The Wastelander fades away, his flesh, bones, and blood turning into a swirling red dust that enters the air. And the moment it enters the atmosphere, it proliferates, the incarnadine expanding like the waves of a never-ending, vast, limitless sea of pure red. The yellowish granules in the air, swept away by the thunderous winds of Hurakan, shift in color instantly as Vincent becomes endless. The swirling chaos of dust and sand churned up by Hurakan's storms, once pale and earthy, contorts into a deep, ominous, bloodstained river of earth.

His hands reach perpetually, and the carmine bits of the air twist and contort around Hurakan despite the winds, ignoring the force against them as if they are non-physical.

Without anyone telling me or a shocked gasp from Aniwye, I know. I know what this is. The Prime possesses many Dzils. In fact, he's said to know over a dozen. That is common knowledge. But... he only has one Sirza. And it's only reaching its pinnacle at this very moment. Even I can tell, though, this is a gambit.

Vincent is wounded from just a few close blows from Hurakan. He is human, after all. The might of a God would ruin any fleshy being's form. Rumors have never placed a limit upon his strength, but there must be one. He is human. Yet, despite my thoughts, the sands refuse to relent.

In this moment, the laws of nature seem to bend to the Demigod's will. The furious winds that once raged around Hurakan's form are ignored by the crimson sands. They converge upon the mind-numbing Deity, encasing him in a macabre cocoon that appears to devour him from the outside.

Pillars of sand, each larger than the spires of Starkbluffs, stab into the God, ripping out chunks of Darklight and rivers of falling lightning. The dark electricity flows like blood, the essence of a God, as screams fill the air. These howls echo endless pain, reminding me of lifetimes of anguish compressed into infinitesimally short moments.

I watch in awe, entranced, as the sands tighten their grip, their hue growing darker with each passing second. Mountains upon mountains of sand encase Hurakan, melting into him with every second. It's as though they are consuming not just Hurakan's physical form but his very essence. The once mighty God of Storms, Winds, and Lightning is being drawn into an abyss of sand, never to be seen again.

The world itself trembles at this cataclysmic event. The very ground beneath my feet quakes, and the sky overhead darkens to an abyss even darker than night with shades of red as if mourning the loss of a divine entity. But Hurakan is not yet dead, and he is not alone.

The Alliance moves, shifting to stop Vincent's impossible attack. As Vincent's sands haul Hurakan to the earth, endeavoring to force the God of the Sky into the dirt, Behemoth rushes ahead first, sliding underneath the falling God. And like the single remaining pillar in a house about to collapse, the Binary Lord, dropping to a knee, holds the God aloft with his colossal hands. The mountain of a being hardly bears the weight with a yawp of pure force that ruffles the sky further.

The rest of the Alliance follows the unnaturally fast giant. Ytern forms pillars of ice all around Behemoth to aid the giant as the Pale Cavity beats. The heart echoes throughout reality, and I see the sand vibrate as if in pain.

Leviathan raises her hands with a burgeoning blast of psychically empowered Ether prepared for the Prime. Aniwye doesn't even look back as she continues to run. Blackreach is nothing but a completely flat region, and I'd have to guess its surroundings are the same as all the earth has been thrown into the sky by Vincent.

Tonuyn draws more inscriptions, these ones seemingly inverse to the previous ones. I don't know what it means at all, but I keep my eye on the Pygmy as Aniwye continues to retreat. She was overconfident, overzealous, and too infatuated. She may very well die here.

But she is prepared at the very least.

As Leviathan releases Ether from her hands, the air crackles with an invisible power, and Aniwye reacts instantly. A hand reaches into her pocket and tosses an eyeball behind her that glows with a violent magenta to my sight. As the shimmering air reaches the eye, it explodes into a million pieces, but the Ether stops approaching us. Aniwye grunts at the loss of something as priceless as an Arca but doesn't comment on it as she continues to escape.

Faraway, Behemoth continues to grow, his size not yet reaching that of Hurakan, but it seems it will eventually. That must be his Sirza. The larger he is, the stronger he gets. And as I think of his Sirza, the rippling atmosphere once more tears rock, earth, and steel from the ground, but Leviathan seems more careful this time.

Flowing rivers of water are the focus point of each floating island. Is water Vincent's weakness? Maybe. He can turn solids into sand, but perhaps he can't affect liquids with his Sirza. That would explain why we should run to Lawless Lake for safety. Gravecross is probably just secure because of its elevation.

