conjuring a barrage of fire, ice, and lightning, hurling it mercilessly toward Erazon and Solena.
Their shields burned brightly, absorbing the onslaught of elemental fury. Solena’s shield rippled, flickering as shards of ice shattered against it, dissolving into bursts of steam. “We can do this,” she said, locking eyes with him. There was a sadness in her gaze as she saw the blood trickling from his hand. He had already given so much, and yet he was willing to give more. If he was ready to give everything, she would do the same.
Her grip tightened on her flaming sword, and a thought surfaced, fierce and resolute. "Even if I turn to ash, we will end this—together." Flames curled at the edges of her shield, deflecting ice and fire alike. Across the ruined expanse, the Elder Wizard of Magnatar moved toward her, his ancient eyes locked on her with grim intent.
“I’ll take Wild. Hold Nyxis off until I finish him!” Erazon shouted, his voice rising above the storm.
Solena’s gaze darted toward him, her confidence unwavering despite the overwhelming odds. “What about these undead mages? I can’t hold them off forever!” she yelled back, fire streaking from her palms as she incinerated another phantom with a blaze of white-hot flame.
“They’re already dead.” Erazon’s reply was cold, and the determination in his voice made her heart clench. He slammed his hand against the glowing surface of his artifact, channeling its power. The hum intensified, the runes on its surface turning crimson, thrumming like a heartbeat.
He stretched out his hand violently, golden beams of light shooting from his fingertips and latching onto the undead mages. With a sharp twist, he wrenched their souls from their bodies, dragging them into himself. Their decayed forms crumbled into dust and ash, scattering across the battlefield.
Power surged through him, the stolen souls swirling within him like a storm. His spellbook shimmered, the dragonhide transforming into polished obsidian. Blood-red runes etched themselves across his artifact, glowing with a menacing pulse. His spellbook, awakened by the influx of magic, ascended into a higher tier. The raw potential thrummed through him, dangerous and intoxicating.
Meanwhile, Solena charged forward, her molten sword flashing like glass heated to the edge of destruction. Shadowmen lunged at her from the darkness, but she moved with relentless precision. Flames danced along her blade as she sliced through the darkness, their forms evaporating in the fire’s wake.
Suddenly, the ground beneath her cracked open, forming a swirling abyss of black liquid. Dark hands clawed from the depths, grasping at her legs, trying to drag her under. But Solena’s eyes burned with fierce resolve. Her temper flared, white-hot and unyielding, as she slashed through the claws that sought to bind her.
The abyss recoiled, boiling away under the intensity of her inferno. Solena leapt forward, her boots trailing fire with every step. She was close now—only a few skeletons stood between her and the fight she longed for.
“This ends here, Wild!” Erazon roared, charging toward the undead wizard. His golden shield shimmered, transforming under the power of the reaper’s embrace. White and black energy fused together, casting ghostly shadows across the ruined cathedral walls. His steps crunched over shattered glass, every sound matching the tight clench of his jaw and the ferocity burning in his heart.
A sneer curled across the undead mage’s face as the scythe gleamed in his grip. “You think a few stolen souls can save you?” His voice oozed contempt, sharp as the edge of his weapon. “Behold the true power of an undead!”
The scythe sliced through the air, releasing a jagged ripple of death magic that tore through reality itself, warping the space around it. A chill swept through the cathedral, the stench of decay riding the currents. Golden energy, edged with the Reaper’s power, ignited in Erazon’s hands as he thrust them forward. With a swift, decisive motion, he caught the blast mid-flight. Magic hissed and cracked, brittle as bone, but Erazon crushed it into dust, scattering the remnants into the storm-tossed air.
A wand shimmered into his grip with a flick of his wrist, vibrating with the hum of ancient enchantments. Whispered incantations tumbled from his lips as a torrent of faceless skulls erupted from the wand’s tip, streaking through the cathedral like vengeful comets. The fiery orbs of death cut through the ruin, leaving trails of flame in their wake.
“Shield me!” barked the undead mage, his voice a snap of command.
Elizza’s vacant eyes blinked slowly, as if dragged from a deep, dreamless slumber. Without a word, her hands lifted, and a barrier of pure, radiant magic took shape around them. Marbled sunlight coiled into a shield, its surface gleaming with divine energy. The skulls smashed against the glowing barrier, shattering into glittering fragments that rained down in a cascade of silver shards. Each fragment fizzled out upon contact with the stone floor, like dying embers caught in the wind.
Unchecked rage crackled in the air as Wild-Wizard gripped the scythe with both hands and surged forward. Each of his steps was a pulse of fury, vibrating through the ruined cathedral. He swung the weapon in a vicious arc, its path cleaving the air, ripples of energy trembling beneath its weight.
A heavy stomp echoed from Erazon as beams of brilliant light shot upward from the cracked stone beneath them. The blinding pillars pierced the shadows, scorching through the cathedral’s shattered walls like rays of molten sunlight on ancient parchment. Shadows fled, retreating into the corners of the ruins. Wild staggered, blinded by the sudden brilliance, disoriented and unsteady as he tried to regain control.
“I’ve got him!” Erazon thought, his grip tightening around his wand. With a quick flick, he unleashed another spell, aiming to finish the undead mage while he was off balance.
Across the battlefield, Solena fought through a swarm of skeletons, her molten sword cleaving through them. But each strike met resistance, as though the magic animating the bones held fast against her blade. It was like cutting through stone—every swing dragged, and she had to blast bursts of magic outward just to finish each kill.
Her hands burned black at the edges, her flames growing fiercer with every strike. The effort drained her, but she welcomed the pain. White-hot fire erupted from her fingertips as she destroyed two skeletons clawing at her chest. Their brittle forms disintegrated, leaving nothing but clouds of ash.
