Velcrin's monstrous form towered over the broken remnants of his domain. Threads pulsed across his grotesque body—blackened spines, jagged limbs fused from the remains of his Threadborn creatures, and a crown of shifting agony that hovered above his head. The air itself seemed to coil around him in fear.
Koshiro, wounded and bleeding, forced himself to his feet. His breaths were ragged, shallow. Cracks lined the glass rod he gripped in one trembling hand.
Velcrin's laughter boomed like a death knell.
"Virell was a promising echo," Velcrin said, voice soaked in cruelty. "But she lacked ambition. Always whining about balance and structure. She never understood what the Thread was meant for."
He stepped closer, each movement sending quakes through the dimension.
"She was my student," Velcrin continued. "A child among monsters. But she tried. Oh, she tried. Not like those other children in the Oratorium. Remember one in particular—Lina, wasn't it? The little singer who cried lullabies in the dark."
Koshiro's eyes widened.
Velcrin grinned. "And that one boy—the one who never screamed. Never begged. We always wondered what would finally break him. He just sat in silence, humming to ghosts."
Koshiro fell to one knee. The world spun. Blood dripped from his mouth.
"You're filth," he whispered.
"What was that?" Velcrin said mockingly.
Koshiro planted the base of his glass rod into the ground.
The rod began to hum.
He closed his eyes and pulled.
Pulled from memory. From every broken night in the Oratorium. From Lina's last breath. From the child he used to be.
Threadlight surged into the rod. The cracks sealed. The glow intensified—white, then blue, then something no eye should be able to name. A brightness forged from pain and promise.
Velcrin shielded his eyes. "What are you—?"
Koshiro opened his own.
"I'm the one who never broke. And I'm done listening to monsters."
He charged.
The rod screamed.
In the upper sanctum, Zen ducked beneath a blast of jagged Thread energy from Thorne. The creature—now whole again, merged into his terrible true form—fought like a symphony of chaos. Each move disoriented, each vibration disrupting Zen's balance.
But Zen kept moving.
His sword, pulsing with a faint blue glow, slashed upward, deflecting another strike. His feet barely touched the ground, dancing like wind over still water.
Solas watched from the far edge, symbols coalescing around him. A prism of kinetic Threadlight circled his hands, waiting.
"Almost done." Solas screamed.
"Taking your sweet time I see" Zen said mockingly.
"Its ready." Solas yelling.
"Then attack it's heart, and make it quick." Zen Screamed back.
"He's moving too much!" Solas called.
Zen blocked another blow, sliding back across the floor. "Then aim at me!"
Solas hesitated. "That's insane!"
Zen grinned. "Trust me."
Solas sighed. "Now he wants trust." He adjusted his aim. "Fine. Try not to explode."
Threadlight compressed into a single ray of harmonic destruction. Solas whispered a string of notes that didn't belong to any song of this world—and released it.
Zen took a breath.
His sword flared with sudden brilliance, a mirror to Koshiro's rod below. Just before the beam hit, Zen angled the blade—Threadlight coursed through him, over him—and he redirected it.
The strike bounced, curved, then slammed into Thorne's chest.
A hole exploded through the Ascendant's core. Thread bled out like smoke.
Thorne collapsed, twitching.
Zen fell to one knee, panting.
Solas stepped forward, astonished. "You still have Thread left?"
Zen looked up, smirk barely holding. "Still not empty."