The cold wind atop Twilight's Eye Castle howled with the mournful sound of a world shattering. The sky, once shrouded in dense clouds, was now pierced by a red spiral that spun slowly, emanating a pulsing, living light— like the heartbeat of a dying god.
Tory reached the fortress's highest point — a circular stone platform with broken columns and ancient sigils etched into the floor. She gazed out at the horizon: mountains of black stone, rivers of blood, and green flames dancing in the air. Her face was caked in dirt and sweat, her breathing ragged.
But then, something began to fall from the spiral.
A silhouette — twisted, misshapen, screaming.
Cletus's body plummeted from the sky and hit the ground with a thundering crash, cracking the runic circle at the arena's center. The impact sent blood and smoke spraying. He writhed, flesh burning and regenerating simultaneously, bones warping into grotesque spirals.
Groaning, he dragged his body across the cold stone, leaving a viscous trail of blood behind him.
"Why?... How could I...?!" he murmured, his voice tremulous and furious. "I must become a god! No one can stop me... no one!"
His eyes, glazed and filled with despair, rose to see Tory standing before him, the wind whipping her blonde hair, her bandaged leg exposed — where a spear had once pierced it.
She raised her silver weapon, aiming straight at him.
"What a surprise," she said, her voice cold and level.
"I was just looking for you... but you came right to me."
Cletus gasped, his breath heavy, his eyes holding a calculated glint.
"So... Sophie..." he stammered, his tone melancholic and manipulative.
Tory cut him off with an icy glare.
"Don't call me that. Only my mother was allowed to say my name."
He dragged himself a little further, holding out a blood-soaked hand.
"Wait! Are you really going to shoot me? Your own father?"
His voice trembled, laced with desperation and venom.
"What did I do wrong, huh?! Even the great hero Ulysses sacrificed a woman to become a legend! I only wanted... to bring peace to this world! I sacrificed one human being for it... was that so horrible?"
Tory's eyes flashed with rage and disgust.
Cletus forced one last breath, trying to get closer.
"Help me, Sophie... please..."
She firmed her grip on the gun, her gaze hardening.
"Sophie died a long time ago."
The weapon gleamed silver.
"My name is Tory now."
And then, without hesitation, she murmured,
"Goodbye, father."
The sound of the bullets echoed like thunder.
Cletus was blasted backward, blood spraying in bursts. Every shot was loaded with hatred, loss, and liberation.
When the clip emptied, he lay motionless, his body collapsing in a pool of blood.
Tory stood frozen for an instant, her breath uneven, her hands trembling. The smell of gunpowder and iron saturated the air.
She staggered a few steps back and fell to her knees.
Silence.
Then, she began to laugh.
A nervous, hysterical laugh, until the tears began to fall.
The laughter turned into raw sobs, tearing through the weight she had carried for years.
Looking at the blood-soaked sky, she whispered between sobs,
"I thought... I thought I wouldn't cry..."
And she remained crying, weeping over years of accumulated pain.
(...)
On the other plane, the rift to the underworld gaped open like a starving throat.
A river of blood flowed beneath a misty, crimson sky. From the vortex above, the sword of Ulysses — Lycanos — plummeted, embedding itself in the ground with a metallic ring. The waters boiled around it.
Immediately after, Lucy and Nyra fell from the vortex, landing hard on the riverbank.
The two rose quickly, still spattered with the red liquid.
The sword emanated an ancestral energy, as if Ulysses himself were breathing through it.
Nyra ran first — and in an agile move, seized the sword's hilt.
Her eyes flashed deep blue.
Lucy approached slowly, her pendant in hand, still emanating energy.
Nyra looked her up and down and said, her voice cold,
"Give me that."
Lucy crossed her arms, a defiant smile playing on her lips.
"No chance. You've already got yours."
Nyra narrowed her eyes, the air around her growing heavy.
"I want yours, too."
The two began to circle one another, steps slow, gazes sharp. The red waters reflected their faces — two halves of the same mirror.
Lucy broke the silence:
"What are you going to do with all that power, huh? No matter how hard you try, you'll never be like Dad. It's a waste of time."
Nyra lunged with ferocity. Their swords clashed, sparks tearing through the air.
The impact made the ground tremble. Lucy blocked the blow with difficulty, but countered with a spin, slashing Nyra's arm.
"We are the daughters of Ulysses!" Lucy yelled, shoving her back.
"His blood runs in our veins... but what really matters is your soul!"
With a side strike, Lucy hurled Nyra against a stone wall, which shattered on impact.
Lucy pointed her sword at her.
"And my soul is telling me to stop you."
Nyra rose slowly, an ironic laugh escaping her lips.
"Unfortunately, our souls are strange, little sister. I need more power." She raised the sword Lycanos, which pulsed with lupine energy.
"And this sword is just the beginning."
Lucy stared back, her eyes burning red.
"Just like our father and our uncle, it seems we're destined to fight."
Nyra gave a half-smile, her gaze dark.
"Makes sense..."
The wind howled, kicking up blood and ash in spirals.
Two daughters of the same legacy, two souls divided by the heritage of a fallen hero —poised to decide the fate of all that remained.