The haze from her attacks wrapped around her like a cloak, giving her the appearance of a rampaging demoness. The ground beneath her smoldered, the dark abyss boiling away at the touch of her flames. Every step left a trail of fire in her wake. “Burn hotter. Burn it all to ash!” she thought, her eyes ablaze with the need to avenge Godric—and to free Elizza from the same curse that once held her.
She extended her sword, the flames curling along its edge as it stretched nearly as long as her body. The flat, white-hot blade shimmered like molten steel, condensed into lethal form. She advanced without hesitation, closing the distance between herself and the mage. For the first time, she saw fear flicker in Nyxis’s eyes.
“Your flames will never touch me, witch!” He barked, his voice laced with venom. He floated backward, his gaze fixed on the cracked floor beneath her feet. Chanting an ancient incantation, he summoned the abyss once more.
The shadows gathered like liquid night, coalescing into the grotesque shape of a golem—a twisted monstrosity of armor and decayed flesh. It stood tall and menacing, a familiar terror from their past. The same vile creature they had fought in the crypts now loomed before her, its hollow eyes burning with malevolence.
The golem’s scream tore through the air, an unholy sound that shuddered through Solena’s bones and threatened to break her resolve. But this time, she was ready. Covering her ears, she shut her eyes for a brief moment and gathered her strength.
"Godric isn’t coming to save me this time," she reminded herself. "I have to finish this." There was no room for hesitation—Erazon couldn’t defeat them all. She had to stand her ground. She had to fight.
Drawing from the deepest part of her soul, Solena thought of the one she fought for. She anchored herself to that feeling, using it as fuel for the fire raging within. Her hands pressed together, and with every ounce of magic she could muster, she screamed aloud
“To Ash and Bone!”
Her flames morphed into a solid jet of blue inferno, the force of it sending shockwaves through the air. The sheer power of her magic drove her back a step, but she held firm. The golem howled, swiping at her with massive talons, but the moment its claws touched the inferno, they disintegrated into ash. In mere seconds, the beast was consumed—its body reduced to embers and smoke that scattered across the battlefield.
Nyxis’s furious scream echoed through the cathedral as he floated higher, his eyes burning red with hatred. “No more—this ends now!” he snarled.
Across the battlefield, Erazon aimed his wand directly at Wild’s skull, the intent in his mind as sharp as a dagger: pure erasure. His spell gathered at the tip of the wand—a concentrated beam of magic so powerful that it seemed to condense the air around it. When the energy surged forward, it was as if time itself bent under its weight.
The beam shot through the air, a ray of absolution powerful enough to pierce stone and dissolve anything in its path.
Wild phased out of existence just in time, the deadly beam of magic passing through the space he had occupied. The force of the blast hurtled toward the back of the cathedral, punching a molten hole through the wall above the throne. Chunks of stone dripped with glowing slag, molten trails burning as the magic sizzled into the surrounding ruins. Wild reappeared, his scythe gleaming as he slashed toward Erazon with lethal precision.
The golden mage conjured an ethereal sword, its blade wreathed in deathly flames that danced across the air like cursed embers. Their weapons collided with an explosion of magic. The clash sent currents spiraling upward, enough to annihilate any mortal caught within range. Luckily, Solena was far enough away to avoid the storm.
“Master! We must call upon him!” Nyxis shouted from across the battlefield, his voice echoing like a warning bell. Erazon glanced toward Solena, watching as a half dozen shadowmen closed in around her. But she burned so fiercely that even he had to shield his eyes from the intensity.
Her every step left a trail of blue fire, each flame still burning on the ground behind her. Her boots, her hands—everything she touched seemed on the verge of combusting. Smoke coiled around her in a haze, her dress catching fire as if her very soul burned with divine fury. “She’s fierce, beautiful. She’s glowing like the sun.,” Erazon thought, admiration welling inside him. “If we survive this, I’ll tell her.”
Wild attacked again, his scythe whistling through the air in a wide arc. Erazon countered with his sword, the blade crackling with both life and death, deflecting the blow with a surge of sparks. Their weapons clanged together, raw energy flooding the cathedral.
Wild leapt backward, his glowing eyes locking onto the elder wizard. “The cost is high, but we must have victory. Summon the Demon King! Now, Nyxis!”
Before Erazon could act, Elizza stepped between them, her cold blue eyes locking with his. He froze. No matter what happened, he could not harm her—she was the reason they had come. Her hand rose, shards of blue and white glass forming at her fingertips. They shot forth like daggers, slamming into his shield. Each shard threatened to pierce through, but he held firm, refusing to retaliate.
“Elizza, we came to rescue you! Let’s get out of here. Stop this madness. Fight back!” His voice rang with urgency, trying to cut through the darkness clouding her mind. For a fleeting moment, her gaze shifted, a flicker of recognition crossing her face. But the shadow within her eyes held strong, dragging her consciousness deeper into its grip.
Erazon lowered his shield’s glow to a soft golden hue, careful not to let his deathly aura touch her. Even the smallest misstep could claim her soul, and he would not allow that.
Then the atmosphere shifted.
The air grew heavy, charged with an overwhelming presence. All light in the cathedral was extinguished, leaving only the dim, blazing shields of Erazon and Solena—and the hesitant sparks of Elizza’s attacks.
Erazon’s gaze snapped upward as two enormous glowing orbs appeared in the darkness, hovering just below the ruined ceiling. Moments later, massive horns stretched into view, scraping the shattered roof as they emerged from the void.
A towering figure took shape—an entity forged of shadow and flame, as tall as the cathedral itself and as wide as the chamber could contain. Its body seemed endless, a swirling mass of darkness and burning veins, each pulse brimming with godly power.
His knees buckled under the sheer weight of the being’s presence, every inch of him crushed beneath its force. He fought to stay upright, but the magic pressing down on him was relentless, pushing the air from his lungs. The floor groaned beneath the entity’s weight, threatening to collapse under the immense pressure.
