Vorathis watched.
He watched Veldora end Varakiel and tear through the legion Vorathis had sent. He felt the strikes vibrate through whatever space he stood in. He expected power from the Storm King — everyone did — but what he saw went beyond expectation. Veldora's blows had a weight, a careful cruelty, a rhythm that unmade things down to their bones. For the first time, Vorathis felt a small, unfamiliar thing: surprise.
That surprise hardened into intent. He closed whatever distance remained between his will and the Cardinal world. If his children had failed to crush them, then he himself would descend. He would test them with all of himself.
Veldora and the others were still tasting victory. They gathered wounds, they laughed sharp little laughs, they checked on squads and patched shields. The field hummed with relief and tired pride. For a breath it seemed the worst was over.
Then everything changed.
First, silence. The usual distant cries, the clang of falling metal, even the small sounds of a camp settling — they all went away. It was like someone pulled a curtain over the world.
The sky above them had been bruised and angry, then suddenly it became blank and endless. A plain white sheet stretched to the horizon. No birds cut its face. No clouds drifted. No wind moved the grass. The color seemed to swallow distance. It felt wrong in the chest.
A distant, low roar started under the white. It grew and grew until it felt like a drum inside their ribs.
Rain fell—sharp, stinging. Then snow spun down between the drops, slow and soft. Heat rolled over them in a dry wave. Cold and warmth and wet at once; the weather fighting itself in the same square of sky. The ground smelled of wet rock and burning paper. Skin prickled as if the air itself did not know how to behave.
Milim was the first to laugh, but it was a little wild. "Uh… the sky's having a personality crisis!" she said, but the words came out as a nervous note.
Guy's smile fell. He squinted up. "Someone's changing the rules."
Velgrynd's eyes narrowed into slits. Flames licked up in the palms of her hands without her asking. "This is not natural heat," she growled. "He's forcing elements in conflict."
Velzard stood as still as ice and tested the air with a careful hand. "Density, pressure, temperature gradients… they're being held together by intent. Don't use area spells yet."
Diablo, wiping blood from his blade, inclined his head toward Veldora and said with a calm edge, "Lord Veldora, you felt that too."
Veldora's answer was quiet and steady. He folded the map of the battlefield in his mind and rearranged the pieces like a calm chessmaster. "Hold your lines. Spread out. Don't bunch. If he isolates one of you, you pull each other back—cover first, strike second. Be the wall, not the spear."
Testarossa's silver gaze swept the horizon. "He's showing us his hand. We must not play into it."
Ultima rubbed her chin and grinned with too much tooth. "I like it when the stage changes."
Carrera bounced on the balls of her feet as if itching for a new kind of fight. "Bring it. Let's see how ugly he really is."
Around them, soldiers and civilians watched from farther lines and hidden places. Bells rang warning. Merchants and mothers pulled children into cellars. A city on the horizon lit its beacon—small and steady as a pulse.
Veldora's voice carried—soft command, kingly calm. "Assign coverage. Velgrynd—east flank. Velzard—north. Guy and Diablo, sweep the middle. Testarossa and Ultima, check the veils. Milim—air intercept. Carrera—keep the supply lanes open. Protect the people first. We fight second."
They moved like that—fast, clean, practiced. No speeches, only short orders and replies. That steadiness steadied the villagers who watched and shivered. It kept the line from becoming frantic.
High above, unseen, Saiki sat like he always did—legs crossed, spoon in hand, coffee jelly in a small cup. He chewed slowly and said, flat and bored, "Yare yare… finally showing up." He watched the blank white sky as if he were waiting for an intermission to end.
The white above their heads vibrated. A long, papery sound tore across it — not a crack like stone, but like a seam in thick cloth being ripped. The seam opened like a mouth. Lines of light showed inside the break, black and purple like veins. Thunder stitched along the gap. With each tear, the air tasted stranger, as if someone had unsealed a jar labeled wrong.
Footsteps came from above. Not a fall, not a landing—actual steps, slow and measured. Each one muffled, closer, so close the hairs on their necks rose. The roar became a measured tread. The white plain that had been the sky folded and the world held its breath.
