Qaritas felt it the instant Ecayrous arrived.
Qaritas's breath hitched.
The pressure wasn't just power—it was direction. Like the universe itself was angling him toward one inevitable point.
Ecayrous.
Qaritas took another step forward, teeth grinding behind the mask.
"Where is she," he demanded, voice shaking with restrained violence. "You don't get to stand there and pretend this is theater. Where is Ayla."
For a heartbeat, Qaritas thought he might tear the answer out of Ecayrous by force.
The dark pressed so hard against his ribs it hurt to breathe. His shadow stretched forward without permission, claws forming and dissolving again like the world couldn't decide whether to stop him or encourage it.
Say it, he thought. Say her name. Say where she is.
Ecayrous only watched him—amused, patient, already certain of the ending.
Ecayrous did not answer.
He only smiled.
That smile—slow, indulgent—was worse than any scream. Qaritas felt the dark inside him coil tighter, shadows tugging at his spine, begging for release.
"I asked you—"
The doors exploded.
As Qaritas stepped forward, the strings twitched.
Not all of them—just the ones nearest him. They vibrated faintly, pulling tighter, like something had noticed the direction of his rage and adjusted accordingly.
Eon felt it too.
"Oh," Eon murmured, almost pleased. "You're part of the performance."
The pressure.
The pull.
The way the dark inside him leaned forward like a beast scenting blood.
He moved before thought could catch him—one step, then another—rage burning white-hot through his veins.
"Ayla—"
The word never finished.
The doors shattered inward
Not swung. Not opened.
Shattered.
Bone and ivory burst inward as figures descended from the ceiling—beautiful men and women clad in royal silks, jeweled masks smiling serenely as if this were a wedding, not an execution.
Each held strings.
They did not look at the body they dragged.
That was the worst part.
Their eyes stayed lifted, serene, reverent—as though the thing scraping across the floor behind them was a gift, not a ruin. Blood smeared in lazy arcs beneath the corpse, streaking the polished stone.
One of the figures laughed softly.
Another hummed.
The strings vibrated faintly as they pulled, a sound like insects whispering through silk.
Thin. Luminous. Marionette lines pulled taut.
They flew like living kites, and behind them—
A body.
Dragged.
At first, Qaritas's mind refused to assemble the image. It rejected it like poison.
Then the figures rose higher, looping the strings around the ballroom pillars, tying them off with ceremonial precision.
The body lifted.
The strings tightened.
The ascendants scrambled backward.
Bald patches scarred the scalp. Skin had been peeled away in places, raw muscle gleaming wetly beneath. Half the face was gone—bone and teeth exposed beneath a slack, ruined expression.
A dress clung to the body.
Recognition hit like a blade through the spine.
Zcain screamed.
Zcain's siblings froze.
One covered their mouth.
Another backed away until their shoulders hit a pillar.
A third whispered a prayer that had no god left to answer it.
Then Zcain screamed.
Zcain's knees buckled.
He clawed forward, fingers scraping uselessly against the floor as if distance itself had betrayed him.
"No—no, you don't—" His voice broke apart. "You promised—"
Ecayrous finally looked at him.
Not with cruelty.
With nostalgia.
Not a word. Not a name.
A raw, animal sound torn straight from the chest.
His siblings grabbed him as he staggered forward, voices breaking, overlapping.
"No—no—no—no—"
"Ayla!" Cree cried.
Qaritas didn't scream.
He lunged.
"Ayla!"
The name tore out of him as darkness surged violently at his heels.
The ballroom erupted.
The air screamed as gravity inverted, chandeliers tearing free and shattering against the ceiling like thrown bones.
Niriai vanished in a flash of cosmic blue-green, gates ripping open midair. Cree, Daviyi, and Hydeius followed instantly, slamming into the twins—Atramenta and Noct—in a collision of flame, soul-light, and collapsing gravity.
Komus was already behind Ecayrous.
Knife in hand.
For half a second—only half—Komus thought of laughter.
Of racing stars.
Of promises made in lives he couldn't remember but still felt lodged in his ribs.
Then he stepped forward.
Eyes cold.
Focused.
This was not the Komus Qaritas laughed with.
This was the man who survived gods.
The blade rose—
And the world broke.
A blur of black and silver.
A sound like meat tearing.
Komus's head left his shoulders in a clean, perfect arc.
It hit the floor.
Rolled.
No blood sprayed.
It simply ended—like a sentence cut off mid-word.
Komus's body stood for a fraction of a heartbeat longer.
Then it collapsed.
The sound it made when it hit the floor was small. Embarrassingly human.
Qaritas felt something inside him snap.
"NO—!"
Before the scream could finish, Niriai reappeared—Ayla in her arms, limp, eyes open but empty.
Niriai's hands were shaking.
Her gates tore open unevenly, edges screaming as they resisted her panic. Starlight bled from her fingers as she cradled Ayla closer, whispering something frantic, broken, not meant for anyone else to hear.
"I'm sorry," Niriai sobbed. "I'm sorry I'm late."
Then she threw her through the gate.
