I've barely had time to process Caleif's resurrection when the academy's alarm bells start screaming through the stone corridors like banshees announcing the apocalypse.
"That's not a drill," Valen mutters, his crimson robes flaring as he spins toward the door. The training circle's enchantments flicker and die, leaving us standing in sudden, oppressive silence.
Through the high windows, I catch glimpses of something that makes my blood freeze—wings. Hundreds of them, blotting out the afternoon sun like a plague of locusts. But these aren't the pristine white feathers of the angels we fought before. These wings are tattered, burned, wrong somehow.
"Fallen angels," Caleif breathes, her golden aura pulsing with alarm. "But that's impossible. The Purifier would never ally with—"
Her words cut off as the first explosion rocks the academy's foundations. Dust rains from the ceiling, and I hear the distant screams of students caught in whatever hell just descended on us.
"Seems like our enemy's gotten desperate," I say, the gauntlet already warming against my skin. Estingoth's presence surges forward, eager for battle, but there's something else mixed in with his usual bloodlust—concern.
"This is wrong," his voice echoes in my mind. "Fallen angels serving the Purifier? They despise everything celestial. Something else is at play here."
Before I can respond, the training room's reinforced door explodes inward. Through the smoking ruins steps a figure that makes my enhanced senses recoil in disgust. It's humanoid, but barely—skin like charred parchment stretched over visible bones, eyes that burn with the cold fire of dead stars. What's left of its wings drags behind it, trailing ash and the stench of sulfur.
"Found you," it rasps, its voice like grinding glass. "The Purifier sends their regards."
I step protectively in front of Caleif, power already flooding through my veins. "Yeah? Well, you can tell the Purifier to go fuck themselves."
The thing that used to be an angel laughs—a sound like breaking bones. "Oh, I won't be telling them anything. They're already here."
The temperature in the room plummets as more fallen angels pour through the destroyed doorway. But these aren't the mindless corrupted beings I expected. They move with purpose, coordination. Someone's commanding them.
"Kamen," Caleif whispers, her hand finding mine. "The golden light around me—it's not just divine protection. It's a beacon. They can track me."
My heart sinks as the pieces click into place. "The Creator brought you back, but he didn't hide you. They've been following your resurrection signature."
"How touching," the lead fallen angel sneers. "A reunion cut short. But don't worry—you'll be together again soon enough. In whatever passes for an afterlife for abominations like you."
The gauntlet blazes to life, bathing the room in crimson radiance. I feel the familiar surge of power, but this time something's different. Caleif's golden aura isn't just resonating with my energy—it's amplifying it, pushing it beyond anything I've experienced before.
"Let's dance," I growl, launching myself at the nearest fallen angel with speed that surprises even me.
My fist connects with the fallen angel's face, and I feel bone shatter beneath my knuckles. The creature shrieks—a sound that tears at my eardrums like barbed wire—but I don't slow down. The gauntlet pulses with each impact, feeding off my rage, amplifying it.
"Behind you!" Caleif calls out.
I spin just in time to catch another fallen by the throat, lifting it off the ground with strength that should terrify me. Its charred wings beat frantically against my arm, leaving smears of ash and ichor on my skin. I squeeze, feeling its corrupted essence struggling against my grip, then hurl it into three more advancing through the doorway.
"We need to get to the other students," I shout to Valen, who's dispatching his own opponents with brutal efficiency, his hands wreathed in hellfire. "They won't stand a chance against these things."
"Go!" he commands, his voice carrying even over the chaos. "I'll hold this position!"
I grab Caleif's hand and we charge through the doorway, leaping over fallen bodies—some moving, some terrifyingly still. The corridors are filled with smoke and the stench of burned flesh. Fallen angels clash with academy students and faculty at every turn, the air thick with competing magics that make my skin crawl.
"The main hall," Caleif says, tugging me toward a side passage. "We can coordinate a defense there."
We round a corner and nearly collide with a group of younger students, cornered by three fallen angels. Their terrified faces light up with recognition when they see us.
"Help us!" a girl with blue-tinged skin pleads, her gills fluttering with panic.
The fallen angels turn, their dead-star eyes fixing on us with malevolent recognition. "The beacon," one hisses. "And the abomination."
