The dead angel stared at them with his black hollow eyes that seemed to drip blood, and the world stood still.
Ash scanned the group. He caught Vynessa's expression, tight with dread. She knew what was going on with the angel.
No one spoke. No one breathed.
Kyrios broke first. He dashed forward, sword drawn in a desperate charge.
A vine burst from the ground and pierced his skull in a flash. His body fell, still clutching his blade.
A girl screamed.
Another vine shot toward her. It drove clean through her head, silencing the cry.
Then the vines came like rain. Sharp, fast, merciless. They tore through anyone who couldn't react in time.
Vynessa stumbled as a vine lashed toward her.
Lyrius appeared beside her in an instant, shoving her aside. The vine sliced through empty air.
Behind them, a roar tore across the battlefield.
The red giant who'd been watching all this time finally moved. It charged forward, each step shaking the ground.
The godborn scattered to clear a path, but the humans or other smaller godborns weren't fast enough. They screamed as they were crushed beneath the giant's feet.
The giant closed in, its massive arms ready to rip the angel apart.
A thick vine, larger than the others, erupted from the ground and skewered the giant's skull.
The vine twisted, tearing through bone.
The giant fell to its knees, then collapsed, dead before it hit the ground.
Ash watched it fall.
His heart pounded.
The angel took a slow step forward.
More vines shot up, stabbing through those still standing in its path.
The trained godborn ducked and dodged. The rest died where they stood.
Ash's mind raced.
He noticed something.
The vines only stretched so far. Beyond a certain distance, they stopped. That was why the angel kept moving closer—shrinking the space, cutting off their retreat.
Others noticed too. Some turned and ran.
Ash followed.
But then he heard the scream.
Far ahead, where safety should've been, something else waited.
He turned—and froze.
Trial creatures.
Two of them, feasting on a fallen godborn. Flesh and bone torn like paper.
The third raised its head, blood dripping from its jaws. It saw the fleeing godborn and charged.
Ash spun back around.
The angel stalked forward, vines stabbing the earth.
On one side, death by angel.
On the other hand, death by the trial creature.
Trapped.
Serian, Vynessa, and Lyrius fought to hold the vines back, but Ash could tell—they were losing.
None of them was strong enough. Not at Tier 0, not with empty soul energy reserves.
Ash clenched his fists.
'Think, damn it... There has to be a way out.'
But his mind was blank.
The vines crept closer.
The trial creature's roar shook the ground.
Ash stood between them, caught in the jaws of two monsters.
One step forward meant death. One step back meant worse.
And no one was coming to save them.
Ash exhaled.
He raised his sword and stepped forward, boots sinking into the blood-soaked earth.
'I'm not dying here. Not like this. Not in the hands of a wild creature."
He turned his head towards the angel.
"If killing you is the only way out, then so be it. Even if it kills me too.'
He stopped. His head tilted.
The angel—
It was crying.
Tears streaked down its blood-covered face, lost in the ruin of its body. There was no joy in its slaughter. Just sorrow. Just something broken, trapped, and helpless.
Ash froze. His grip tightened.
'Wait… what if…'
The idea crashed into his mind like a falling star.
But the vines still surged toward him.
Ash lowered his stance. Muscles screamed, but he dashed forward.
A vine lashed toward his face. He twisted, slipping past it by inches. Another shot from below—he leaped over it, landing hard enough to jar his bones.
More vines, sharp as blades, tore through the air.
Ash ducked, spun, and shoved his body past them, ignoring the burning strain in his limbs. The ground shook beneath the angel's power, but Ash kept moving.
Light bloomed in his hand.
The Petal of the Last Bloom—the dagger soft glow a strange peace among the chaos.
Ash forced himself closer. Closer still.
The vines roared past his shoulders, missing by heartbeats.
He raised the dagger—
And stabbed it deep into the angel's back.
'Please… let this work.'
He remembered the dagger's story. Mercy in steel. A blade for the broken.
If the angel still wanted life, the dagger would do nothing.
But if it wanted peace—
The vines froze mid-air.
Then slowly, like withering roots, they sank back into the earth.
Ash looked down.
The angel turned its head, meeting his gaze.
A faint smile broke across the ruined face. Soft. Tired but Grateful.
The voice came cracked and low.
"Thank you… young godborn."
Flames burst from its body, golden and warm.
The angel burned, not with rage but with release. Its form crumbled, scattering into ash. The wind carried what was left away.