Like she was throwing her out of hell.
She didn't slow. Didn't speak. She tore a gate open and hurled Ayla through it, sending her back to Taeterra in a cascade of collapsing light.
"She's gone!" Niriai shouted. "Back—but she's not—she's not responding!"
Relief and terror collided violently inside Qaritas.
Qaritas tried to follow.
The dark surged—
—and slammed inward instead.
Eon locked him in place like iron bars snapping shut.
"No," Eon said softly. "If you leave now, you won't come back. And then where would that leave me?"
Qaritas shook, teeth clenched hard enough to crack. "Let me go."
Eon didn't answer.
The gate sealed.
Then—
Ecayrous slipped.
Not vanished.
Stepped sideways out of reality.
And Eon moved.
Qaritas felt the shift immediately.
Not possession.
Occupation.
Like bars sliding shut behind his thoughts.
"You forget," Eon said calmly, too calmly, "this body is my cell. And cells break when struck often enough."
Without asking.
Without permission.
Darkness yanked Qaritas with it, tearing him between layers of existence like cloth. Eyes erupted across Qaritas's skin—hundreds of them, blinking, burning, alive.
Eon laughed through him.
"Oh, this is tedious. Fine. Let me remind him what fear feels like."
"No!" Qaritas screamed inside himself. "This is my fight—!"
The dark bent.
Not fully.
But enough.
Eon paused.
Smiled.
"Very well," Eon murmured. "Don't blame me if you die, little brother."
Ecayrous reappeared.
Lightning screamed from the eye-forms blooming across Qaritas's body—white-hot arcs that shattered pillars and hurled fragments shrieking into the walls.
Qaritas ripped control back.
Darkness exploded outward, erasing the eyes in a single violent pulse.
They fought.
Not with distance.
With annihilation.
Faster than sound. Faster than thought.
Awakening pain tore through Qaritas like knives driven under his skin. Every breath burned. Every movement cracked something deeper.
"You're losing," Eon snarled. "You're not ready—!"
"I don't care!"
Then—
Zcain appeared.
Hands closed around Qaritas's throat.
Zcain's grip wasn't cruel.
It was desperate.
His hands trembled violently, fingers spasming as if something else were yanking the strings from inside his bones.
"I don't want to," Zcain whispered, tears streaming freely now. "I don't want to do this again."
Ecayrous smiled wider.
Black markings flared across Zcain's skin—eyes opening along his arms, neck, face.
He slammed Qaritas into the wall hard enough to crater stone.
"My son," Ecayrous purred. "Always loyal."
Zcain shook.
Tears streamed down his face.
"I—" he choked. "I don't—"
Across the room—
Something moved.
Komus's body twitched.
His head—still separated—rolled once.
Stopped.
Then stitched itself back.
Not flesh to flesh.
Soul to bone.
Komus inhaled sharply.
Sat up.
Eyes blazing.
Alive.
Wrong.
He rose slowly, blood dripping from his collar, neck scarred with silver-black seams.
He did not smile.
He did not speak.
He only looked at Ecayrous—
And the look promised murder.
Niriai stumbled to him, pressing her hands to his chest. "Komus—are you—"
"I'm fine," he said.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"I want him dead."
No one moved.
The fragments laughed.
Ecayrous floated back to his throne.
Chains welcomed him.
He lifted his hand.
The ascendants rose—dragged helplessly upward toward the floating tables above.
Decapitated heads. Scattered limbs. Fresh corpses torn apart as fragments descended on them like animals.
Daviyi gagged.
Cree turned their face away, light flickering erratically along their skin.
Hydeius stared at the table in mute disbelief, jaw clenched so tight his teeth creaked.
Shanian did not look away.
Entropy watched without expression.
Golden shackles slammed into place around the ascendants' wrists.
Runes burned.
Power vanished.
Qaritas screamed as the dark was ripped from him.
The runes flared brighter around Qaritas's wrists.
They didn't just bind power.
They recognized it.
Eon shrieked as the symbols tightened, ancient laws snapping into place around something that had never obeyed law before.
"No—no—no—this isn't allowed—!"
For the first time, Eon sounded small because he was being judged.
Eon shrieked inside his skull—high, furious, reduced to something small and caged, pounding uselessly.
Not diminished in power—
but in presence.
Like something ancient forced into the shape of a child, screaming and kicking against rules it had never obeyed before.
Qaritas had never heard Eon afraid.
Until now.
Zcain convulsed.
Vomited.
Collapsed to his knees as seizures wracked him. Rykhan and Shanian caught him—but Zcain shoved them away, forcing himself upright even as the markings faded.
Qaritas understood.
The curse.
The cost.
Xheavaend.
If Zcain fought her—
If his curse demanded obedience—
Qaritas understood with sickening clarity that Zcain wouldn't hesitate.
Not because he was cruel.
But because he had already survived choosing wrong once.
Would he kill his own daughter?
Cree screamed.
"These are Eirisa's chains!" they cried. "They were destroyed!"
Ecayrous smiled.
"Indeed. So you'll all behave."
