The world did not end.
It convulsed.
Gold light tore through the ruins like a wound ripped open by fate itself. The Mad Dragon's blood rose into the air, spiralling upward in a silent storm with each droplet burning like molten sunlight against the night-dark stone. Where the blood touched the ground, the Veins flared in response, pulsing wildly as if shocked awake.
At the heart of the storm stood the priestess.
She was no longer human.
Her form peeled open like a revelation denied too long. A darkness unfolding into something vast and wrong. Hundreds of eyes opened across her body, some ancient, some newborn, all reflecting different skies that no longer existed. The grey stone embedded in her face burned brighter than the moon, flooding the ruins with cold, ancestral light.
The Mad Dragon recoiled.
For the first time since its awakening, something like hesitation rippled through its golden aura.
"You dare bring Her authority here?" the Dragon hissed, its voice vibrating through bone and stone alike.
The panther's form expanded, gold bleeding outward from its body like fire given flesh. Its claws gouged deep into the altar's stone, carving furrows that bled light. Beneath the ruins, the Veins screamed in resonance with blue lines snapping into violent rhythm. Trees beyond the broken walls bent inward, trunks groaning as if bowing to an unseen pressure.
"I do not command you," the priestess said calmly.
Her voice came from every mouth, every eye, every shadow cast by the ruins.
"I shall bind you."
The Night answered.
Black sigils ignited around the altar and circles not carved by hands, but by memory itself. They burned into existence like scars reopening, etched by grief older than humanity. The Veins beneath the ruins flared blue, then violet, then bled into gold, as if struggling to decide which master to answer.
The Mad Dragon lunged.
It did not roar. It unmade distance.
One heartbeat it was across the ruins; the next, its claws were already descending, tearing through space itself. Gold met black in a collision that shattered sound. The impact folded the air inward, collapsing it into nothing before it exploded outward again, hurling stone fragments like shrapnel.
Reality screamed.
Stone dissolved where claws struck sigils. The sky dimmed, clouds tearing open as if the sun itself hesitated to witness what was unfolding. Each clash sent shock-waves rippling through the Veins, distant echoes screaming across Zues resulting in miners collapsing, animals panicking, old ruins trembling in forgotten places.
"You run from purpose," the priestess said, her voice echoing from every eye, every shadow."You slaughter gods and mortals alike and call it freedom."
The Mad Dragon twisted mid-air, golden light condensing into a form too sharp for mortal eyes to track.
"I slaughter indiscriminately" it snarled. "And tonight, you are one of them whom I indiscriminately kill."
They collided again.
This time the clash did not explode—it compressed.
Gold and black folded inward, grinding against one another like opposing truths refusing compromise. Power bled into the altar beneath them. The ruins began to hum, a low, terrible resonance vibrating through the stone. Ancient mechanisms—silent for centuries—stirred awake, patterns threading together like a memory forced to resurface.
The altar drank. The priestess faltered.
For the first time, her calm fractured.
Her eyes widened—hundreds of them blinking out of sync.
"No…" she whispered."This altar—this isn't—"
The Mad Dragon froze mid-strike.
It felt it too.
The altar was no longer responding to them.
It was responding to him.
To the broken, bleeding human bound at its center.
To the man whose blood stained the stone.
To Chagrin.
The gold storm collapsed inward, drawn violently toward the altar's core. The sigils shattered, black light snapping apart like glass under strain. The Veins screamed once in unison of sharp, unified, terrified.
And then the altar began to rise.
Stone plates unfolded beneath Chagrin's body, lifting him slowly into the air as if answering a call long delayed. The hum deepened, resonating through bone and memory alike.
The priestess stared in horror.
"This was never meant for a human," she whispered."This exchange—this awakening—"
The Mad Dragon did not answer.
It watched.
For the first time in its long, blood-soaked existence, the Mad Dragon did not intervene.
Because fate had slipped beyond them both.
And dawn was coming.