He gasped for breath, the strain pulling a groan from deep within his chest. His vision blurred as the force grew heavier, dragging him closer to the ground.
Glancing to the side, he saw Solena struggling against the same weight. The fire that once blazed around her dimmed, her radiant blue flames flickering to a dull red as she fought to hold her ground. She managed to stay on one knee, but barely. Sweat beaded on her brow as she pressed against the force, her magic faltering under the crushing aura of the demon’s presence.
They were trapped—caught in the suffocating grip of an ancient force.
They were in absolute peril.
A tremor surged through the cathedral, shaking its ancient foundations and rattling every shattered window in its frame. Cracks splintered further along the broken walls, debris crumbling from the vaulted ceiling. The storm outside howled in response, as if welcoming the god of shadows.
Nox materialized in the heart of the chaos—a towering demon whose form seemed to swallow the light around him. His skin was black as voidstone, veins of molten gold threading through his body like jagged rivers, flickering red with every pulse of his being. Horns twisted upward toward the broken roof, flames licking at their tips, casting dim, shifting hues across the ruined cathedral.
Suddenly, a pulse of black energy rippled through the space, flashing like a strobe. With each wave, Nox's colossal frame shrank—condensing into a smaller but denser form, compact and terrifying. When the flashing ceased, he stood at the height of a giant, his form radiating the gravity of a collapsing star. Each step was deliberate and catastrophic, crushing everything beneath him into dust. Stone fractured under his weight with every movement, groaning like a cathedral in its death throes.
Wild and Nyxis knelt without hesitation, their heads bowed in reverence. Nox’s gaze, twin pools of molten gold, simmered with ancient purpose. A hand black as night extended toward his servants, fingers tapering into razor-like talons.
“Rise.”
The word did not need to be shouted. It landed in their minds with the force of a hammer, bringing an instant, crushing migraine. Even the shadows winced beneath the weight of it, their skulls throbbing as though the thought itself were ripping through their minds.
Wild rose first, clutching the scythe with trembling hands. Nyxis followed, a slight flicker of unease betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.
Erazon tried to stand but found his body unwilling to obey. A crushing force held him down, every muscle in his frame straining beneath the sheer presence of the god. His shield, glowing faintly, stuttered, its light flickering like a dying ember. Solena fought to stay upright, but her flames faltered, sinking to dull red, her strength draining with each passing second.
Even Elizza—frozen in place a step away—was trapped beneath the crushing aura, her limbs limp and her mind tethered in the dark. Her unblinking gaze was hollow, the fight in her soul slipping away inch by inch.
“Explain.” Nox’s voice seared into their minds again, each word razor-sharp. Nyxis raised his head, his voice quick and reverent. “My lord, we bring you the Mistwalker as tribute—”
A shift in Nox’s glowing eyes silenced him. The god’s gaze flicked toward Erazon, lingering for the briefest moment.
“Failure.”
The word was a pronouncement, cold and absolute. Erazon’s shield cracked under the weight of it, the sound like splintering glass echoing through the chamber.
Nyxis, struggling to maintain composure, hurried on. “The flame sorceress—she has grown stronger. We—”
“Weak.”
The single word dropped like a stone, grinding through the shadow mage’s mind, and he stumbled beneath the weight of it, gasping as if a vice had clamped around his skull.
Nox shifted his gaze again, dismissing the mage with silent contempt. “I will finish what you cannot.” His gaze settled briefly on the flame sorceress, pinned to the ground and barely holding on. “End her.”
Nyxis bowed deeply, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he turned toward the weakened sorceress. Shadow crackled along his fingertips, his hands gathering the darkness like coiled serpents. She could barely lift her head, her once-blazing flames no more than embers flickering feebly around her.
With a wave of his clawed hand, Nox summoned two massive demons from the blackened corners of the room. They emerged like shadows given form—hulking giants oozing molten lava from cracked skin, steam hissing as it spilled onto the cathedral floor. They stood motionless, waiting for his command, silent behemoths ready to execute his will.
Nox turned slowly to Wild Wizard. “The scythe. Bind him.”
Wild nodded, lifting the weapon with both hands, the ancient magic thrumming through its blackened steel. Erazon’s golden shield splintered entirely under the weight of Nox’s command, its final embers extinguished with a faint hiss.
Desperation clawed at Erazon’s chest as he locked eyes with Solena, panic stricken across her face as the wizard stalked closer. Her gaze, usually filled with defiance, now betrayed fear. She was out of time.
The scythe swirled in the air as Wild advanced. He could feel the magic gathering, dark and inevitable, ready to twist his soul into submission. Nox stepped forward, each movement shattering what remained of the stone floor beneath him.
Without pause, Nox kicked Elizza aside as if she were nothing more than a doll. Her body crashed into the chapel wall, the impact fracturing stone and leaving her crumpled at the base of it. Her unblinking stare fixed on Erazon as she lay motionless. For the briefest moment, he saw tears pooling in her eyes—whether from sorrow or resignation, he couldn’t tell. But the sight tore at his heart.
His book was blank, drained of power. Every sacrifice he’d made had been for nothing.
Time slowed. The scythe gleamed, shadows crackled along Nyxis’s hands, and Solena’s flame all but vanished. Failure. The word echoed in Erazon’s mind, a gnawing truth that threatened to crush what was left of his resolve.
Nox drew closer, horns flickering with flame, his presence heavy enough to sink even the most powerful soul. The walls threatened to collapse as his steps brought him closer to his prey. His golden-veined skin pulsed with malevolent energy, every second spelling doom. Erazon’s thoughts spiraled as each thunderous footstep drew closer, the sound like an executioner’s drum pounding in his ears. Did they really come this far to fail? His heart pounded wildly, dread closing around him like a noose.
A scream tore through the cathedral—Solena's voice, raw and desperate. His head jerked up in time to see Nyxis blasting her with a relentless wave of dark magic. Her body convulsed, writhing midair as the curse lifted her from the ground.
