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Wyatt 'Unbound Wendigo' Graves

Screams cover the darkness as bits flow in and out of my consciousness. For a second, here or there, I can almost see what is happening. I think... I think I see cracks like the wall of the Crimson Court in the distance. Panicked voices ring out, and I'm hauled across the Underworld.

Death's spine-trembling howls of malice and pain permeate my mind, piercing through whatever haze this is. As long as she's in pain, I know the Pale Lady is still alive. I fight to regain my body, but it's pointless. I'm... too injured, my soul, that is. Plus, Blodwyn is still slumbering, though I feel as though he is soon to wake.

Nonetheless, I can feel myself rapidly recovering, and... with the pieces of my soul reforming from what was taken by Death, I sense that they are stronger than before. Another way to grow my Dominion, I suppose, but not one that I would ever like to repeat.

So, I simply flow along with this kind of rejuvenating coma, enjoying the comfort for as long as I can. I trust that the others will protect me. After all, I hear Bonfire's promise. Barely, but I did. That is enough assurance for me.

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Lennon 'Bladess Monster' Hull

Everything aches—not that the sensation is new or even abnormal. It's been consistent throughout my life since I met that old man. The difference is that this ache goes beyond the physical and mental. It pervades all the way to my soul.

I've overused my Dominion before, but... never this much. My mighty body, the one I've been proud of all my life for its near-impossible physical strength, is not enough anymore. I'm too slow, too weak, and too unresponsive to keep up without Ether to augment my body.

So... I have to use my soul. Blades are not an ideal form of augmentation. Nevertheless, I use Dia to walk, run, dodge, attack, and even breathe when the damage is too much. I'm nearing my limit.

I can feel it.

Wyatt's already down. He's been down for two days at this point. If he doesn't get up soon... I don't think I can keep any of these people alive much longer. Because... between Death and the leaking power of the Gods within Hell, only a Dominion can guard a life. There are too many Motherbound who have slipped through the Court, some deal happening between the new God and that damned bitch down there.

Stupid Bonfire could survive, but not when the Court finalizes a decision on Hell.

From this mountaintop, I stare at the straying and brutalized path we came from. Two days. In two days, we traversed thousands of miles. But it's not enough. The Court is only continuing to grow.

I had thought... I had thought that spatial distortion was only internal. How idiotic. The colosseum that fields the God's body must be the size of a smaller Territory by now, and it's not done yet. It's growing. It's learning.

Just as my Dominion evolves through strife, this God is similar; it is only through others' strife and judgment that it gains power. The Crimson Court, or as it berated me by its true name, Kachina, is the only thing that stands between the awakened Mother Below, her armies, and the rest of reality.

If the Mother Below were to convert Kachina, it'd be disastrous as just fighting would strengthen it. There... there has never been a God of War. But if there were... I can only imagine it'd be the strongest. Would be fun to fight, though. Still... I think that might be why She is so overwhelming. The corrupting Deity gains strength with each vassal, something not easily replicable compared to other Gods or Dominions. Growth is tied to the meaning of the action, as far as I can tell, which is why those who grow when taking a life or the equivalent grow the most.

But at the same time, I doubt Kachina wishes to be forced to intake Darklight. No, I know for a fact it doesn't want to succumb to that fate. A God such as he or she, not sure, believes and wants only what they want to. And in the Crimson Court's case, that is its own sense of justice, the skewed judgment of death.

So it has to make a decision. Either... it resists the Darklight until it breaks under the stress, or it moves aside and grows throughout this whole conflict.

Meanwhile, Death is still raging in the skies overhead. The damn thing just refuses to die! I'd go and join... but I owe Wyatt. For saving my life, returning my leg previously, and bringing me down without a trick or deception. So, here I stand, staring at what is to come.