"Get behind us," I tell the students, stepping forward as the gauntlet flares brighter. "Caleif, can you shield them?"
She nods, golden light extending from her hands to form a protective barrier around the young demons. The fallen angels shriek in rage at the sight of her divine power, their corruption recoiling from its purity.
I don't wait for them to recover. I charge, letting Estingoth's battle knowledge flow through me. The gauntlet connects with the first fallen's chest, and I channel a blast of crimson energy directly into its corrupted heart. It explodes in a shower of ash and bone fragments, the concussive force knocking its companions backward.
"Run!" I shout to the students as I engage the remaining two. "Follow Caleif to the main hall!"
They don't need to be told twice, scrambling past us as Caleif leads them toward safety. I duck under a swipe of razor-sharp claws, countering with an uppercut that separates a fallen angel's jaw from its skull. The creature doesn't even flinch, grabbing my arm with burning hands that sear through my sleeve.
Pain lances up my arm, but I use it, channeling it into the gauntlet. The dark veins across my chest pulse as I draw deeper on Estingoth's power than I ever have before. The transformation crawls up my neck, across my jaw, and I feel my teeth sharpening into points.
"You want a monster?" I snarl at the fallen angels. "I'll show you a monster."
I release the hold I've maintained on the transformation, letting it flow unchecked. My muscles expand, skin hardening into something that resembles obsidian armor. The gauntlet no longer stops at my wrist but extends up my arm, merging with the changes overtaking my body.
The fallen angels hesitate, something like fear flickering in their dead eyes. Good. They should be afraid.
I tear into them with renewed strength, my transformed hands ripping through corrupted flesh like paper. Within seconds, there's nothing left but scattered ash and the lingering stench of sulfur.
I turn toward the main hall, following Caleif's golden signature that I can somehow sense now—a beacon calling me home. The transformation makes me faster, stronger, but I can feel it burning through my energy reserves like a wildfire. I won't be able to maintain this form for long.
The main hall is a battlefield when I arrive. Students and faculty have formed defensive positions around the wounded, while fallen angels pour in through shattered windows and breached doors. Caleif stands at the center of it all, her golden aura expanding to shield as many as possible.
"Kamen!" she gasps when she sees me, her eyes widening at my transformed state. "You're—"
"Still me," I assure her, my voice deeper, rougher. "Just... more."
A familiar figure fights her way to our side—Elara Marlowe, her twin blades slick with ichor, her face set in grim determination. "Fancy meeting you here," she quips, eyeing my transformation with professional assessment rather than fear. "Nice look."
"What's the situation?" I ask, scanning the chaos around us.
"Bad and getting worse," she replies tersely. "These things are everywhere, and they're not just attacking randomly. They're searching for something."
"Or someone," Caleif adds, her golden shield flickering as a particularly powerful assault hammers against it. "Me. The Purifier wants to undo what The Creator has done."
A massive explosion rocks the eastern wall, and through the smoke and debris steps a figure I'd hoped never to see again—the Purifier, their faceless hood containing that terrible radiance, their perfect form now flanked by corrupted servants.
"Caleif Lynria," they intone, their layered voice carrying over the battle. "Your resurrection is an abomination against the natural order. A perversion of divine will."
"Says who?" I step forward, positioning myself between Caleif and the Purifier. "Last I checked, The Creator outranks you."
The Purifier's hood tilts slightly, that faceless light studying me with cold calculation. "The half-breed speaks of matters beyond his comprehension. The Creator's actions were... misguided. Emotional. They must be corrected."
"Corrected?" Elara scoffs beside me, her blades raised. "You're working with fallen angels. Who's the abomination now?"
"Temporary allies," the Purifier dismisses. "Tools to achieve balance. Once the resurrection is undone and the gauntlet destroyed, they too will be cleansed."
I feel Estingoth's rage building within me, matching my own. "You're not touching her," I growl, the gauntlet pulsing in sync with my transformed heartbeat. "And you're not taking the gauntlet. Not today. Not ever."
The Purifier raises their hands, golden light gathering between their palms. "Your defiance is noted. And irrelevant."
They release a blast of celestial energy that tears through the air toward us. Caleif's shield meets it, golden light against golden light, divine power against divine power. The collision sends shockwaves through the hall, knocking everyone off their feet except the three of us at the center of the maelstrom.