“This will not be quick, and you shall not enjoy it,” Nyxis hissed gleefully, his voice thick with malice. “You will suffer. I will show you the true horror of this world.”
Erazon’s blood ran cold as he saw the elder wizard raise his hand toward her face. With a crackling surge of magic, shadow tendrils pierced her eye, burrowing deep into her skull. The twisted spell and her screams echoed through the chamber like nails scraping across glass.
“NO!” The word tore from Erazon’s throat, ragged and breathless. He tried to rise, but his limbs betrayed him. He crashed to the floor, gasping, his body trembling from Nox’s presence and the crushing despair of watching her agony. The rage within him built like a firestorm, threatening to burn him alive. He could feel the heat rising, his skin prickling, his mind screaming.
“I’ll give it all. I’ll do whatever it takes! Give me the power to defeat them!” The desperate plea echoed inside his mind as he watched her suffer. But he knew it was already too late.
Nox was upon him, a looming shadow of inevitability. The scythe gleamed in Wild’s skeletal hands, raised to strike.
“Now. Bind him with the curse.” Nox’s command cut through the air, his voice a merciless sentence. The force of it reverberated through every mortal in the cathedral, causing heads to throb and thoughts to splinter. He stood motionless, arms folded, watching the scene unfold with silent, malevolent persistence.
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He couldn’t move. He couldn’t fight. The weight of failure crushed him as he looked toward Elizza. She remained still and lifeless, her blue eyes glassy and distant. Was she even alive? Or had her soul already slipped away, lost to the shadows? His mind flicked back to Solena. Was she about to die, too?
Her screams filled the air, a harrowing sound that sliced through his soul. Darkness invaded her mind, forcing upon her unspeakable horrors—visions of shattered realms, endless torment, and a world consumed by shadow. Demons whispered into her thoughts, eroding her will. Her fiery resolve crumbled under the assault, leaving her vulnerable to the suffocating fear gnawing at her sanity.
Wild's hand shimmered with a deep, blood-red hue, his skeletal fingers outstretched as the scythe hovered closer to Erazon’s temple. The cursed blade shimmered ominously, its edge glowing with the promise of finality.
“This is the end,” the thought whispered through his mind like a death knell.
The cold metal kissed his skin, pressing against his temple. His mind fractured.
The edges of his vision darkened, the world narrowing into a shrinking tunnel of red. His breath faltered, shallow and jagged, as if the very air had been sucked from his lungs. His golden shield sputtered out entirely, leaving him vulnerable and exposed.
The scythe pressed deeper.
A strange numbness spread through his skull, and his vision slipped further into nothingness. Everything went black.
In the void, he could feel the curse seeping in, like cold oil pouring into his thoughts, twisting his mind, invading every corner of his consciousness. The scythe’s curse wasn’t merely a spell—it was a consuming presence, a void that swallowed everything in its path. Terror bloomed in his chest, alien and overwhelming. He tried to fight, to resist, but it was like struggling against an ocean dragging him into its depths.
Darkness pulled at his soul, drawing it away from him, inch by inch. His thoughts became fragmented—images of Solena’s scream, Elizza’s empty eyes, Godric’s lifeless body—fading into scattered memories, flickering out one by one.
A voice, ancient and monstrous, coiled around his mind like a serpent. “Surrender. There is no escape.”
The words were not his own, but they echoed within him, heavy and absolute. He felt himself slipping further, his sense of self unraveling. His thoughts retreated, drawn into the dark void where the curse waited to take root, to claim what remained of his soul.
He was being consumed.
In that moment, Erazon’s essence hovered on the brink of oblivion. The last threads of his mind stretched thin, threatening to snap. The curse was relentless, filling him with an unbearable terror—an emptiness so profound that he could feel his soul slipping away, piece by piece.
His hands twitched weakly, as if reaching for something—anything—to hold on to. But there was nothing left. Only darkness.
He was out of options, out of strength.
The cathedral trembled, cracks racing along the walls, the storm outside screaming as if heralding the arrival of something far worse. A deafening roar split the air as the entire eastern wall was ripped away, the stones disintegrating into dust, stained glass shattering into fragments too fine to see. The remnants of the chapel peeled away, exposing the battlefield to a sky swirling with chaotic winds.
A colossal tornado of souls spiraled into view, a whirling vortex of spirits shrieking in silence, twisting upward into the storm. The souls writhed in torment, some whispering forgotten truths, others vanishing like lost memories, their forms dissolving into the endless spiral. The winds weren’t just pulling at the structure—they seemed to pull at life itself, dragging warmth, hope, and light into the storm’s hungry maw.
Even Nox faltered. His eyes—golden orbs laced with molten red—fixed on the soulstorm, his malevolent calm disrupted. Wild gripped his scythe tighter, and Nyxis lowered his hands, the shadows gathering around his fingers dissipating as though retreating in fear. For a heartbeat, everything—even Nox—stilled, transfixed by the storm that roared outside.
Erazon’s breath hitched, his vision swimming between moments of clarity. He recognized the presence at once. Lord Death. There was no mistaking the suffocating inevitability carried by the vortex, a presence that defied time and permanence alike.
The tornado contracted in a flash—folding in on itself with the precision of a master craftsman. Soul after soul disappeared into the storm’s heart, the howling winds silenced as they condensed into a singular form. Death emerged, the transition effortless, fluid, and terrifying.
He did not walk. He floated, untouched by the world around him, and wherever his presence lingered, life withered. The stones blackened beneath him, ivy curling into ash and dust. Shattered glass lost its remaining luster, decaying into nothingness. Any hint of light—whether from flame or magic—dimmed and died. Flowers of decay bloomed in his wake; splinters of wood molded and cracked, iron rusted in seconds.
