The wind blew slowly between the forgotten hills, carrying dust from ancient eras. There, among black rocks carved by hands that no longer existed, surrounded by inscriptions shimmering in dead languages, she was.
Vernasha.
Sitting cross-legged on a circle engraved in the ground, eyes closed, she meditated—but not in peace. What she had witnessed had shattered the silence within her. Mei Nuhay's presence still echoed in her mind like a curse.
The woman who should have been dead.
The woman who should never have survived that.
Vernasha clenched her fists, and the aura around her wavered, threatening to split the floating rocks surrounding her sanctuary. Even there, in a place where space bent to her command, she trembled with frustration.
— It's not possible… — she whispered, almost a growl.
She opened her eyes. Red pupils slit vertically. The light from the glyphs distorted around her, as if reality feared to face her.
"I spent centuries… centuries to make my energy an extension of my body. To master the creation of realities. To rewrite rules with my will. And then, she…"
Mei Nuhay. Still alive. With an energy that defied time, space, and even understanding.
Vernasha spoke to the wind itself, cursing under her breath.
"She's slowing time around herself. Lowering her metabolism. Using energy to live outside logic. How did someone with only a few decades of life develop this? Instinct? Or did she always know…?"
The question weighed like poison. The answer hurt like a blade. A child, before her, manipulating forces only gods understood.
— This is… unacceptable — she murmured, and the circle beneath her feet cracked like ice breaking.
Then, a presence interrupted her silent rage.
— Never thought I'd see you cursing the wind — said a deep, serene voice.
She didn't need to open her eyes to know who it was. Hazau. The man who walked among shadows, with the voice of one who no longer believed in tomorrow.
— You wouldn't understand — she said coldly. — And even if I explained… you wouldn't believe.
— Perhaps not — he replied with a wry smile. — But I brought news you'll like.
Vernasha turned, finally interested.
— The Crimson Temple. We found it. An ancient Nuhay sanctuary, hidden under layers of enchantments. Invisible to spiritual radar. Protected by scriptures.
Her eyes gleamed.
— Isha is handling it. Cleaning the temple with… efficiency.
Kaze and Karmore have already moved. They're at the point where the last rebels planned to resist.
Hazau paused.
— Everything is ready.
Vernasha stood up. Her cloak floated with the spatial distortion around her body. She looked toward the horizon.
— Our master has finished awakening.
The time has come.
She opened her hand. Space tore like burned linen.
And she vanished.
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Sunlight no longer touched that place. Only ashes. Ashes and death.
The ground was cracked, boiling. The sky, static, as if afraid to witness what happened there.
There, at the center of the end, Dante walked among rubble.
Behind him, Haruto lay legless, leaning against a cracked wall. His eyes still open, but empty, as if his soul had already departed.
Kael, always steadfast, was now just an arm extended under a colossal rock. The rest of his body crushed.
And before him, Amina. The symbol of global resistance. The woman who led armies, united factions, and carried the world's hope.
Now, impaled.
Dante's arm pierced through her chest like a living spear, covered in thick streams of blood dripping to the ground and burning the earth.
— I told you… I'd pierce you like I did her. — Dante's voice was the very end of hope.
He slowly withdrew his hand from Amina's chest.
Her body fell. Lifeless. Dull.
Silence.
Dante stood, his face covered in blood and soot. He stared into nothingness—and then smiled.
The presence expanded. Vernasha and Hazau emerged, stepping from the distorted fabric of reality.
— We're finished here — said Hazau.
— And now… — Vernasha murmured — only one spark remains.
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In another corner of the world, the sky tore in red.
An aura descended like inverted lightning, crashing to the ground before the temple that had survived the massacre. A sanctuary of stone, covered in blood, ancient crests, and fading hopes.
Aisha walked out of it, wounded, but unbroken.
The energy she felt made her skin prickle. She stopped.
— So… he's here — she snarled.
The ground cracked under bare feet.
Azaroth.
Appearing no older than 17. Hair tied in a high knot, pale skin, eyes reflecting the abyss. The age of a child. The presence of a fallen god with centuries of existence.
— How nice of you to come, dear leader — Aisha said through gritted teeth. — Saves me the trouble of finding you.
Azaroth regarded her with indifference.
— Seems you had a nice family reunion — he said, analyzing the bodies and blood. — Don't get attached to them. They were useless.
Aisha answered only with silence. Azaroth continued:
— You remind me of the rebels… the fools who tried to destroy me.
Those who still believe in redemption, who wanted to bring light to demons.
You're just like them.
And like them, you will die.
Aisha drew a breath, her eyes blazing.
— Funny. That's exactly what the bodies in the temple told me.
Except… they aren't here to boast about it, are they?
Azaroth smiled.
— What a badly raised child.
— It runs in the family — Aisha retorted.
And then…
Explosion.
The battle began. Aura against aura.
Fists against essence.
Light against darkness.
They moved through the city like gods of destruction, the combat fierce.
Aisha was thrown into the rubble, shattered concrete walls, but recovered mid-air.
She stepped on the wall behind her and launched with precision and deadly speed.
A spinning kick laden with energy.
Aisha collided with Azaroth at absurd speed, the ground exploding into shards around them. Azaroth blocked with an arm, but Aisha's poisonous energy pierced through layers of his defense.
He felt it.
The weakness. The loss of balance. The pain.
"What are you…?" — Azaroth murmured, surprised for the first time.
The fight spread through destroyed streets. Walls crumbled. Ancestral statues shattered.
Azaroth counterattacked with ferocity. A rock rose from the ground and slammed into Aisha's stomach, hurling her back.
She fell, rolling, coughing blood, but stood up.
Azaroth advanced, imposing.
— Do you know why I live for ages, Aisha? Humans weren't made to contain demons. They are weak. The demonic presence corrupts them, kills them from within. They turn into husks or cosmic essence.
His aura grew, flaming like a black sun.
— But what if a human was born… perfect?
If my soul and body were fused from the womb?
I wasn't possessed. I am the demon.
Aisha staggered. Each word was a blow. But she didn't stay silent.
— You're a monster…
— No. I am a miracle.
The next evolution.
And your end.
Aisha then smiled. Even bleeding, even wounded.
— Perhaps it is my end.
But that's not guaranteed.
What I am sure of now… is that…
She pulled the bandages from her left arm, revealing an ancestral tattoo.
Forgotten symbols. Heritage of a sacred pact.
She shone.
Energy exploded. White and violet light, spinning like blades.
An ethereal sword materialized in her hand, pulsing like a heart.
— …your blood will gush from this blade.
The earth trembled.
The final duel between Aisha and Azaroth was about to seal everyone's fate.
And the world, once again, held its breath.
To be continued…