Alina's vision flickered, the blinding white of that impossible chamber dissolving all at once into darkness and rubble. Before she could even draw breath to speak, she was back beneath the splintered wreckage of the collapsed house. Dust clung to her damp skin and hair. But something was different—she felt no pain at all. Her limbs were no longer heavy or bruised, and every heartbeat thrummed with new vitality.
Time itself seemed to have twisted around her. Though she must have been gone for long moments, the world around her was nearly unchanged—frozen in the instant she had left. In the flickering torchlight, she could still see Arlasan grappling against the monster's coiling tentacles. Warriors with spears and axes were lunging forward, caught mid-motion in desperate struggle. The creature's grotesque maw gaped wide, its wet, pulsating throat ready to consume the living.
A hollow scream tore from its chest, it's vibrations shuddering through the wreckage above her. She felt it in her bones as the shriek rolled out in every direction. All around the battlefield, fighters stiffened as if their bodies no longer belonged to them—trapped in a paralysis more final than any chain.
She watched in horror as the creature's tentacles slithered around Arlasan's shoulders and waist, curling with deliberate malice. His arms strained in futile resistance. She could see how his strength had faltered, how his body was nearly spent, and how he clenched his jaw rather than cry out. The monster dragged him off the ground, lifting him toward the largest of its vertical maws, each fang glistening like broken knives.
A tremor of fury rolled up her spine, burning away every scrap of fear. The veins in her arms and throat bulged with fresh power—an anger vast enough to blot out reason.
With a single raw motion, she braced her legs and exploded out from beneath the rubble. Broken beams and splinters burst outward, raining debris across the courtyard. The sheer force cracked the ground where she'd been buried. Her eyes fixed on the monster.
Her hand clenched the sword so tightly her knuckles blanched. She focused her mind and poured her mana into the blade. Golden light erupted from the runes newly carved into the metal, so bright it flared like a sunrise. Flames rose along the edge, tongues of white-hot fire licking the air around her.
She could feel the weapon thirsting for her mana, drawing it out in a constant flood. Yet unlike before, her reserves were deeper—a well that felt bottomless compared to what she'd once held.
Every gaze in the courtyard turned to her. Even the creature stopped its advance, its tentacled back rippling as if sniffing the air for this new threat. Though it had no eyes, she felt the weight of its regard, the silent recognition that she was no longer the same girl who had fallen under its first assault.
Suddenly, four tentacles lashed toward her, their barbed tips aimed to tear her apart. Before, she would have struggled even to see them move. Now, their motion seemed almost sluggish. Her breath deepened, and she shifted her weight into a ready stance.
With a thunderous step, she launched herself forward. The ground cracked underfoot. In three blinding strikes, she carved through all four tentacles, severing them cleanly. Black fluid sprayed in smoking arcs across the stones.
She didn't pause to watch them fall. She kept moving, closing the distance in the space between heartbeats. The creature dropped Arlasan's limp body and reared back, tentacles thrashing in a frenzy. It smashed its front limbs into the earth, sending up clouds of shattered rock, then lunged at her with its remaining appendages.
Even empowered, she felt the crushing weight of each blow she deflected. Sparks flew as tentacle barbs scraped against her blade. Her arms trembled under the strain. Every parry and sidestep demanded all her speed and focus. Sweat poured down her temples and stung her eyes.
She cut another four tentacles away, but already the first severed limbs were twitching—regenerating with hideous speed. Glistening gray flesh bubbled and knit itself back together as if her efforts meant nothing.
A chorus of shouts rose behind her. The remaining warriors, seeing her stand alone, found the courage to charge again. Axes and spears staggering the creature with fresh wounds. For an instant, hope flared bright among them.
Then the monster roared again—a deep, wet bellow that vibrated through the marrow. It rose onto its hind limbs, towering higher than any house, and smashed its massive front feet into the earth. A shockwave ripped outward. Stone walls crumpled. Roofs collapsed. The force slammed into the fighters, hurling them like broken dolls.
Alina's body lifted from the ground. Air rushed from her lungs as she crashed down a dozen paces away, rolling across splintered beams and stones. She forced herself onto her knees, gasping, vision swimming. Her arms trembled so violently she nearly dropped her sword.
The monster was already charging at her again, jaws gaping wide. But a heartbeat before it could close the distance, it skidded to a halt.
Alina blinked. Confusion slowed her thoughts. She saw it hesitate—tentacles twitching, limbs shifting restlessly. Then, unbelievably, it took a step back. A tremor ran down its hulking body.
She dared a glance over her shoulder—and her breath caught in her throat. Behind her, a presence coalesced in the darkness. Though she could not see it clearly, she felt it—like a storm pressing down upon her spirit. A force that did not belong to the world she knew. Every hair on her skin lifted. The air itself seemed to recoil.
She didn't need to turn to understand. She knew this feeling. She would never forget it. The Creator had come.
From above her, a red line snapped forward in a single, soundless flash, a crimson slash that cut across the night. It struck the creature squarely in the middle.
The beast split in two, cleaved from gullet to haunch. Each half slumped apart, spilling steaming viscera onto the trampled earth. But the slash did not stop—it carved straight through the village perimeter and into the distance, slicing the darkness itself as if the night were only a curtain.
Even bisected, the monster still squirmed. Its remaining tentacles clawed at the dirt, trying to drag the halves together. A wet, mindless determination animated every ruined sinew.