Veldora's jaw set. He looked to his companions in one quick sweep. The look was not panic. It was decision. He lifted a hand, a single, small motion that was all command.
They formed the semicircle, exactly as he'd ordered. Not too tight. Not too loose. Swords pointed where they needed to point. Eyes met for a second — a quick promise. Ready.
Saiki finished his spoon, smiling just a little, and whispered, "Yare yare. Show me a good end."
They were ready. The sky had torn. The judge had come. The next moment would be the one everything would measure itself against.
And then he came.
Vorathis.
Slowly, almost deliberately, he began to descend through the tear in the heavens. His form was at first hidden—just a silhouette in the broken sky, growing larger with every heartbeat. But as he lowered, his body took shape.
He was colossal, yet not bound to one size. His figure shifted, almost as if reality itself could not contain him. His skin was blacker than night, yet threaded with veins of molten crimson that pulsed like living magma. His wings—vast, tattered, yet majestic—stretched behind him, each feather glistening with something that looked like obsidian shards dripping with liquid fire. His horns twisted like spirals of bone, glowing faintly at their tips. His eyes—two burning suns, red and merciless—swept across the battlefield.
Every step closer he came, the air warped. Flames rose from the ground, only to freeze into shards of ice. Lightning cracked across the sky, yet the thunder came not as sound, but as a pressure inside the chest, forcing hearts to pound harder.
Veldora, Velzard, and Velgrynd stood in their human forms, their gazes sharp, but each of them instinctively felt the weight of this presence pressing down on them. For the first time in what felt like ages, the True Dragons felt… unsettled.
Guy Crimson narrowed his crimson eyes, his smirk replaced with a rare seriousness. Milim, usually the embodiment of reckless energy, frowned, her playful aura gone, her fists tightening at her sides. Diablo's usual calm smile had vanished; even he looked tense, his crimson-black aura flickering. Testarossa, Ultima, and Carrera instinctively stepped closer to each other, as if the three Primordial demons knew that only together could they withstand what was coming.
Vorathis did not rush his descent. He wanted them to watch. To wait. To fear.
And as his feet finally touched the earth, the ground cracked beneath him as though it could not bear his weight. Smoke rose where his claws grazed the soil. For a moment, he simply stood there, scanning them all—one by one.
Then, his voice came.
Deep. Echoing. Terrifying. It was not just sound—it was vibration through the soul. It was thunder, fire, ice, and death woven together.
"Foolish… mortals."
The words rang across the battlefield, shaking the air, forcing even the strongest to steady themselves.
"You think victory is yours because you struck down a child of the abyss? You think this"—he gestured with a clawed hand to the battlefield, to the remnants of Varakiel and the slaughtered soldiers—"is triumph?"
He tilted his head, his smile sharp and cruel.
"No. This… was the prelude."
The temperature around them fluctuated violently. One moment burning, the next freezing. Rain poured, then snow, then hail, then fire. It was as if every season, every storm, every calamity in existence had been bound together and unleashed around his form.
Veldora growled low, his voice strained but steady. "Tch… so this is Vorathis…"
Velgrynd's eyes narrowed, a flame igniting in her gaze. "He reeks of chaos. His aura feels like it devours balance itself."
Velzard crossed her arms, though her expression betrayed a rare edge of worry. "Even among the abyssal beings… this one feels different."
Guy finally chuckled darkly, though the weight in his voice betrayed his own unease. "Well, looks like we won't be bored, at least."
Milim stomped her foot, sparks of lightning dancing around her. "Hey! Don't underestimate us, ugly! You'll regret coming here!"
Vorathis turned his gaze to her, and for the briefest of moments, Milim felt as if his eyes had pierced straight through her, stripping her of every secret, every weakness. His lips curled.
"Child of destruction… you bark loudly. But even your roar will fall silent before me."
Diablo's jaw clenched. "You dare…" he hissed, his aura flaring, but Vorathis simply ignored him.
Instead, he spread his wings, the battlefield shaking with the force. His voice rolled again:
"Bow before me. For your gods, your dragons, your demons… they mean nothing. I am Vorathis, the Abyss incarnate. And your end… begins now."