I feel Caleif straining beside me, her resurrection powers still new, untested against something as powerful as the Purifier. Without thinking, I reach for her hand, channeling the gauntlet's energy into her shield.
Crimson and gold intertwine, creating a barrier of swirling energy that pushes back against the Purifier's assault. I feel something new forming between us—a connection deeper than physical touch, a resonance of power that makes the air around us hum with potential.
"Impossible," the Purifier whispers, their perfect composure finally cracking.
"You keep using that word," I say through gritted teeth, maintaining the power flow despite the strain it puts on my transformed body. "I don't think it means what you think it means."
Elara barks a surprised laugh, even as she defends our flank from approaching fallen angels. "Did you just quote The Princess Bride in the middle of a celestial battle?"
"Seemed appropriate," I grunt, feeling sweat—or something like it—beading on my transformed skin.
The Purifier intensifies their attack, and I feel Caleif faltering beside me. Her resurrection has given her incredible power, but she's still learning to control it. We won't be able to hold this standoff forever.
"We need to counterattack," Estingoth's voice resonates in my mind. "Together. All three of us."
"Caleif," I say, squeezing her hand. "Estingoth thinks we can push back—all of us together. Can you channel your power offensively?"
She nods, determination hardening her beautiful features. "I can try."
"Elara," I call over my shoulder. "We're going to hit them with everything we've got. When we do, you need to take out as many fallen as you can. They're the Purifier's power source."
"On it," she confirms, readying her blades. "Just give the word."
I take a deep breath, feeling the transformation burning through the last of my reserves. It's now or never. "Ready... now!"
Caleif and I reverse the flow of energy, turning our defensive shield into a concentrated beam of crimson and gold. It slams into the Purifier with the force of a freight train, driving them backward through the shattered wall and into the courtyard beyond.
Elara springs into action, her blades a blur as she cuts through fallen angels with practiced precision. Each one that falls seems to diminish the Purifier's radiance slightly, confirming my suspicion that they're drawing power from their corrupted servants.
I maintain the offensive beam with one hand while using the other to blast any fallen angels that get too close. My transformed body is burning energy at an alarming rate, the edges of my vision beginning to darken. I won't be able to keep this up much longer.
The Purifier struggles against our combined assault, their perfect form beginning to crack like porcelain under too much pressure. Light leaks from these fissures—not the warm gold of Caleif's resurrection power, but something colder, harsher.
"You cannot defeat me," they insist, though their layered voice sounds less certain now. "I am divine judgment incarnate."
"And I'm just a guy who's really tired of your bullshit," I reply, pouring the last of my strength into one final surge of power.
The beam intensifies, and the Purifier's form shatters completely. There's a moment of terrible silence, then an explosion of light so intense it blinds everyone in the vicinity. I throw myself over Caleif instinctively, shielding her with my transformed body as debris rains down around us.
When my vision clears, I see the Purifier—or what's left of them—struggling to maintain cohesion. Their light has dimmed to a pale flicker, and the fallen angels around them are dropping like flies, their corrupted essence returning to whatever hell spawned them.
"This... changes... nothing," the Purifier gasps, their layered voice distorted and fading. "Others will come. The natural order... must be... preserved."
With those final words, they dissolve into particles of light that scatter on the wind, leaving nothing but a scorched circle in the academy courtyard.
The transformation recedes as my strength gives out, dark veins retreating beneath my skin, muscles shrinking back to human proportions. I collapse to my knees, as I look at my skin. "It—it didn't consume me." I say shock coating my voice.
I stare at my arms in disbelief, turning them over to examine where the obsidian-like transformation had spread just moments ago. The dark veins are still there, pulsing beneath my skin, but they've retreated to their usual pattern rather than consuming me completely.
"It worked," I whisper, my voice hoarse from the strain of battle. "The integration held."
"Of course it did," Estingoth rumbles in my mind, his tone carrying a hint of pride. "We are becoming something stronger than either of us alone."
Caleif kneels beside me, her golden aura dimmed but still present, like sunlight through stained glass. Her hands hover over my arms, tracing the pattern of veins without quite touching them.