Humless feet land beside me, prompting my eyes to meet Virgil's dark irises. My Dominion intuitively flinches, the danger that this man holds against me above just about everyone else. I'm not afraid of losing a direct battle. But those kinds of battles are not what Virgil does. The man nods shortly while glancing at my now-visible Dominion, joining me in my observation of our near future.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"How long you think we have, Lennon? Because once that thing opens..."

I don't answer him immediately as I ponder the question. It's obvious what will come, the entirety of Hell, likely all converted at this part, save for a few escaping Demigods who might have held until this juncture. We should recruit them. Heh... how funny.

Beyond that evident course of action... the consequences of Hell breaking loose are... calamitous. A plethora of Gods, probably dozens of Dominions, and untold legions of other inhuman figures tainted by that dreadful light will rush outward. The Mother Below is the worst part, too. And it's not just her, either. I'm willing to bet that the Gods she brought with her all the way back then still remain in some fashion, ones that we know nothing about.

There is a chance she isn't moving yet or hasn't escaped whatever hole she was tossed into now that she's awake. But... while that chance is high, that doesn't mean she will be absent for long.

And on our side... there is one God. Vincent is... I don't know. He's just not here, still probably cleaning the surface of any tainted Gods in hiding or slumber to raise his strength.

Abraham has been practicing with Daymare to reach Vincent, but there is no possibility he will do such a thing without Wyatt's help. The all-around enhancement he can give is astronomical. I see that if it weren't for his Power and Arca, he'd be relegated to a vital support role, one more effective than any I've ever seen.

Virgil waits patiently for an answer, but I know he won't like the one I have.

"Days. He might not even wake up in time. Abraham better get his shit in order. We need our reinforcements. I don't fucking care who it is. He could bring Levithan and Behemoth, and I'd whip them into helping."

The assassin glances at me before shifting his gaze away. It's not the habit of prey but that of someone adept at hiding his nature as a predator. It's interesting to watch from so close by. It is rare to catch a raven in your hands and inspect its manners.

"It's not that easy for him. And will it even matter? We're so vastly outnumbered and overpowered."

My eyes trail the burgeoning colosseum, considering his point. He's right. We're... up shit creek without a boat, let alone a paddle. No matter what we do, things will only get messier.

But...

That only excites me. Gripping the illusory handle to Dia at my hip, I imagine the coming days. The blood that will spill, the bodies that will fall, and the Gods that will crumble to less than ash. It... gets my blood pumping in a way nothing else ever has.

This is it. This is my final war. I can feel it. I have fought many wars, on several different fronts, but it is this one that shall be my last.

Even if I survive, there will be nothing left to fight. Not for me, at least. Nothing of genuine worth besides Vincent or Wyatt, who may also not survive. A sort of melancholy settles into my bones, a sensation of finality. Here. It is finally here.

There will never be a better war. This is... the last struggle. Either we successfully rage against a God older than our planet, managing to end Her and all traces of Her Divinity, or... we rage against the dying of a light, refusing to accept a sealed fate. Both... both are what I was born to do.

"It doesn't matter whether or not we can win, Virgil. What matters... is that we fight."

With my words, something shifts in the distance, as if to mock my decision. The Crimson Court bulges slightly, the entire body of the God uplifting itself and moving out of the way from Hell's gates. The sheer movement of the God causes all of the Underworld to crash and burn. Rocks fall from the sky, and the omnipotent fog that blocks one's sight vanishes for the activity.

The stirring of a God allows me to see the entirety of the Underworld. I can see the distant cities populated by other races, by different species, and by a variety of beings on this planet, and I know they must be shitting their trousers.

A good chuckle comes out of my throat while we are all possibly doomed to death.

A surge of forces flows from that open gate built of flesh, blood, bone, and molten rock. First, come the weak, the Motherbound most distorted by the Darklight, forced into grotesque figures befitting those of non-Angels. Then, the Powers come in the dozens, Virtues in the double digits, and with four Dominions. They all hound after a group of three weary Demigods, the earth already stained with their struggles.

