Brann thundered down the broken hallway, Nyra clutched in his arms, her fingers trembling with the strain of keeping control.
"They're too many," Nyra hissed through clenched teeth. Her threads snaked behind them, shimmering like ghost-light, latching onto the creatures chasing them. "I can't hold them off for long. If I let go, they'll break for the ones with the strongest harmonics."
"Solas and Koshiro," Brann muttered, swinging his axe to knock aside a leaping Threadborn. "Of course it's them."
Nyra winced as another surge of corrupted emotion clawed at her mental web. "We need to get them to the core basement. If we trap them down there, they won't escape."
Brann glanced over his shoulder at the horde. "If we go down there, we might not escape either."
Nyra's voice was steady, even as sweat poured down her brow. "Then we have to trust them to kill those bastards before we're swallowed alive."
Meanwhile, Koshiro launched himself at Velcrin, glass rod charged with harmonics.
"You're filth," he snarled. "For what you did to those children—"
Velcrin grinned, lifting a withered hand. "Then by all means, come purify me."
He tapped his staff.
The world around them shattered.
In a flash of black and violet, the battlefield dissolved.
Koshiro landed hard—not on stone, but something spongy, organic. The sky was a swirling mass of screaming faces, flickering between solid and thread. Gravity twisted sideways.
Velcrin hovered above him, robes trailing like wet parchment.
"Welcome to my world," he said with glee. "A separate plane crafted from my Thread. A symphony of cruelty, forged from every scream I've collected."
Koshiro stood slowly, body shivering. "You made this?"
Velcrin nodded. "All mine. No Choir. No Fold. Just the raw resonance of pain—perfectly looped."
Koshiro's grip on his rod tightened. "Then I'll tear it apart."
Back in the main chamber, Zen's eyes widened as Koshiro vanished.
"KOSHIRO!"
Solas, observing the remnants of the teleportation burst, sighed. "Well. Change of plans."
He cracked his neck. "We'll just have to deal with this piece of shit—Thorne."
Zen growled. "I don't need your help."
Solas raised a hand to his chest, mock-hurt. "Zen, you wound me, emotionally."
Before they could bicker further, Thorne's form shimmered.
Then split.
Two identical Thorne avatars stepped forward.
"You think either of you could defeat me alone?" one said.
"Let's test that theory," the other echoed.
Zen narrowed his eyes. "I'll take left."
Solas nodded. "Guess I'm dancing with righty."
The battlefield shrieked with motion.
Zen's sword hummed with raw Thread energy, the silver of his blade glowing brighter as he channeled everything into the metal. His footwork was flawless, each strike an intersection of rhythm and rage.
Thorne parried, threads splintering outward, warping the air.
Zen ducked a whip of sound, spun behind Thorne, and sliced upward, cleaving a ripple of dissonance through him.
Across the chamber, Solas walked forward with no weapons—just his bare hands.
The Thorne clone he faced sneered. "No tools? No shields?"
Solas smiled. "Don't need them."
With a flick of his fingers, the very floor shifted. Harmonics bent to his will like silk around a blade. His Threads, vibrant and sharp, formed spheres of pure resonance around his fists.
He struck, and the impact collapsed the air.
Thorne reeled.
Solas twirled, Threads wrapping around his arms like ribbons "Thread mastery, baby! The lost art of beating the crap out of people with style."
The chamber echoed with crashes and flares of sound as Zen and Solas, each masters of their own rhythm, dueled with impossible precision.
Solas saying sarcastically "Zenny, do you need any help there?"
Zen gritted his teeth, blade flashing like lightning. "Remind me, why am I the one fighting next to you again?"
Solas flipped mid-air, Thread-coils snaring a sonic lance before hurling it back. "Because deep down, you like me."
Zen groaned. "I hate you."
Their fight raged on—two warriors bound by chaos, outnumbered, outpowered, but far from outmatched.
And elsewhere, within a realm made from misery, Koshiro took a step forward.
Velcrin grinned.
"This world is pain," he said.
Koshiro raised his rod. "Then let's make it scream."