The sun began to rise, spilling pale light over the ruined city. Dust swirled in shafts of gold. The battlefield had been reshaped countless times. Energy lines tore across the streets, remnants of Stand clashes still sparking.
Voss's allies had regrouped, but their movements were no longer synchronized. Tiny cracks in their strategy appeared, one after another. Jovian's eyes sharpened. Vital Mirage pulsed in response, attuned to each opportunity.
Lucien struck from above, Midnight Sontana phasing in and out, disrupting enemy formations. Alaric reinforced the center, Golden Cavalier radiating stability. Iggy darted unpredictably, creating chaos the enemies couldn't handle.
"…This is it," Jovian said quietly, feeling the weight of the fight, the exhaustion, and the stakes all at once.
Vital Mirage surged alongside him, movements perfectly synced with his intent. Every strike landed, every block held, every motion disrupted the enemies' formation further.
The energy exploded in waves. Shockwaves rolled through the streets, illusions and traps collapsing. The enemies stumbled, staggered, faltered.
"…It ends here," Jovian muttered.
And for now, the city was theirs. Shadows remained, always waiting—but the last stand of 1966 had been fought, and Jovian and his friends had endured.