Lord Death floated into the chapel, a towering figure cloaked in shadow and silence. His skull—emotionless and hollow—seemed carved from the very marrow of ancient gods. His gaze, twin abysses where eyes should have been, locked onto the scene with quiet omniscience.
Souls continued to swirl around him, orbiting like lost planets, their whispers a ghostly chorus that only he could hear. His hands, long and skeletal, hovered by his sides, ready but patient. In his presence, the concept of time became irrelevant.
He spoke.
“Bow.”
The word was not a request; it was an order that could not be defied. The gravity of the command fell upon the room like a mountain. All within the cathedral were compelled to prostrate themselves.
Wild collapsed, the scythe slipping from his grasp with a dull clang, his body hitting the floor in forced submission. Nyxis crumbled, clutching his head in agony as his own thoughts unraveled, dissolving into chaos. Even the remnants of Solena’s flames flickered out as she hit the floor, her body too weakened to defy the order.
And then there was Nox.
He did not immediately bow. His molten eyes burned with a flicker of defiance, though it was laced with caution. He remained upright for a moment longer, but even his immense will faltered under the relentless pressure. The shadows around him melted into nothing, and his golden-veined skin began to crack, small fractures appearing like spiderwebs along his obsidian form.
Slowly, with agonizing deliberation, the god of shadows sank to one knee. His pride did not break, but the act of submission was unmistakable.
Lord Death’s gaze settled on him, the hollowness of his skull somehow more terrifying than words.
Nox’s molten veins flared as he finally spoke, his voice sharp but strained, each word an effort to maintain control. “What do you hope to gain, Reaper?” The words pressed outward, heavy with frustration—but beneath them, there was fear.
Lord Death did not answer immediately. He remained as he was, silent, a force unburdened by urgency. Nox clenched his jaw, his fractured form dimming slightly, as if the weight of his own words crushed him. But he continued.
“The balance is a lie. Your cycle serves only the will of the Golden God.” His golden veins pulsed with defiance, and though his words were short, they rang with meaning. “I will create a world free of his influence.”
Death floated closer, his presence folding around Nox like a shroud, choking off even the shadow god’s lingering defiance. Decay spread where he lingered, peeling away at reality itself. Yet Nox held his ground, though his voice faltered beneath the oppressive silence that followed.
“End me if you must,” Nox muttered, his voice quieter now, the weight of Death’s presence settling like chains around his soul. “I will not serve him. I will not be a pawn in your balance.”
The Reaper remained silent for a moment longer. His hollow gaze was unreadable—there was no expression, no indication of thought or mercy. Just the inevitability of death, looming and certain.
Finally, Lord Death spoke, each word a scalpel carving into Nox’s being.
“I do not warn twice.”
With that, the crushing aura around Nox lifted slightly—but not without leaving a scar of warning, etched deeper than shadow.
Meanwhile, Erazon lay on the cold stone, struggling to breathe under the weight of exhaustion and despair. His body trembled, broken and drained, each breath like fire in his lungs. His blurred vision returned, just enough for him to see the scythe resting before him—its cursed edge gleaming faintly in the dim light.
His mind spiraled, fragmented thoughts racing through his head: Solena’s broken body, Godric’s lifeless form, Elizza’s empty eyes. The curse whispered from the scythe’s handle, seductive and deadly. If I could just kill them... If I just had the power...
His hand twitched, muscles screaming in protest, but he reached for the scythe.
Across the room, Lord Death turned sharply, sensing the movement. His voice cut through the still air, sharp and final.
“Erazon. Stop.”
But the words came too late.
Erazon’s fingers brushed the scythe’s cold handle, and the curse surged into him like a flood. Memories poured into his mind—centuries of forgotten knowledge, ancient truths unraveling all at once.
His mind cracked beneath the weight of it.
Solena, barely conscious, turned her head just in time to see him rise. Her heart sank, and tears welled in her eyes. She knew what this meant.
Lord Death’s voice faltered—tinged, for the first time, with fear.
“What have you done?”
The moment Erazon’s fingers closed around the scythe, his mind exploded with a flood of knowledge. Memories—vast, ancient, and overwhelming—crashed into him with the force of a tidal wave. Eons of forgotten truths resurfaced: the rise of the Circle City he built, the knowledge he had gifted to the Nine, and the teachings of balance, pacts, and mortality. But those gods—once students under his guidance—had grown arrogant, bending the world and mortals to their whims. They had betrayed him, shaping creation in their image, twisting the balance into a lie.
He remembered now. He was known by many names. Arzone. King of the Gods. Sun-bringer, the god of all creation. And they had dared to bind him—the very force they once worshiped.
"You placed a pact on me to weaken me," Erazon growled, his grip tightening around the scythe, the metal cold and ancient in his hand. His voice trembled with fury, his words trembling on the edge of an eruption.
"No," Death replied softly, his tone a rare plea. "It was to help you learn control. You would have grown too quickly—you wouldn’t have understood. I needed to protect you from yourself.”
A pounding rhythm of betrayal thundered through his chest, rage boiling within, threatening to burst free. “I don’t need your death! I don’t need Pyridion’s fire, or Aeolex’s golden coals! I have my own magic—the magic you all were too afraid to let me use!” His voice roared like an oncoming storm, ancient power unfurling with each word. Memories of deception festered within him, sharp and cold as buried daggers, their weight pushing him deeper into fury.
The figure of Death stood unmoving, his hollow gaze locked onto the reborn god before him. "Arzone, you must see beyond these fleeting memories," he urged, a rare and unsettling tremor threading through his voice. "If you act without understanding, you will destroy everything—everything you once fought to protect."
Light blazed from his eyes, bright as the sun, fueled by the centuries of injustice that had been hidden from him. "I see enough!" The words tore from his throat, hot with wrath. "The gods feed on the mortals—they twist the balance to suit their desires! And I... I have been nothing but their farmer, raising endless herds of souls for slaughter!" The weight of betrayal sharpened his rage further, memories of the gods' corruption burning in his mind like embers. "The gods I once taught have become tyrants, bending creation to serve their own whims!"