Eon turned on Qaritas in blind rage.
"This is your fault," he hissed. "Say when. Say how. I will kill you for this."
Qaritas didn't answer.
He stared at Ecayrous.
"What you did to her—"
Ecayrous tilted his head.
"I did what I would've done to Kriri," he said mildly. "Break her. Make her useful. A living doll."
Qaritas lunged.
Ecayrous laughed—
And snapped both of Qaritas's arms like twigs.
Ecayrous leaned close.
"You see," he said quietly, almost kindly, "this is why I prefer dolls. They don't reach for things they can't hold."
He stepped back as Qaritas collapsed.
Pain exploded white.
Ecayrous rose.
"The matches," he announced.
"Niriai first."
"Daviyi second."
"Cree third."
"And the final match—Qaritas."
Hydeius raised a shaking hand.
"I was not invited," Hydeius said. "Who allowed me entry?"
Silence.
"I wish to fight alongside Cree," Hydeius continued.
Ecayrous paused.
Then laughed—a sound that split stone.
"Very well. A tag team."
Chains tightened.
The feast continued.
And tomorrow—
Gods would bleed.
They didn't teleport.
That was the point.
Zcain walked first.
His siblings fanned out around him—Nyqomi, Ación, Rykhan, Xasna, Laxiae, Shanian—royal even now, even stripped of ceremony, even walking through filth meant to humiliate gods.
Behind them came the others.
Shackled.
Golden restraints etched with Eirisa's runes bit into Qaritas's wrists and ankles, burning cold, draining everything. No shadow answered him. No dark stirred. Even Eon was pressed small and furious in the back of his skull, snarling without teeth.
Komus staggered once, then straightened.
Niriai's jaw was clenched so tight her teeth bled.
Cree kept their head down, ember-light guttering weakly under their skin.
Hydeius walked like a funeral procession given flesh.
Daviyi said nothing at all.
They entered the streets of Mrajeareim.
And the realm noticed.
Fragments lined the path. Citizens followed behind them—things that had once been mortal, once been divine, once been something in between. They hurled what they had.
Blood.
Guts.
Half-chewed organs.
Rotting wings.
Still-warm hearts that burst when they struck divine skin.
Laughter followed every impact.
Someone threw a child's spine.
Someone else screamed praise.
Someone spat and shouted, "WELCOME TO THE PIT."
Qaritas didn't flinch.
Not because it didn't hurt.
But because he had nothing left to flinch with.
Then Ecayrous spoke.
His voice didn't echo.
It settled.
"Careful," he said lazily. "Those chains are precious."
The crowd hushed.
Ecayrous walked alongside them now, hands clasped behind his back like a gracious host guiding honored guests.
"You see," he continued, eyes glinting, "I am the only one with the key."
He stopped in front of Qaritas.
Looked him up and down.
At the broken arms.
At the blood dried into his sleeves.
At the way his breath shook—not from pain, but from the Awakening pressing inward like a star trying to be born.
"I'll unlock the shackles," Ecayrous said softly, "only for those who enter the Hellbound tomorrow."
A pause.
A smile.
"You," he added, tilting his head, "will have to fight with broken arms."
He leaned closer.
Winked.
"Assuming you survive the Awakening."
Qaritas said nothing.
Because the pain tearing through his bones—the real pain—was already worse than the breaks.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow he would wake as an Ascendant.
And Ecayrous knew it.
That was why he smiled.
Inside the Hellbound — Tavran's Truth
The gates of the Hellbound slammed shut behind them.
Silence fell.
Not mercy.
Not safety.
Containment.
Tavran was waiting.
Blood stained his sleeves.
His face looked older.
Hollow.
Qaritas knew before he spoke.
"She's alive," Tavran said.
Relief almost dropped Qaritas to his knees—
Until Tavran kept talking.
"But she's… not intact."
He swallowed.
"They found the strings."
Niriai froze.
"What strings," Cree whispered.
Tavran's voice cracked.
"Ecayrous implanted them into her bones. Not attached. Inside. Threaded through her skeleton like an instrument."
Qaritas stopped breathing.
"He tore her skin off," Tavran continued, each word forced, "to anchor the magic. Then he stitched it back in patches. Not to heal. To remind her what was missing."
Komus turned away.
Hydeius's sword hand shook.
"Her mind—" Tavran hesitated. "According to my mother… according to Rnarah… he broke it deliberately. Layer by layer. Until the screams stopped meaning anything."
Silence.
A different kind.
"She responds to light," Tavran finished quietly. "Sometimes. But she doesn't recognize herself. Or us."
Qaritas felt something snap cleanly inside him.
Not rage.
Resolution.
The Awakening surged again—violent, unstoppable.
Tomorrow.
Ecayrous thought the Hellbound was a game.
Tomorrow, Qaritas would wake as something made to end kings.
And every Ascendant in that chamber felt it.
Cree's fire flared.
Hydeius's blade hummed.
Niriai's gates trembled.
Komus's eyes burned silver-black.
No one spoke.
They didn't need to.
War had already started.