Ash stood there.
Breathing. Watching the place where the angel had stood.
Then a voice echoed through his soul space—Tachyros's voice, distant but clear:
"[Vanquished. You have killed a stage 5 Creature: Fallen Angel.]"
Ash let out a slow breath.
Relief, sharp and heavy.
But the voice continued:
"[Skill Acquired]"
He stared down at the ash-covered ground.
A new skill.
He had been stuck at Stage One for so long, and getting a new skill was something he thought he could never get.
He smiled.
But now wasn't the time to celebrate.
The battlefield still reeked of blood. And the trial creatures still waited ahead.
Ash dismissed the dagger and turned his eyes forward.
It wasn't over yet.
The whole place was falling apart.
Corpses lay scattered like broken dolls. Screams still rang out, sharp and raw.
The angel was gone, but nothing felt safe.
Ash's eyes locked on the trial creatures in the distance. They tore into the fallen, ripping flesh from bone. He watched their jaws work through a godborn's body, even the ones who were killed by the angel, and he knew—once they finished, they'd be hungry again. And they would come for the rest of them.
Ash scanned the battlefield.
Serian, Vynessa, and Lyrius were still standing. Their bodies shook from exhaustion, but they were alive. A few others clung to life, but too many were gone. Kyrios and Lunaea were nowhere to be seen.
Fourteen godborn left. Bloodied, broken, and barely breathing. The humans were already gone.
Ash turned his gaze upward.
There it was—their way out.
Ten golden altars, gleaming beneath the sunlight. Quiet, Untouched, and waiting for him.
All he had to do was reach them.
Then, from behind, someone broke into a sprint.
A young man bolted past Ash, tearing toward the altars like a madman.
Serian's voice cut through the air.
"That cheat."
He turned to Ash.
"Come on. Let's go."
Ash didn't wait.
The others followed, their bodies heavy but their fear pushing them forward. No one wanted to be last. Last meant death. Last meant being trapped here until the next nightmare came.
Serian led the charge, steps steady but fast.
Then he stopped.
Eyes narrowed.
The man who had run ahead—
Stabbed.
Three swords pierced his chest.
Ash blinked.
The ones holding the blades… they were godborn.
No. Not godborn.
Clones.
They looked exactly like the man they had killed.
The reflections turned their heads. Their faces cracked into empty smiles.
Then they charged.
Ash drew his sword, the metal gleaming in the light. His body moved on instinct.
The clones stretched out their blades.
Beams of light shot toward him.
Ash rolled beneath the first, cutting the second in half as he rose. It shattered like glass.
The third lunged. Ash stepped past the blade, driving his sword clean through its chest. Another shatter.
The last clone fired one more beam of light. Ash deflected it with the flat of his sword, the blast cracking the earth beside him. Then he lunged and drove his blade into the clone's throat.
The final clone broke apart, shards of light raining down.
Ash stood over the scattered pieces.
A voice rang out in his mind.
"[Vanquished. You have killed a Tier 0 Creature: Reflection.]"
He stared at the fragments.
Reflections?
He didn't waste time thinking about it.
He ran.
The others stood frozen, watching him go. He didn't care.
The altars were close now.
His heart hammered in his chest.
'I'm almost there. Just one touch… and I'm out.'
But something gnawed at the edge of his mind.
'Which ones are cursed? Which ones are the corrupted altars?'
Tachyros had a way of telling them apart. Ash didn't.
But then it hit him.
'I don't have to guess. I'll pick the one Tachyros chose in the vision. That path worked for him. It should work for me.'
He kept running.
Something shimmered beside him. A flash, like water catching the sun.
For a second, he saw his own reflection in the broken ground. But he didn't stop.
Not now.
Not when freedom was this close.
Suddenly, Ash ducked low.
A sword hissed past where his head had been.
He spun to the side, blade raised, heart pounding.
There—standing before him.
"Tachyros?"
But no, it wasn't him. Or maybe it was.
Ash stared, confused. The only time he'd seen Tachyros clearly was in the soul space—reflected in the black water. Now that same figure stood in front of him, gripping the exact sword Ash carried.
Ash's eyes dropped to the ground.
Shards.
Scattered like droplets, but not water. Tiny glass marbles, curved just enough to catch a reflection.
He saw himself.
Even in those small fragments, his reflection stared back at him.
Another sword came flashing at his throat. Ash twisted, dodging the strike.
But it wasn't just one anymore.