Once more, Vincent begins to be overpowered, and Leviathan mocks the man who has transformed into the endless sand. Her voice echoes across the region, nearly shackling my mind within itself.

"You seem out of tricks, Vincent. Perhaps you can kill a God. Maybe you could kill all of us. But I'd never let you have the chance. I must say... I was worried you'd have some allies capable of doing something to help you. I am disappointed in your race. The most potent being comes from the weakest race. All they can do is scheme to a useless end. How pitiful."

Leviathan hovers toward the mass of writhing sand, echoing screams, and bleeding lightning. She stares up at it as more and more Ether flows from her hands, bearing down onto the Prime. The Lord continues to mock him and us.

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"Not one of your blood can do anything. You will die here, alone, with no one to save you. I'm sure glad I got Marshall killed before things came to this. That brute might have been able to help you here. After all... the King would be here, too, if it weren't for that man's fist."

The howling pain from Hurakan only heightens in volume. Still, despite the ice gnawing at Vincent, the lightning striking him, and Leviathan's burrowing Ether into his mind, the man doesn't respond.

"Nothing? Not a word? Hmm? Tell us what we want, Vincent! Tonuyn can pull Hurakan back to the Bridge Of The Gods! Just tell us!"

Silence hangs for moments other than the screaming lightning and illuminating roars of pain. That is until Vincent finally speaks, his every word coming from each grain of sand simultaneously. A billion voices echo each other, the Ether spreading outward as even more of the earth joins the endless tide of red.

"Humans are weak, Levi. We always have been. But... once a generation, we have an anomaly. I was one. And... I lived long enough to see the second become a man worth respecting. He'll be here, even if still chained to Hell."

Vincent's words are said with the same surety one would have of the sun rising over the heavens the next day. A matter of fact, guaranteed manner of speaking. I can feel Aniwye's heartbeat accelerate in a hopeful way, as if she has an idea of who Vincent speaks of.

And apparently, the Binary Lords do, too—Leviathan steps back, shouting beneath her. The demon is incredulous, but after a split second, she recovers with a furious determination.

"I thought... he's not dead!? Kill him, Warmaster! Behemoth! Bite into the sands! Tonuyn, stop the reverse-summoning! KILL HIM NOW!"

I feel my heartbeat spike, even though I'm not in my body. Is he?

Is my father coming?

It has to be him, right?

Who else could he be speaking of? Killian is the only person it could be.

I open my eyes, rapturous, to find my father in the chaos, but the situation only deteriorates for the most dominant man. With a grand roar, Behemoth lifts the God and Demigod above his shoulder, biting into the sand and tearing away massive portions as the demon gradually grows to reach the clouds.

The pillars of ice from Ytern explode into millions of shards that stab into the sands, melting into water that has the dust falling in muddy globs. Even the Pale Cavity feasts into the sand, each heartbeat causing massive sections of sand to simply drop without purpose.

Leviathan joins, her psychic might devouring more of Vincent's mind with every passing second. The Prime is skilled at all forms of Ether, but I doubt he can compete with other Dominions in their specialties for long. Tonuyn backs away from his divine inscriptions upon the stones and gazes upward, drawing into the air itself.

Finally, Vincent grunts in pain, a quiet yet echoing sound that all hear. The indomitable man shows a sign of weakness, and the Alliance leaps onto it like a ravenous tide. They redouble their efforts, seeking to kill the man.

The lithe demon, her skin tinged with a bluish hue, wields her near-divine psychic powers also to manipulate the masses of sand as her islands of water collide with the dust, causing the Wastelander to stutter and falter in his movements.

The Pygmy, whose dark skin bears unknowable script, conjures a myriad of elements from the air—from fire that scars the sands to waterfalls of water for Leviathan to carry—using his vast knowledge to bolster the alliance's assault.

The tall, alabaster-haired, and snow-skinned Nahullo clutches a colossal heart in his hand, surrounded by an icy maelstrom as he slowly paves a way through the sand. He endeavors to break through the swirling sand and reach the heart of their foe.

Together, they fight as one, their powers interweaving and amplifying in a symphony of destruction. At the core of their might is Hurakan, hidden within the depths of the sand, sparking grim lightning in all directions as his winds slowly pick up once more. Pillars of sand rise and fall, forming a shifting scene of chaos and power. They fight high above in the sky, but the earth rumbles with every act.