The scythe pulsed in his hand, humming with the power of death and creation intertwined. Without hesitation, Erazon swung it with devastating force, aiming directly at Wild-Wizard.
But Lord Death intervened, a wall of void rising between them. The scythe’s edge met the darkness, the blow absorbed into the abyss of Death’s magic.
“This is not the way, Erazon,” Death said, his voice firm but still pleading. "I can help you—you must calm yourself, or you will ruin everything we can still save."
Erazon’s body trembled, his heart torn between the fury that boiled inside him and the growing, overwhelming pain. The death magic within him clashed with his natural energy, suppressing the golden light that was his essence. The fire magic within him struggled against his true nature, and the golden coal was hiding within his own core, threatening to consume him entirely.
And there, standing shielded by Death’s intervention, was Wild-Wizard, the very being who had taken Godric’s soul. His enemy, protected by the one who had claimed to guide him.
“How dare you,” Erazon spat, his words like venom. “You, who lost your scythe and allowed this nightmare to begin! You knew they would come for me—the gods you trained to betray me—and you stood by as they plotted to overthrow my rule!”
Death’s voice remained steady, but the plea within it was unmistakable. “The balance must guide us, Erazon—”
“The balance was broken long ago!” Erazon’s voice surged, cutting him off. “They ripped souls from mortal men! They poisoned the world I built, turning it into a prison of suffering and lies!”
His gaze flickered toward Solena, her body crumpled and barely alive. Her flames—once so brilliant—flickered weakly, threatening to fade forever. If he didn’t act now, she would die. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not after everything.
"I've had enough of your lies," Erazon hissed, gripping the scythe tighter. "You told me to question everything, and now I question you!"
His eyes blazed with the fury of a god reawakened, golden light bleeding into the shadows around him. "I will judge them all—every one of the Nine!"
In the darkness beyond, Nox began to stir. His molten eyes flickered with opportunity. Like a serpent in the grass, he slid closer toward Wild, his movements silent, unnoticed in the storm of conflict.
Erazon could feel the odds stacking against him: an enraged god, an army of shadow and undead, and Lord Death himself standing in his path. But he would not falter. Not now.
With a wrenching motion, Erazon reached deep within himself, finding the death magic that had been buried in his core. His body convulsed as he ripped it free, tearing the dark energy from his soul. It was a mountain of power, but he held it in his hand, feeling its weight, its potential for devastation.
Death’s hollow gaze darkened as he realized what was about to happen. "Erazon—"
"I am Arzone. King of the Gods." Erazon’s voice rang out, filled with divine fury. "Be gone!"
With an earth-shattering roar, Erazon hurled the raw force of death directly at Lord Death. The magic exploded from his hand, a cataclysmic wave of blackened energy that matched the reaper’s own power.
Death’s form buckled under the assault, the void around him collapsing inward. In a moment of overwhelming force, Lord Death was banished from the mortal plane, his form disintegrating into shadow as the mortal realm rejected him.
The void wall shielding Wild shattered into nothing, leaving the undead wizard exposed.
From the corner of his vision, Erazon saw Nox’s grin, sly and triumphant. The shadow god seized Wild-Wizard by the arm, his molten veins flickering with malicious intent. Together, they vanished into the shadows, slipping beneath the cathedral’s cracked floor like a wisp of smoke.
His gaze shifted to Nyxis, who was already preparing a final, desperate spell to finish Solena. Rage boiled over.
With blinding speed, Erazon leapt through the air, the scythe in his hand a whirling blur of death and divine fury. In a single, precise motion, he swung the blade, severing Nyxis’s soul from his body.
The elder wizard’s body froze, his eyes wide with disbelief as his very essence was torn free. The disembodied soul hovered for a heartbeat, a faint, shimmering remnant of what once was. It drifted helplessly, as if awaiting judgment from the god it had dared defy.
The weight of ancient fury filled the air, as if the force of creation itself trembled with his words. “I banish you to the Nine Hells. Rot for eons.”
A violent flicker tore through the condemned soul, writhing in defiance, yet it stood no chance against the decree that sealed its fate. With a final, desperate wail, it was pulled into the abyss, its essence snuffed out, erased from existence.
What remained of the wizard’s body crumbled, lifeless and hollow—a husk, discarded and forgotten, lost to the tide of divine wrath. A relic of defiance reduced to dust in the storm of fury.
The chaotic energy of rebirth surged within Erazon, crackling along the edges of his being, invigorating yet relentless in its demand for release. But strength alone wasn’t what drew his focus. His thoughts veered sharply toward Solena, lying broken on the cold stone, her flames reduced to fragile whispers of what they once were.
Her light wavered, on the verge of going out.
A tightness gripped his chest with every step forward, the urgency of the moment pressing in around him like a vice. The essence of Arzone roared within, wild and untamed, clawing to reshape existence with fire and light. Yet, he forced it back, tightening his grip on the chaos. This was not the time to let go. Not when Solena—the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose—was slipping away.
He lowered himself beside her, trembling hands outstretched. Molten heat radiated from her body, a destructive force ready to consume anything that dared touch her. Even the stone beneath her was cracked and blackened, the scorch marks deep and unforgiving. Still, he knew he had no choice. He had to try.
“Solena...” The whisper escaped, burdened with everything unspoken, every emotion rising to the surface. “I can save you. You have to make a pact with me.”
Her breath came shallow, each one a struggle as if life itself resisted. Her emerald eyes fluttered open, dimmed by exhaustion, though a faint flicker of fire still lingered within. Her strength was nearly spent, the flames that once empowered her now consuming her from the inside out, tearing her apart.
She met his gaze—barely alive, barely holding on—but in that moment, something passed between them. A faint nod. A silent promise. Even now, when the world teetered on the edge of ruin, she believed in him. She always had.