A dozen Tachyros stood before him. All wearing the same cold gaze. All holding his sword.
Ash clenched his jaw. He got it now.
The glass. The reflections. They are linked.
Behind him, hurried steps echoed.
He shouted without looking back.
"Don't come closer. Whatever you do, don't look down. These things on the ground copy you when they see your face. They know how I fight. They know every step I take."
Serian froze, eyes wide.
"Seriously?"
Vynessa stepped forward, voice quiet but sharp.
"Even gods cry… but when this one does, his reflection remembers. I get it now."
Lyrius cursed under his breath.
"Forget it. We'll go around. They seem to be only after Tachyros, not us."
Lyrius broke into a run.
Ash caught the movement from the corner of his eye and gritted his teeth.
The reflections charged.
Ash blocked one strike, then two, but blades came from every side. He lashed out, trying to cut one down, but it sidestepped cleanly—as if it knew the swing before Ash did.
He glanced back.
Serian and Vynessa were still frozen, watching. The others were already halfway to the altars.
Ash hissed under his breath.
'If this holds on any longer, those ten altars will be gone. I have to think of something.'
Lyrius turned and shouted from farther up the path.
"Vynessa! Move, or you'll be trapped down there!"
Serian opened his mouth, but Ash cut him off.
"Go. I'll deal with this."
They hesitated. Then they ran. Fast.
Ash watched them go. Serian's body glowed faintly— A body enhancement skill that boosts both strength and speed.
Vynessa was slower but she moved like water, her steps sharp and balanced. Ash learnt from Serian that she could manipulate others with a glance, but these things he was fighting didn't seem to be people.
He turned back to the fight.
The reflections surrounded him like a storm of blades.
They mimicked his stance. Mirrored his footwork. Matched his strikes.
Every slash he made was answered by a perfect dodge. Every step is met by another step.
But they had numbers.
Tiny cuts slipped through—one across his cheek, another slicing past his arm, shallow but burning.
Ash's grip tightened.
Then he feinted left and spun right, catching one off guard. His blade slipped through its throat.
The figure shattered like glass, fragments raining down in silence.
But the others closed in, faster now.
Ash fought with everything he had, but he wasn't stupid. He wasn't winning this fight. All he wanted was to switch his direction during the fight, allowing his back to face the path straight to the altar.
And so he did.
He shifted his stance, blade sweeping wide, forcing the reflections back for a breath.
Then he turned and sprinted.
He didn't wait to see if they followed.
The mountain rose ahead, golden altars gleaming at the top.
And for the first time, escape looked real.
Ash forced his legs forward, the weight of exhaustion dragging behind every step.
Ahead, the golden altars shone like distant stars.
One by one, beams of light rose around those who touched them. It didn't matter if they were humans, titans, or something in between—one touch was enough to claim safety.
Lyrius stood by the altars, chest heaving. He turned, eyes scanning the slope.
Vynessa and Serian were close now, sprinting past others who'd slowed. Closer still, Ash battled his way upward, the reflections chasing like shadows that refused to die.
But it wasn't the reflections that froze Lyrius' blood.
Lower down, past the chaos, the trial beasts had finished their feast. They lifted their blood-soaked heads, jaws slick, and sprinted up the mountain.
Straight for Ash.
And his reflections.
Ash heard them too. Their roar was like thunder tearing through his skull.
He gritted his teeth and kept moving, his body screaming with each step. His veins burned, his soul frayed thin from fighting too long, running too hard.
Then he saw him.
A young titan, collapsed on the trail, dragging himself forward.
The titan looked up, hope flickering in his tired eyes.
Ash ran past.
The titan barely had time to call out before a blade speared through his back.
Ash bit down the guilt, forcing himself not to look back.
They killed anyone too slow. Even the fallen.
The reflections chased after him, movements growing stiff, slower now. Like him, they were running out of strength.
A sharp crack split the air.
Glass shattered.
Ash threw a glance behind.
The trial beasts tore through the reflections. One snapped a clone in half, shards of mirror flying like dust.
Ash allowed himself a breath.
'So they'll fight instead of running. They're like me… they know you can't outrun death. You stand and fight.'
The altars blazed ahead.
Serian touched one light, swallowed him whole.
Vynessa reached another—her body vanished in a golden burst.
Only one altar left.
Ash pushed harder, ignoring the burn in his lungs, ignoring the beasts thundering up behind him.
This was it.
One altar.
One chance.