[If you've come this far… thank you.I won't lie — this part will cut deeper than the last.But this pain isn't meaningless. It's the cost of growth, the moment that will shape everything that follows.I'm sorry for what happens here — and grateful that you chose to face it with me.]
"Please… stop. No more."
Angelo begged—voice shattered, soul already in pieces.
"Kill me instead. Don't hurt my mother and Sophia."
His vision burned red, blood pouring from the cuts on his forehead. Still, the monsters ignored his pleas.
They dragged Sophia.
Olivia clung to her with everything she had, nails digging into torn flesh—but she wasn't strong enough. Sophia was ripped from her grasp, hauled forward by her hair. She didn't resist. She knew there was no escape.
Her eyes never left Angelo.
Two Cradle-Eaters forced her upright. A third stepped forward and began to carve—slow, deliberate cuts along her arms and sides. Blood spilled freely. Her lips trembled, but she made no sound.
Not until they shattered her kneecaps.
Bone cracked. Sophia collapsed, a strangled cry finally escaping her throat as she hit the stone. Before the final blow fell, she looked up—blood dripping from her mouth, breath shallow, fading.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered. "I couldn't keep your family safe."
And then she was gone.
Only Olivia remained.
She stood shaking—sobbing, drenched in the blood of her family. Her eyes locked onto Angelo's, wide with terror and heartbreak.
Angelo couldn't move.
He couldn't blink.
His breath came in broken fragments, his soul caving in on itself. Even the scream lodged in his chest refused to escape.
All he could do… was break.
Olivia cried out as she was dragged toward him. Around them, the chamber erupted—every creature howling with laughter, a choir of madness echoing off the stone.
Then the Cradle-Eaters began.
Small cuts first. Careful. Intentional.
Each slice drew blood. Each second stretched.
Olivia screamed.
Angelo thrashed against his restraints, chains biting deep into his wrists and ankles. His body trembled with fury as he pulled harder—harder—until skin split and blood poured freely. Veins bulged. Muscles tore.
Serika chuckled, her voice thick with mockery.
"It's pointless. No matter how hard you pull, you'll never break my chains."
Then Olivia's legs were severed just below the knees.
Her scream tore through the chamber.
Something inside Angelo snapped.
Pain ceased to exist. Fury consumed everything.
With a final, monstrous heave, he wrenched against the chains. Skin, muscle—gone. The restraints slid free from raw, mangled joints as blood sprayed across the floor.
He collapsed in a heap—broken, ruined—but free.
The Bound Choirmaster released what remained of him. Angelo lay in a spreading pool of his own blood.
And still… he moved.
Dragging himself forward by ruined limbs. Crawling. Inch by inch. Toward his mother.
Olivia saw him.
Through unbearable pain, she began to crawl too—hauling her shattered body across the cold stone. A Cradle-Eater moved to intercept.
Vaelgor raised a hand.
"Let her go."
The chamber fell silent.
Olivia reached Angelo and pulled him into her arms. Knees gone. Body failing. But she held him anyway. Her trembling fingers brushed his blood-soaked face.
"Don't cry, my son," she whispered—voice cracked, yet warm.
"It's not your fault. I've always loved you… and I always will."
She smiled through bloodied lips.
"You're strong. Stronger than you know. Get out of here. Survive. Live a happy life. That's all I want."
She looked into his eyes.
"Promise me, Angelo."
He wrapped what little of himself he could around her, sobbing.
"I'm sorry. If only I were never born… none of this would've happened."
Olivia shook her head weakly.
"Don't say that. We never hated you. Not once."
Tears glistened in her eyes, but her voice remained steady.
"You were always special to us. Our little miracle."
She smiled.
"That's why I named you Angelo."
Vaelgor's voice cut through the moment.
"Kill her."
Shrikecoil seized Olivia, tearing her from Angelo's grasp. He tried to move—dragging himself forward, inch by inch, on ruined stumps.
Too slow.
Too weak.
A sickening crunch echoed as Olivia's head was slammed into the floor.
Her body twitched.
Then Shrikecoil brought its foot down.
Her skull shattered beneath its heel.
Silence.
Angelo stared.
Tears streamed down his face, but no sound came. Something inside him had cracked—deep, irreversible.
The creatures laughed.
But Angelo couldn't hear them anymore.
He was already gone.
Within his soul, he returned to the throne.
The void churned below—endless, black.
The shadowed figure stood waiting.
"You just lost everything you loved," it said plainly. "Do you still wish to fight? Or will you let me take over?"
Angelo stared ahead, his voice hollow.
"I don't care anymore. Do whatever you want."
And then—he fell.
He dropped into the void below.
The figure's grin spread wide and monstrous.
"Good."
Outside, the mark on Angelo's back cracked again. This time, the fracture split deep and wide, tearing across the entire sigil.
And then—
It happened.
A sudden pressure crushed the air, as if gravity itself had multiplied a hundredfold. A presence so overwhelming that even the most twisted creatures began to tremble. Some collapsed where they stood. Others fell unconscious. The air grew heavy with dread.
Vaelgor rose abruptly from his throne.