Vincent Harvey, in his moment of desperation, allows himself to conspire with their onslaught, his confidence mingling with a hint of desperation. He unleashes the newly formed torrents of sand that came from his very words, attempting to engulf his adversaries and drown them in his Dominion.

But it's not enough. There simply isn't enough sand yet. Behemoth shrugs off a mountain of dust while Tonyun teleports away. Ytern is saved by his proximity to Vincent with his crusade into the swirling dust. Even Leviathan is unscathed by the effort.

A rapid stream of repeating words enters my mind as I realize Aniwye has stopped running. We are miles and miles away, but even still, her sight holds true, though most of it is mentally linked to her Ether. She repeats the exact phrase again and again as if it is a prayer.

"Killian, please. Please show up. Killian, please. Please show up. Killian, please. Please show up. Killian, please. Please show up. Killian, please. Please show up. Killian, please. Please show up. Killian, please. Please show up. Killian, please. Please show up."

"Aniwye?!"

The demon doesn't reply, her mind far too concentrated on the distant scene. Dammit! How insane is she?

"He's not coming! He's locked away in the Underworld or in Hell. And even if he could show up, why would he? He's never given a damn about me or you? Why do you care for him so much?! Let it go! Run! Live!"

I finally lost it. I can't take her belief in him—a man who has never even shown up in his own kid's life. It's simply too much. But, even with my outburst, she doesn't react, only continuing her chant as Vincent is beaten down.

He's strong—no doubt about that. I didn't even think he was capable of killing a God, but he proved himself. Yet... he can't kill them all. The lone human cannot stand against all the foes in the world. He is... in the end, but a man.

"Killian, please. Please show up. Killian, please. Please show up. Killian, please. Please show up. Killian, please. Please show up. Killian, please. Please show up. Killian, please. Please show up. Killian, please. Please show up. Killian, please. Please show up."

"Shut up, Aniwye! He's not coming! Get it together! He abandoned you just as he did to me! He doesn't give a shit about anything! Otherwise, he would have been here long ago! He would have raised me! He would have loved you back! HE WOULD BE HERE ALREADY! GIVE IT—"

A chill that enters my bones forces me to pause my shout into her mind. It burrows deep into the core of the vessel I don't even possess at the moment. It feels... it feels...

It feels like stepping through the Gate of the Underworld.

The moment I come to my conclusion, as humanity's Demigod teeters on the precipice of defeat, a phenomenon unlike any other unfolds before me. A massive, semi-visible, semi-transparent maw of ravenous hunger materializes in the sky, casting an eerie shadow over the battlefield. It radiates an overwhelming sense of unrelenting death, a force beyond mortal comprehension. It is identical to the one I saw in the Underworld, but Aniwye calls it something different than what I thought it was as she falls to her knees.

"Her Majesty Death. Ruined, faded, yet still holding on by a tiny thread. Even the eldest God cannot hold back the Darklight forever."

Aniwye pauses for a single moment as a teardrop falls from her eye, the demon smiling like I've never seen before. It reminds me so closely of Ma's grin when I made her laugh.

"He's here. He did it!"

Coyote, the Hungering Design, the Burning Nail is not real. That God is long dead. The real God devouring souls in the Underworld is the very same one that supplies them with forms. My breath hitches at the realization, but the profound dread is not over, even if Aniwye is convinced my father is here. The sky above the fighting Demigods and Gods is a twisted maw, a gaping abyss of jagged teeth and razor-sharp fangs contorting into perpetuity. A seething mass of writhing tongues, slick with blood and oozing viscera, screams into the sky as the unbelievable happens.

Eight figures, unmistakably Dominions by the midnight purple chains that encompass them, emerge from the abyss. Their bodies are torn and mutilated, their limbs missing, and their forms bear the unmistakable marks of the Pale Lady—er, that mass of awfulness. Yet, they move with a purpose, their minds still possessed by individual wills.

A fit of laughter resounds throughout reality, breaking past the grimness of the situation. Vincent Harvey's joy is unmistakable.

"You did it, boy! You overcame Death! Wait... where are you? And where are the First and the Second? Killian!?"

Vincent's questions are answered by the frontmost human, the one missing the right half of his head with a flickering flame of Undeath that blooms from his left half.

"Has it been a year or a century, Vin? You look identical to when I died. The man who fuels our beings is unable to join us. His Contract with the Devil remains intact, but we are here to help."