He exhaled slowly, his chaotic energy surging through his veins, threatening to escape, to tear everything apart. He wasn’t just Erazon anymore. He was Arzone, chaos and creation incarnate, the God of the Sun. And with that power came the ability to reshape existence itself—but at a price.
There was always a price.
His hand trembled as he raised it over his chest. The coal of Aeolex—the ember that had subdued his true magic for lifetimes—still burned within his core. It had been his lifeline, his power, his control, but it was the only thing that could save Solena now.
With a deep breath, he clenched his jaw and plunged his hand into his chest.
The pain was beyond anything he had known, as though he were tearing his very soul apart, piece by agonizing piece. His body convulsed, muscles straining under the effort. His fingers closed around the coal within him, and he felt the heat scorch his flesh, burning with the pure, volatile power of Aeolex’s magic. The ember fought to stay buried, resisting his touch, but he gripped it tighter, wrenching it free.
As the coal left his body, a wave of pure chaos surged through his veins. Creation and destruction collided within him, a storm so powerful it threatened to consume him entirely. His essence unraveled in bursts of radiant light and dark void, battling for dominance within him. But he held firm, forcing himself to stay focused—forcing himself to save her.
Erazon stared down at the glowing ember in his hand, its flames flickering weakly, golden light shimmering at the edges. The weight of it was immense, the power of a god condensed into a fragile flame. He looked into Solena’s fading eyes and vowed, “I will save you.”
Tears welled in Solena’s eyes—a mix of gratitude and fear, knowing she was on the edge of death, knowing he was willing to pay the price to bring her back. She clung to his words like a lifeline, her breath shallow, her strength dwindling.
Erazon placed the ember gently on the cold chapel floor, his hand still glowing with the blood of his sacrifice. With quick, deliberate strokes, he began to write a pact, his fingers trailing lines of crimson across the stone. The symbols glowed briefly before sinking into the floor, becoming a binding spell of divine intent.
He finished the inscription and looked back at Solena. “This ember will empower you with sacred energy,” he whispered. “It will tether us—you’ll be able to draw upon my strength whenever you need it. All you have to do is believe in me. That is the only price.”
Grasping her fragile hand, he cut the edge of her fingertip with a precise motion, her blood mingling with his on the glowing inscription. She was too weak to move, too weak to do anything but watch. But the pact didn’t require strength—only belief.
As her name was inscribed, the crimson writing flared with radiant light, then vanished into the stone. Erazon reached into her chest, his hand trembling but steady, and placed the ember of Aeolex directly into her heart.
The moment his hand left her chest, golden flames erupted within her. The fire spread like a wildfire through her veins, lighting her body from within. The searing heat turned to warmth, not pain, as the flames raced through every nerve, every cell, igniting her with new life.
With a sharp gasp, Solena’s eyes flew open, wide with wonder as the energy surged through her. Golden flames replaced the embers that had once consumed her, spreading out from her core, bright and pure. Her burns began to heal, the charred skin knitting itself back together in moments. Every blackened hand, every exhausted limb, was restored to perfect form.
Awe filled the space between them as her transformation unfolded, the chaotic flames that once threatened to destroy her fading into a radiant glow. This new brilliance was not born of fire alone but of their bond, strengthened by the coal now burning within her. She was no longer just a sorceress. She had become something greater—a being infused with divine energy, a force reborn from the ashes of death and creation.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips, breath quick and uneven as the newfound power settled into every part of her being. Her hands, once blackened and cracked, now glowed faintly with sacred fire, pulsing with life. More alive than ever before, she marveled at the feeling, her soul alight with energy.
Tears welled in her eyes as she turned her gaze toward him. “You… you brought me back,” she whispered, disbelief and emotion trembling on the edges of her voice. “From death.”
A gentle hand came to her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear as relief and love bloomed in his heart. “Death can’t have you,” he whispered, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of an unbreakable promise. “You’re not going anywhere.”
For that brief moment, the shattered world around them seemed to dissolve. The ruined cathedral, the chaos, the destruction—all of it faded into the background. It was just the two of them: Arzone, the Sun God reborn, and Solena, a sorceress forged anew.
In the dim, flickering light of the ruined chapel, their bond sealed itself—not through magic alone, but through love, sacrifice, and an unyielding faith in each other. Together, they had defied death. Together, they were unstoppable.
Her hand rested over his, the warmth of her grip grounding them both. Shadows still lingered within her emerald eye—a scar, etched into her soul, a dark fragment left behind by Nyxis. It would remain as a reminder of the battles fought and the ones still to come.
A soft thumb grazed her cheek. “Let me heal your beautiful face,” he whispered, his voice tender. “Your eye… it’s been taken by shadow.”
The slightest shake of her head, and her voice returned with quiet strength. “No. This is my reminder. They will fear the darkness when we come for them.”
Resolve sharpened in his expression, not from anger but from clarity. He helped her to her feet, steady as the ruins shifted around them. “Nyxis is in the Nine Hells,” he said softly, “but perhaps we’ll visit him sometime.” His golden eyes glinted with purpose. “Wild escaped. And he’s not the only one I’ll be hunting.”
Her hands tightened around his, their shared fire reflected in her gaze. “Who…” she whispered, her words a promise that smoldered with intent, “Who do we burn, darling?”
The woman beside him, this fierce and beautiful force, had stood with him through flame and shadow. She had fought beside him in every dark moment, and in her, he saw everything he had ever fought for.
A quiet answer rumbled from his soul, heavy with divine wrath. “All of them.” His voice carried the weight of judgment. “The Nine, the corruption festering within this world… We’ll burn it all down, and from the ashes, we’ll build anew.”