"The balance is stabilizing," she says, wonder in her voice. "I can see it—the energies are no longer fighting each other."
I try to stand, but my legs buckle beneath me. The battle with the Purifier drained me more than I realized. Caleif catches me, her strength surprising as she helps me to my feet.
"Easy," she murmurs. "You pushed the transformation further than ever before."
Around us, the academy is in ruins. Shattered stone and broken glass litter the courtyard. Wounded students and faculty are being tended to by those still able to stand. The fallen angels have vanished, leaving only scorch marks and the lingering scent of sulfur as evidence they were ever here.
"Is it over?" I ask, scanning the sky for any sign of reinforcements.
Elara sheathes her blades, her movements precise despite the exhaustion evident in her face. "For now," she says, wiping ichor from her cheek. "But the Purifier was right about one thing—others will come."
"Let them," I growl, the residual energy from the transformation making my voice deeper than normal. "We'll be ready."
Valen approaches, his crimson robes torn and singed but his bearing as regal as ever. "Perhaps," he says, his burning gaze taking in the destruction around us. "But the academy is compromised. We cannot remain here."
The reality of his words sinks in as I look around. This place that was supposed to be a sanctuary, a training ground, has been violated. The students' faces show not just physical wounds but deeper trauma—the loss of safety, of certainty.
"Where will they go?" I ask, guilt twisting in my gut. This attack was because of me—because of Caleif's resurrection and my bond with Estingoth.
"We have other locations," Valen replies. "Older sanctuaries, deeper hidden. It will take time to relocate everyone, but it can be done."
"And us?" Caleif asks, her hand finding mine. "What's our next move?"
I look between her and Elara, these two women who represent different aspects of my increasingly complicated existence. One, my connection to the demonic world I'm still learning to navigate; the other, a link to the human society I've left behind.
"We need to understand what just happened," I say, my mind racing. "The Purifier working with fallen angels? That's like oil and water. Something bigger is happening here."
"Agreed," Elara nods. "Roshan needs to know about this development. This changes everything about how we've understood the celestial hierarchy."
"And we need to find out what The Creator intends," Caleif adds, her golden aura pulsing slightly at the mention of her resurrector. "My return wasn't random. There has to be a purpose behind it."
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of responsibility settling more firmly on my shoulders. "First, we help get these students to safety. Then we figure out our next move."
As we begin organizing the evacuation, I can't help but look back at the scorched circle where the Purifier disappeared. We won this battle, but at what cost? And what will the next one bring?
The gauntlet pulses gently against my skin, as if responding to my thoughts. I flex my fingers, watching the crimson energy flow smoothly through the artifact, no longer fighting against me but working with me.
"Something's changed," I say to Estingoth silently. "In us. In how we work together."
"The transformation is becoming more natural," he confirms. "Less a battle for control, more a sharing of strength."
"Is that a good thing?" I wonder, remembering the feeling of power that surged through me when I fully embraced the changes.
"That depends," he replies, his voice thoughtful. "On what we do with it."
A group of younger students passes by, their wide eyes fixed on me with a mixture of fear and awe. I realize with a jolt that I'm becoming something else to them—not just another student, but a symbol. A protector or a warning, depending on how they see what's happening to me.
"They're looking at you differently now," Caleif observes, following my gaze.
"I'm looking at myself differently," I admit. "I always thought the transformation was something to fight against. What if it's not? What if it's exactly what I need to become?"
She squeezes my hand, her touch grounding me. "Just don't lose yourself in the process. That's the trap Estingoth fell into, isn't it? Becoming so focused on power that he forgot why he wanted it in the first place."
I nod, her wisdom cutting through my fatigue. "Yeah. No point saving the world if I turn into something worse than what I'm fighting against."
"Exactly." She smiles, and for a moment, the golden light around her intensifies. "Besides, I didn't come back from the dead just to watch you turn into a power-hungry jerk."
I laugh despite everything, the sound startling in the aftermath of battle. "Heaven forbid."
"Actually, I think heaven did forbid," Elara comments dryly as she passes by, arms full of medical supplies. "That was kind of the whole point of the Purifier's visit."
I shake my head, oddly grateful for her dark humor. "Right. Well, they can keep forbidding all they want. Doesn't mean we have to listen."