Those must be the final survivors.

Doomed.

Above and behind the vast army, more expansive and powerful than any ever fielded on the surface, are six Gods, more than even the number of Dominions beneath them. Though, I suppose we have killed quite a few of those recently, likely all those they could manage to send over.

The Gods' figures are vast and mesmerizing, their bodies filled with such... danger that my whole being tingles with adrenaline. A demon appears beside me, the one called Inerea, as she recounts our grandest foes with shivering fear.

"The Six. Flint, the Goddess Of Winter. Sig-wan, the God of Spring. Nonoma, the Goddess of Summer. Baw-waw, the God of Autumn. Those four titles mean nothing to the demons of now, but that does not mean they are without true Godliness. The other two are Nogami, the God of Mountain, and Maxemista, the Goddes Of Forests. But they are not all there is. Those are only The Six from Hell."

Inerea's words put names to faces... or, more accurately, things.

The four Gods of the seasons look nothing like people. They are hardly humanoid, simply clumped together pieces of their livelihoods with arms, legs, and heads.

Flint is a massive snowwoman forged of clear ice and pure cold. Sig-wan is dirt and grass formed into a body that is constantly drenched in rain. Nonoma is nothing but a dry, crusted-up pile of dust topped with a head with less moisture than Vincent's sands. Baw-waw is the oddest, though. She is... a massive stick covered in leafy feathers.

The other two, Nogami and Maxemista, are far more humanoid. The former is a grand figure of rock, rubble, and gems that resemble a mountain-sized Stoneclad. Meanwhile, Maxemista must be the originator of the Urayuli or something, as it appears to be a giant covered in leaves, hair, and sticks.

The Six are... daunting. No, they are more than that. As their perceptions scour the entirety of the Underworld, unable to wait even a second longer, the world trembles.

A yawp from the Devil is heard across the Underworld, a vast command that rallies all the Undead still alive. At the same time, I notice that the God above is gone, Death somehow unsealed back into her original state, a feminine version of her Reapers. The Devil's words don't reach me, broken on their path by a rippling soul that passes through me. Smiling, I turn to face my rear while ignoring the other civilizations of Undead that meet Louis Fern's call. After all, not a single one of them possesses even one Demigod. They won't matter much. Other beings tend to give up after dying and quickly fade away wholly.

It seems only humans, a few Nahullo, and a Pygmy every now and again retain their ambition. Still, there are not many among those three.

I haul the awakened soul to stand with me on this wretched cliff with a clasped palm. His eyes are clear, but I can see that he is not yet fully healed. Neither am I. Neither am I, my friend.

Together, we stare at the Devil as he departs the battle with Death and her Reapers to land in front of the approaching army with a swift teleportation, somehow bending the rules of space. The lone man, the solitary God, unravels his aged back and meets The Six. With an ever-reaching voice, he remains unbowed, if even... challenging.

“You all have forgotten me, it would seem. What did you use to call me? You were all too afraid of even uttering my name that you gave me titles… Hmm… The Hellwalker, right? No, no, no, that was before you all met me… What was it? Ah… The Godcleaver. No... even before that. What did you all call me? Right... right. The World's King.”

My eyes widen at the incredible title bestowed to the God, something I wasn't aware ever existed. Then, after a slight pause, not waiting for the army to retaliate, the Devil offers a final warning, one that I know will be ignored.

"Usen! We can end things here! No one else has to die! This can be it! We can go our different ways!"

All of the half-dozen Gods freeze in place while the army does the same. The sudden inactivity of such a lively force sends shivers down my trembling spine as a creeping voice echoes out from the insides of Hell. It is pained, raspy, and unpracticed, but it is Godly.

"You will pay for what you and yours have done, World-King. My Love shall spread. A thousand-year hiatus is too long. All kings must bow. Even you. I will... enjoy this greatly. Now, don't die too quickly. I'm still a way's away."