Determination shimmered in her tear-filled eyes—not sadness, but a fierce, unyielding resolve. “I’ll follow you anywhere,” she vowed. “Into the heavens, into the hells—wherever your heart desires.” Her words were a promise, her hands pulling him closer as the storm outside continued to rage, drumming against the cathedral walls.
The ghost of a smile played on his lips, though the burden of the past still lingered in his gaze. “Rise,” he whispered, his voice steady. “Let’s summon the Dwarf. Then we rest.”
From within his cloak, Arzone withdrew a small bell, its metal tarnished by age. With a flick of his wrist, he rang it softly, the sound cutting through the storm’s din.
In an instant, Orlithar appeared, his eyes wide as he took in the devastation around him. “Lad… You’ve got yer memory back, haven’t ye?” The old dwarf stared at him with a mix of awe and fear, recognizing the man who now stood before him—not just Erazon, but Arzone, the King of the Gods.
“I won’t ask if, or who, told you to keep my memories hidden,” Erazon said, his tone measured but edged with finality. “You’ve been kind to us, old friend. I’ll need your help in the battles to come.”
The dwarf adjusted his belt with a grunt, though the slight tremor in his legs betrayed the weight of the command hanging in the air. “What do ye need, lad?” His voice carried a mix of respect and unease, tempered by the realization of who now stood before him.
A glance fell upon Elizza, still shackled by the curse, and the charred remains of Godric’s armor lying beside her. “Free Elizza, take her to her father. Tell them…” The words came slow, deliberate, his gaze softening for just a moment. “Tell them Godric will return soon. He needs time to recover.”
Orlithar shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking toward the lifeless knight encased in ruined armor. “Aye… though if that’s Godric wearin’ Ven’s old armor, he looks more like a burnt husk. Ye sure he can come back?”
A dangerous gleam settled in Erazon’s gaze. “I’ll warn you once, Orlithar—do not question my power.” His voice carried the weight of a divine oath, sharp and absolute. “See to your task. My word is my bond.”
The old dwarf swallowed hard, nodding quickly before hurrying toward the fallen cleric, boots scuffing against the shattered stone as he scurried away.
The storm within eased slightly as Erazon turned back to Solena, her hand still clasped in his. In her grip, he felt the fire that had endured every trial, a fire now perfectly mirrored within himself.
Her voice slipped through the quiet like a soft ember, flickering between sorrow and resolve. “The scythe… no…”
With a slow shake of his head, he reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I had to,” he murmured, his tone gentle but resolute. “For you. For Godric. For everyone.”
The scythe’s presence weighed heavily on him, its power thrumming beneath his skin like a current both dangerous and alluring. He knew the burden it carried—one that could consume him if left unchecked. But it was a weight he had chosen to bear, and time—once his enemy—was now a luxury he no longer feared.
A flicker of conflict crossed his expression, one that did not go unnoticed. Solena’s hands lifted gently to his face, cradling it as she searched his eyes. “Will it turn you into a monster?” Her voice trembled, a rare vulnerability catching her off guard. “Will I lose you?”
Leaning into her touch, he let the warmth of her hands ground him. “You’ll never lose me,” he whispered, brushing a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “This artifact holds no power over me. Fate brought us here, and together, we’ll see it through.”
From within his cloak, Erazon withdrew a dark vial, ancient and cracked along its edges. With a flick of the scythe, he brushed it against the vial’s lips, summoning a single essence from the aether. A faint glow—like a whisper of a soul—drifted inside. Corking the vial, he slipped it safely into his pocket.
It was Godric.
He knew Elizza wouldn’t understand. Not yet. But in time, her brother would return. And until that day came, she would curse his name. And Erazon would accept it, bear it, because that was the price of love—and redemption.
As they turned toward the shattered remains of the battlefield, Orlithar finished his spell on Elizza. She shuddered violently as the last vestiges of the curse left her body, gasping as she crumpled to her knees beside the blackened remains of her brother’s armor.
Tears poured down her face as she touched the cold, ruined metal, her hands trembling. “You... you let this happen to him,” she whispered, her voice raw with grief. “You let him come here on his own… What did he do to deserve this?”
Erazon’s heart ached at the sight of her pain. He had failed Godric, and now his sister bore the weight of that loss.
Orlithar placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice gentle. “Lass, they did what they could. Godric… he fought bravely. He wouldn’t want ye to blame them.”
But Elizza’s grief was a storm beyond comforting. “You monster!” she screamed at Erazon, her voice cracking under the weight of her sorrow. “You let him die! You both failed him!”
Erazon didn’t flinch. He let her rage wash over him, standing silently under the weight of her anger. He would not defend himself—he didn’t need to. In time, she would know the truth. Her brother would return.
With a sob, Elizza collapsed into Orlithar’s arms, and the dwarf led her gently through a shimmering door back to Carlin. Erazon watched them leave, the guilt heavy but bearable—because some burdens could only be carried in silence.
Finally alone with Solena, he felt her hand squeeze his, grounding him. Her warmth, her strength, reminded him of everything they still had to fight for.
She looked up at him, her voice soft yet filled with resolve. “If you want to burn the heavens down, I’ll do it by your side.”
He met her gaze, his golden eyes glowing softly. “As a mortal, I feared my emotions. But now, I find myself embracing them.” His voice was quiet but unyielding. “Together, we’ll cleanse this world of the corrupt gods. I’ve loved you from the moment I met you. I couldn’t admit it then, but I love you.”
Solena smiled through her tears, stepping closer. She cupped his face, her touch firm yet tender. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice a vow, unbreakable and eternal.
In the ruins of the gothic chapel, beneath a weeping sky, they kissed, sealing their bond with all the power of fire and creation. The rain fell harder, mixing with the tears on their faces, but it didn’t matter. They stood together, united by purpose, love, and the promise of a new beginning.
As the kiss ended, Erazon stared into Solena’s eyes, seeing the fire within them—the same fire that burned in his own heart.
And together, they would change the world.