The air trembled.
A low hum rolled across the battlefield, deeper than thunder, older than wind. Every living creature felt it — the pull of divinity pressing against the world like an unseen ocean.
Lyra fell to one knee, clutching her chest. "What… what is this pressure?"
Rian lifted his gaze. The crimson moon had split apart, revealing a rift — vast, luminous, and alive. From within it, figures emerged one by one, draped in light that no mortal eyes were meant to see.
The gods had come.
Each step they took cracked the air like glass. The first to descend was Eryndor, the God of Chains, his armor forged from broken vows, his wings blackened by centuries of judgment.
Behind him followed Nemea, the Moon Devourer, her silver hair flowing like mist, eyes like pits of void.
The soldiers fell silent, their weapons lowering without thought. Even the beasts bowed instinctively.
Rian's grip tightened on his sword. "So you finally crawl from your heaven."
Eryndor's voice echoed, both from the sky and within every mind that heard him.
"Blasphemous child of the stars. You bear power not meant for mortal flesh."
Rian spat blood into the dirt. "And yet I bleed — which means I live. You don't."
The god's eyes flickered. "Then die and return what was stolen."
Before the words faded, the world exploded.
Lightning carved the mountains apart.
Wind turned sharp as blades.
The battlefield became a storm of divine fury.
Lyra raised her hands, summoning the sigils of protection — circles of light whirling around her and the soldiers. The shields cracked instantly under Eryndor's wrath.
"Rian!" she screamed. "We can't hold them!"
Rian dashed forward, his starlit aura bursting alive. Each step shook the ground; each swing tore light from darkness. His blade clashed with Eryndor's chain, sparks scattering like constellations.
The god smiled coldly. "You fight like a beast."
"Good," Rian growled. "Because that's what kills gods."
Their weapons collided again — divine metal against celestial flame — until both forces shattered the air. Rian was thrown back, landing beside Lyra, his breath ragged but his eyes still fierce.
From above, Nemea raised her pale hand. The moon's light bent, focusing into a spear of annihilation.
Lyra shouted, "Move!"
But Rian didn't.
He lifted his sword, gathering every remaining flicker of starlight into a single, blazing point.
"Come then!" he roared. "Let the stars judge us both!"
The spear of light struck.
The explosion consumed the world.
For a long moment, there was nothing — no sound, no sky, only white.
When the smoke cleared, the battlefield lay in ruins.
Half the moon was gone.
Eryndor staggered, his armor cracked.
And Rian… still stood, his sword melted, his aura dim but burning.
Lyra ran to him, tears streaking her ash-covered face. "You're still—"
He smiled faintly. "Alive? Barely."
Above them, the rift quivered again. More divine forms stirred — hundreds of them.
Lyra's voice broke. "There are more…"
Rian lifted his head toward the sky, his eyes gleaming gold once more.
"Then let them come."