As night falls, the evacuation continues. The wounded are transported first, then the youngest students, escorted by the most battle-ready faculty. Valen has opened portals to the backup sanctuary—a process that seems to drain even his considerable power.
I find myself standing at the edge of the academy grounds, looking out at the star-filled sky. The gauntlet glows softly in the darkness, casting crimson light across the grass at my feet. The battle replays in my mind—the moment when Caleif and I combined our powers, the way the Purifier shattered under our assault.
"Couldn't sleep?" Elara's voice comes from behind me.
I turn to see her approaching, her silhouette sharp against the lights of the evacuation. "Didn't try. Too much adrenaline still."
She stops beside me, her gaze following mine to the stars. "That was impressive today. What you did."
"What we did," I correct her. "I wouldn't have lasted five minutes without you and Caleif."
A small smile crosses her face. "True. But I've been hunting demons for years, and I've never seen anything like what happened when you two combined your powers."
"Yeah, that was..." I search for the right word. "New."
"New is putting it mildly." She turns to face me fully. "Kamen, do you understand what this means? A demon-human hybrid channeling power through a demonic artifact, amplified by a demonically-resurrected being carrying divine energy? You've basically created a whole new category of supernatural power."
I rub the back of my neck, uncomfortable with her assessment. "I just did what felt right in the moment."
"That's what makes it so significant." Her green eyes gleam in the gauntlet's light. "It was instinctive. Natural. Like your powers were made to work together."
The implications of her words settle over me like a physical weight. "You think this is what Roshan was hoping for? Some kind of... supernatural super-weapon?"
Elara hesitates, choosing her words carefully. "I think Roshan suspected you might be capable of extraordinary things. But this?" She shakes her head. "This goes beyond anything we imagined."
"Great," I mutter. "No pressure or anything."
She laughs softly. "If it helps, I think you're handling it better than most would. I've seen what power does to people—how it corrupts them. You're still..." She pauses, studying my face. "You're still you."
"For now," I say, more bitterly than I intended. "But what happens when the transformation progresses further? When there's more Estingoth than Kamen left?"
"Is that what you're afraid of?" She steps closer, her expression serious. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like the opposite is happening. You're not becoming Estingoth—he's becoming more like you."
I blink, surprised by her perspective. "What makes you say that?"
"The way you fought today. It wasn't mindless rage or power for power's sake. Every move was calculated, protective. You weren't trying to destroy the Purifier—you were trying to save everyone else." She gestures back toward the academy. "That's not the strategy of a demon warlord. That's the choice of someone who cares."
Her words settle into me, bringing an unexpected comfort. I've been so focused on what I might lose in this transformation that I haven't considered what Estingoth might gain.
"Huh," I say eloquently. "I hadn't thought of it that way."
"Maybe you should." She turns back toward the evacuation. "We should help with the last groups. Valen can't maintain the portals much longer."
As she walks away, I feel Estingoth's presence stirring in my mind. "She's perceptive, your hunter," he comments. "And not entirely wrong."
"About you becoming more like me?" I ask silently.
"About balance flowing both ways," he clarifies. "I've spent centuries consumed by rage, by the need for conquest. In you, I'm remembering other things. Protection. Loyalty. Even..." he hesitates, as if the word is unfamiliar, "compassion."
The admission surprises me. "Is that a good thing? From your perspective?"
"It's... clarifying," he replies after a moment. "Rage clouds judgment. Makes one vulnerable to manipulation. Perhaps if I had remembered this sooner, I wouldn't have fallen as I did."
I sense there's more to this revelation than he's saying, but before I can press him, Caleif appears at the edge of the grounds, her golden aura making her unmistakable even at a distance.
"Kamen!" she calls. "The last portal is ready. We need to go!"
I take one final look at the night sky, then turn toward her, toward whatever comes next. The gauntlet pulses against my skin, no longer a foreign presence but an extension of myself.
Whatever I'm becoming, I'm not facing it alone. And right now, that's enough to keep moving forward.
As I reach Caleif, she takes my hand, her golden light intertwining with the gauntlet's crimson glow. "Ready?" she asks, her eyes searching mine.
I nod, squeezing her fingers. "As I'll ever be."