The moment the Duskborn slammed Angelo into the ground, consciousness fled.
When awareness returned, he was no longer bound or dragged.
He was seated on the throne.
The Void stretched endlessly around him—silent, absolute. Then he felt it.
Movement.
Angelo's gaze snapped downward.
The darkness was rising.
It surged upward from below, slow and inevitable, swallowing the emptiness. It reached his feet. Instinct took over—he jerked his legs back, recoiling as the Void lapped higher, bubbling like something alive.
From the blackness, a shape began to form.
At first, nothing but a mass. Then definition. Shoulders. A torso. Arms.
A man.
Angelo's chest tightened. He knew this presence. He had always known it.
His voice came out strained. "What… are you?"
The figure lifted its left arm and pointed at him.
When it spoke, it wasn't one voice.
It was a thousand.
Layered. Overlapping. Crawling over each other like echoes trapped in a grave.
"I am you.
The power you were made to lock away."
The same voices.
The ones that had haunted him since the day he saw his family at Fort Blackspear.
Angelo's breath hitched. "What do you want?" he snapped. "Why did I have to be the fucking vessel?"
His fists clenched. Tears burned behind his eyes. "Because you all created me. I had to suffer so much. Innocent people died for it."
His voice broke.
"Hale. Ryan. They died just for being near me."
The figure answered calmly, almost gently.
"That is the cost of bearing a power every being desires."
Angelo laughed bitterly. "Power?" His voice rose. "What good is it if I can't protect anyone? It failed me when I needed it most."
He shouted now, exhaustion bleeding through every word. "If it actually worked, Hale and Ryan would still be alive!"
His shoulders sagged. The fight drained out of him.
"They can have it," he whispered. "Let them tear me apart and take your bullshit power."
Tears slid down his face.
"I'm tired of watching people die just because I exist."
The figure smiled.
"Then let me take over."
Its grin widened.
"I will erase everything. If nothing remains, you won't have to witness anyone else suffer because of you."
Angelo froze.
"E… erase everything?" The words trembled out of him.
Anger surged back, sharp and desperate. He clenched his fists. "If I give you control, you'll destroy everything?"
He shook his head violently. "No. I refuse."
His voice exploded through the Void.
"I refuse to let you erase everything. I'll fight. I'll save everyone I love. Everyone close to me."
The figure cut him off.
The grin vanished.
"And what of those you don't love?" it asked evenly.
"Those not close to you? Are their lives meaningless? Do their deaths matter less because you cannot hear their cries?"
Angelo opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
"I made a mistake," the figure continued. "Letting you experience emotion."
It turned away.
"We will suffer for that mistake."
Then, cold and final:
"Now get out."
The Void collapsed.
Angelo was ripped from the throne and hurled back into his body.
As Angelo returned to his body, he felt restraints bite into his arms and legs.
Cold. Unyielding.
His eyes opened slowly. Shadows swam through blurred vision, shapes stretching and twisting until focus returned. A throne carved from blackened bone loomed before him—
—and seated upon it was the figure from his nightmares.
Vaelgor.
Beside him stood the girl in chains, unchanged since that day long ago.
They were the same beings he had seen at fifteen, when the veil tore and the world tasted madness.
Dozens of creatures crowded the chamber, watching in silence.
The Horned Figure tilted his head, amused.
"So you've awakened?" His voice was as rough and grating as Angelo remembered. "Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Vaelgor, the Burning Curse."
He gestured lazily toward the girl.
"And this is my daughter, Serika—the Silent Binder. You saw us once… when we peeked through the veil all those years ago."
Angelo tried to move.
Pain tore through him.
He looked down. Chains locked his ankles to the floor. His wrists were dragged upward, suspended, forcing his body into a cruel stretch. His breathing grew heavy—ragged.
Slowly, he lifted his head and bared his teeth.
"Looks like you two haven't changed at all," he growled.
"Still a towering pile of rotten shit… and your little freak-show pet."
Vaelgor's laughter thundered through the chamber, deep and delighted.
"Oh? Seems you can still snarl," he said. "Good. I'll enjoy watching you break."
Angelo scoffed, lips curling into a vicious grin.
"Do your worst, you horned bastard," he spat. "I'll enjoy tearing you apart."
His eyes shifted.
The figures in the shadows.
The Duskborn.
Something snapped.
Rage surged up his spine like fire. Angelo thrashed against the chains, metal screaming as they bit deeper into his flesh.
"You killed my friends," he snarled, voice shaking with violence.
"I'll butcher every last one of you. Slowly."
The chains held.
Serika's voice cut through the room—sharp, mocking.
"It's pointless. My chains don't just bind your body. They seal your power."
Angelo stopped pulling.
Very slowly, he turned his head toward her.
The air seemed to darken.
Bloodlust poured from his gaze, cold and absolute. His voice dropped to a murderous whisper.
"Release me," he said.
"Or I will rip your head from your spine and feed it to your father."
Serika flinched, instinctively stepping back—then forced herself to stand firm. Fury twisted her face.
With a flick of her fingers, the chains constricted.
Bone cracked.
Angelo screamed—but it wasn't fear.
It was rage.
"Enough," Vaelgor said mildly, raising a hand. "We don't want him broken… not yet."
His grin widened. "Not before his family arrives."
Low chuckles rippled through the room. Some creatures licked their lips.
Angelo lifted his head again, blood filling his eyes.
"Touch them," he growled, every word soaked in promise,
"and I will erase you. Your daughter. Your entire bloodline."
Laughter echoed through the throne room.
"We shall see," Vaelgor replied.
Outside the castle, Pierce and his team arrived.
They stood before a structure that hadn't existed before—a small castle twisted into the wrong shape of itself. Angles bent where they shouldn't. Stone warped like it had grown instead of been built. The air reeked of something unnatural. Something that did not belong in this world.
Bastion, their armored transport, rested beyond the treeline—half-hidden by broken branches and shadow. Engines cooling. Left where it was meant to be. No guard. No delay.
Eleven soldiers advanced, weapons raised.
The silence pressed in.
They were not alone.
From the darkness, the Duskborn stirred—silent shapes slipping through shadow like ink through water. Invisible to the naked eye, they slithered through the dark and passed the word back to their master.
Vaelgor received it with a low chuckle.
"It seems we have some… uninvited guests."
His gaze drifted to Angelo—still burning with hate.
"Let's welcome them properly."
Then, to the shadows:
"Bring them here. Alive… if possible."
Inside the castle, the rescue team pushed forward. Flashlights swept across warped stone walls smeared with something thick and tar-like. No movement. No sound.
Then—
The Duskborn struck.
They erupted from walls, ceilings, and floors. Gunfire thundered as the soldiers formed up, firing disciplined bursts—but it meant nothing. Bullets tore through shadow and found no purchase. The darkness bled—but did not die.
Major Gideon Connors fell first, a blade-like limb punching straight through his chest.
Sergeant Mira Lockwood screamed as something dragged her into the dark.
Private Alina Vos.
Lieutenant Kellan Reeve.
Sergeant Bennett Shaw.
Warrant Officer Theo Marn.
Corporal Rafe Dorian.
Private Ezra Cole.
Slaughtered in minutes.
Only three remained—broken, surrounded.
General Nathaniel Pierce, soaked in blood, still standing.
Specialist Nadia Faye, gasping, her right leg shattered.
Staff Sergeant Jonah Keene, clutching a bleeding side.
The Duskborn closed in, whispering mockery from every direction.
The fight was over.
They were taken.
And far behind them, Bastion remained untouched—its steel hull silent beneath the trees, as if holding its breath.