Alina would not allow it. She pushed herself upright, teeth gritted. Golden flames blazed once more along her sword. She sprinted forward and leaped onto the first half, driving her blade deep into the exposed flesh. Fire and light roared outward, consuming everything it touched.
She wrenched the blade free, pivoted, and advanced on the second half as it crawled away. With methodical precision, she severed the last thrashing tentacles and plunged her sword through its body.
White-hot flames erupted across the corpse. The creature convulsed once, then lay still at last.
One by one, the villagers began to gather around her, their faces pale in the firelight. Some carried makeshift weapons still slick with black blood; others clutched each other in disbelief. A hush fell over the broken street as they stared at the smoldering remains of the creature.
Arlasan was among them. He limped forward, favoring one leg, his clothes torn and stained. He paused beside the corpse, then turned to look at Alina. His voice was hoarse, ragged with exhaustion and awe.
"How…how did you do that?"
Alina met his gaze, then let her eyes travel over the small crowd gathering around her. Their expressions were a mixture of fear, wonder, and hope. She felt her heartbeat slow as she tried to find words. For an instant, she wondered if she should lie—if the truth would only frighten them more.
But no oath had forbidden her from speaking. And in that moment, she felt no desire to hide it.
She drew in a long breath, steadying her voice.
"I met a god," she said quietly. "And he gave me the strength to end this."
…
Leo had been watching the fight unfold, and as he'd feared, even Alina's new strength wasn't enough. When the creature reared back for its final, crushing attack, he knew she would not survive without help.
He drew in a deep, steadying breath and gathered every scrap of force he could muster in his domain. Before him, the Mirror of Truth rippled and expanded until it filled nearly the entire space, its surface shimmering like liquid silver. With a single thought, he summoned the Thorn into his hand. The blade materialized, black steel gleaming as blood began to coil along its edge in slow, serpentine trails.
Raising the sword, he extended his free hand toward the Mirror. The pressure of channeling so much power made his vision blur at the edges. The portal he was about to open was vast—far larger than any he'd attempted before—and the mana it demanded was beyond anything he'd prepared for. He knew, with cold certainty, that without the final gift he'd received from the Goddess of Nature, he wouldn't have stood even the slightest chance of managing this.
His jaw clenched. Sweat already beaded across his brow. He forced the power outward, willing the portal to tear itself open across the Mirror's surface. The glassy plane cracked, then split apart with a low, echoing groan, revealing a window onto the battlefield. Through the rift, he could see Alina, her body braced to rise again, and the monstrous creature towering over her.
With every last measure of strength, Leo swept Thorn down in a wide arc, unleashing the Blood Slash. A wave of crimson force tore through the portal, crossing the boundary between domains. In the space of a single breath, it struck the creature—shearing it cleanly in half.
The portal shuddered and collapsed in on itself, the light winking out as though it had never been. Leo sank back onto his throne, Thorn slipping from his hand and went back into it's place. His shoulders heaved with ragged exhaustion, sweat dripping freely onto the floor. He could do nothing now but watch.
He stayed there until he saw the villagers gathering around Alina, their voices hushed with shock as she told them what had happened. As she spoke—I met a god—he pressed a palm to his face, exhaling a long, weary sigh. Now an entire group of people knew of his existence. He felt the danger in it like a thorn under his skin, but he also knew she hadn't had any other way to explain what they'd all seen.
Another danger that lingered was the remnants of his mana left behind in that dark land, a trace of his power that could draw attention or bring unforeseen consequences. But he no longer had the strength to dwell on it. His consciousness wavered, everything around him blurring at the edges. In the next instant, he slipped out of his domain, and in the next second, sleep claimed him completely.
…
"I met a god," Alina said quietly. "And he gave me the strength to end this."
"God?" Devera asked, her eyes wide, glimmering with sudden hope. "You mean the Goddess?"
"No." Alina shook her head. The answer drew a ripple of uneasy murmurs through the crowd. "This god called himself the Creator."
Arlasan frowned, studying her as though trying to gauge if she was delirious. "And he simply decided to help you?"
"No," she said. Her voice softened. "I prayed to him." She hesitated, then added more quietly, "I found his prayer on one of our expeditions."
Reaching into her pocket, she drew out the folded scrap of paper. She handed it to Arlasan.
He took the parchment and unfolded it carefully, scanning the foreign script in silence. When he finished, he folded it again and tucked it into his cloak.
"You should have told us," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Something like this—whatever it is—shouldn't be kept in the dark."
Alina looked down, unsure what to say.
"But," he continued, his tone softening, "you saved us. We'll speak more on this later."
He turned slightly, addressing the crowd. "For now, we owe Alina—and this god—our lives. Whatever the Creator is, we should be grateful."
Around them, many nodded, relief and exhaustion mixing in their expressions. Yet not all shared it. Some exchanged wary glances, unsettled by any power they did not know. Among them was Devera, who looked at Alina with something between doubt and hurt.
Alina met her eyes but didn't flinch. She understood their faith in the Goddess of Nature. But she also knew that goddess had never answered them—not once, not when they starved, not when the darkness crept ever closer.
The Creator had answered her the very first time she whispered his name. And whether they believed or not, she had already pledged her loyalty. For the first time in her life, she felt something that was stronger than fear—hope.
Some of the younger fighters stepped forward to help the wounded. Others began to pull splintered timbers away from the collapsed houses, searching for anyone trapped inside. A few simply stood and stared at Alina, as though they weren't sure whether to thank her or fear her.
Arlasan placed a hand gently on her shoulder, drawing her from her thoughts. "Whatever happens next," he said, "you did what none of us could."