Serika stood frozen, paralyzed by fear.
Far beyond the castle walls—in every corner of the world—people paused. Hearts skipped. Instincts screamed that something unspeakable had awakened.
The source of it all… was Angelo.
Smoke curled from his wounds—arms, legs, the gaping hole in his stomach—until, slowly, every injury vanished. Erased, as if they had never existed. Flesh reformed. Bone knit.
He stood.
His head hung low, eyes fixed on the blood-soaked ground.
Vaelgor shouted, voice rattled with fear. "Stop him! All of you!"
The Hollowed Saints and the Duskbornes charged from every direction—twisted steel and unnatural power surging toward him in a frenzy.
Angelo raised his head.
And everything stopped.
The charging beasts froze midair—bodies folding, crumbling, collapsing into small, dark spheres that struck the ground with hollow thuds.
The Cradle-Eaters turned to flee—only to be shredded in an instant, torn into dust.
Vaelgor unleashed a torrent of searing flame.
It evaporated before it could reach Angelo.
Black cracks crept along Angelo's body, spreading without pain, without blood. They weren't wounds. They were something else entirely.
The Void inside him had awakened.
"Attack him!" Vaelgor screamed. "Stop him! Kill him—if you must!"
The Withered Crown and the Bound Choirmaster struck together.
Nothing touched him.
He didn't move.
He didn't flinch.
Serika trembled, unable to raise her hands. Vaelgor grabbed her, shouting for her to use her chains—but her body refused to obey.
Then Angelo spoke.
It wasn't his voice.
It was a thousand voices layered together—distorted, overlapping, echoing like the chorus of countless souls speaking as one.
One word.
"Destruction."
An invisible dome erupted outward.
And then—silence.
The castle.
The armies.
Vaelgor.
Serika.
The creatures.
The bodies of Angelo's loved ones.
Even the air within that space—gone.
No remains.
No ruins.
No ash.
Only Angelo remained, standing alone at the center of a vast, perfect crater.
Near the castle, Bastion—the escape vehicle of Pierce and his team—had been swallowed whole.
Air rushed in as the dome collapsed.
A crack spread across Angelo's face—from the left side of his chin to the right of his forehead.
Then he fell.
Not dead.
Just still.
The pressure lifted.
The presence faded.
Two days later, a man stumbled upon the crater.
At its center lay a figure—unmoving, bloodstained, but breathing.
He climbed down carefully, boots crunching against scorched stone, and knelt beside the unconscious boy. Gently, he shook him.
"Hey… you alright?"
Angelo stirred. His eyes opened slowly.
They were empty.
"What happened here?" the man asked.
Angelo looked around at the vast crater, the silence, the absence of anything.
"I don't know," he said. "I can't remember."
The man studied him for a moment.
"Do you remember your name?"
Angelo blinked, brow furrowing.
"My name… Angelo. I think."
He hesitated.
"I don't even know if it's my first or last name. Everything else is just… gone."
The man thought for a moment, then said, "Check your clothes. Maybe there's something."
Angelo nodded and began patting himself down.
"Let's see if there's anything…"
His fingers brushed something in his back pocket. He pulled it out—a small, smooth device, no larger than a coin. A faint blue light pulsed from its surface.
"… Huh," Angelo muttered. "What's this?"
The man leaned closer, squinting. "Looks like a tracker. Someone really wanted to keep tabs on you."
Angelo stared at it for a long moment.
"I don't remember who," he said quietly. "But… I think it helped?"
He slipped it back into his pocket.
"Can you stand?" the man asked.
Angelo nodded—and rose with ease.
He glanced down at himself, finally noticing the blood caked across his clothes and skin. His eyes widened.
"Wow. That's… a lot of blood. Is it mine?"
The man didn't seem fazed.
"Nah," he said calmly. "If it were, you'd be dead."
Angelo frowned. "Then where did it come from?"
The man stared at him blankly.
"The fuck am I supposed to know? I found you like this five minutes ago."
Then, more gently, "Look, kid. Don't worry about it. You barely remember your name. Give it time. It'll come back."
He chuckled, pointing at Angelo's ruined shirt.
"Nice look, by the way. Big hole in the middle. You're wearing a black T-shirt, covered in black cracks, so how about… Black Angelo?"
He paused. "… Wait. That sounds racist."
Angelo gave him a flat stare.
"Seriously?"
"Alright, alright," the man said. "You've got a crack on your face. Tattoo? Oh—right. You don't remember. How about Crackface Angelo?"
Angelo groaned. "Please stop giving me weird names."
The man snapped his fingers. "Got it. Nero Angelo. Greek. 'Nero' means black. Sounds cool, yeah?"
Angelo paused.
Then—just barely—he smiled.
"… Yeah. That does sound cool."
The man extended his left hand.
"Alright then. Until your memories come back, you're Nero Angelo. And I'm Elias Dorne. Come with me—I know a doctor who can help."
Angelo took his hand.
"Sure," he said quietly. "I don't think I've got anywhere else to go."
Together, they walked toward the distant town—
leaving the crater behind.
— End of Arc III —