Her eyes were already scanning the battlefield, assessing the remaining threats. The Hekatonkheire was down, but more hybrids lurked in the shadows, waiting for their moment to strike. She knew this fight was far from over.

"Keep moving," she said, her voice calm but firm. "We're not done yet."

The others didn't question her. They regrouped quickly, spurred on by the sight of the fallen titan. The battlefield was still thick with danger, but now, with the Hekatonkheire out of the way, they had a chance to turn the tide.

Vas descended, landing next to Anya. His chakrams, still wet with the beast's blood, spun idly in his hands. "Did you see it?" he asked, glancing at Abigail.

Anya shook her head, still gripping her kamas. "I didn't see anything."

Neither had anyone else.

Whatever Abigail had done, it remained a mystery. But for now, that mystery had saved them.

With a grim nod, the group pressed forward, the fallen pieces of the Hekatonkheire lying in their wake as they moved to face whatever new horrors awaited them in the shadows.

Then, something else happened.

Vas was the first to notice it—a cold, familiar sensation that gripped his soul like icy tendrils wrapping around his spine. His skin prickled, his instincts screaming that something was terribly, terribly wrong. His breath caught in his throat. Next, it was Gerald and Abigail. That fear they had thought buried years ago? It surged back with a vengeance, as if the years in between had been nothing more than a fleeting moment of reprieve.

One by one, the Bonded felt it, a creeping emptiness gnawing at them from within. Anima—gone. The power that connected them to the gods, that coursed through their bodies like a second heartbeat—vanished. They couldn't manipulate Amrita. They couldn't feel its pulse. Their very essence felt severed from reality, and a deep, primal terror settled into their bones.

The fear spread quickly, blossoming into panic. They exchanged frantic glances, hearts pounding in their chests. No one spoke, but the terror in their eyes said everything. The color drained from the world, as if the life itself was being sucked out of the environment. The once vibrant battlefield became a washed-out shadow of itself, the very air thickening with dread.

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Then came the mist.

It rolled in slowly at first, dark and heavy, its tendrils twisting and curling as it engulfed the ground like an otherworldly fog. Strange figures started to emerge from its depths—distorted, grotesque shapes that moved in unnatural ways, flickering at the edge of perception. These things weren't of this world. They were ancient, primordial, and their mere presence made the air cold with the stench of death.

The members of Kadmon couldn't fight anymore. They couldn't even think of fighting. The mist swept over the battlefield like a ravenous wave, leaving nothing but broken, mutilated hybrids in its wake. Whatever these creatures were, they didn't just kill—they obliterated. Limbs and torsos were scattered like torn paper dolls, grotesquely dismembered, with the grotesque remains twitching faintly as if still clinging to life.

From within the thickening mist, eyes appeared. Dozens of them. No—hundreds. Glowing, predatory, green eyes that pierced through the darkness, watching, waiting. The way they stared made everyone feel small, insignificant, like insects under the scrutiny of something vast and unknowable. The mist whispered with the sound of something ancient stirring—something that should not be awake.

"We meet again," came a voice. It was low, like a whisper that brushed past their ears without touching them. Yet it felt impossibly old, carrying the weight of eons. There was no warmth, only a hollow echo.

No one answered.

"Indeed, we do," Gerald finally replied, his voice steady, though the rest of him was anything but. He had faced terrors before, but this...this was different. This was beyond human comprehension.

"Like last time," the voice said, "just stay still, and everything will be over soon." The words dripped with an eerie calm, as though it were offering mercy while holding a knife behind its back.

Gerald looked up, and for a moment, he caught a glimpse of something vast—an eye, impossibly large, staring directly at him from within the mist. The being it belonged to remained hidden, its full form cloaked in the dark shroud, but the sheer size of the eye alone filled him with a dread he hadn't felt in decades.

"Everyone, don't move," Gerald commanded, his voice hard. "Otherwise, I can't be sure what will happen."

Even as his words hung in the air, the group's bodies seemed to betray them. Their legs refused to move, their hearts pounding against their ribs like a drumbeat of terror. Every instinct screamed to run, but every muscle was paralyzed with the knowledge that even the slightest movement could mean their end.

The mist slithered further, reaching the battlefield where the body of the Hekatonkheire lay—a mass of twisted flesh, half of it still twitching grotesquely. Abigail's entire body tensed. She recognized this feeling too well. The last time she had encountered it, she had been stripped of her connection to Amrita. Now, she felt utterly naked, exposed before a power so vast, so ancient, it defied her understanding.

And then, through the swirling darkness, they saw them—beings. Horrific, towering creatures of the mist, their forms only half-seen, cloaked in shadow but monstrous in their scale. A roar tore through the air, deafening and gut-wrenching. The spiritual form of the Hekatonkheire appeared, its shape warped and twisted, like a corrupted mirror of the body it had once inhabited.

It moved to flee, its many limbs scrambling for escape. But before it could take more than a few steps, the creatures of the mist surged forward. The air grew colder, the mist thicker, and in one horrifying motion, they swarmed the Hekatonkheire, engulfing it in a swirl of darkness. The titan's roar was cut short, replaced by a wet, sickening silence as it was devoured, limb by limb, pulled apart by unseen horrors within the fog.

Everyone felt it—the eyes. They bore into their very souls, sending waves of cold terror through their bodies. No one could see what the creatures were, but they all knew. They were older than the world itself. Older than time. And they had come for them.

Before anyone could react, the mist shifted again, this time moving toward the hooded figure that had been battling alongside them. Abigail, Aleara, Victor, Carmilla, Kairo, Zola, Amy, Beck, and Lily didn't know who the figure was. But Anya did.

Her blood ran cold.

It was Vas.