The square lay silent. Ash drifted from broken roofs. The sea hissed in the distance where oil still burned. Noctis lay among rubble, chest torn apart, heart pierced through. Blood spread around him in a black pool, thickening as it cooled. His eyes were open but dull, staring at cracks in the stone.
For long breaths, nothing moved.
Then hunger stirred.
It started beneath the broken ribs, in the hollow where the heart had been destroyed. The Grid answered in reflex. Blood essence bled from reserve toward the wound. Sanctity burned it away before it could knit. Steam hissed faint from the hole. The air above his chest shimmered with heat.
His lips parted. The exhale was weak, a line of smoke slipping out. Fingers twitched. Nails scraped stone in short, broken movements.
The smell of copper pushed into his skull. Nearby, a body still bled where its torso had been torn. The scent drove a spike through his mind. His head turned weakly toward it. His mouth opened, teeth bared.
One arm dragged across the stone. Skin scraped and left streaks of blood. Nails hooked into a loose piece of armor. He pulled himself forward, ribs grinding. The pain was nothing compared to the hunger. His body lurched against the corpse and his teeth sank in.
Hot blood filled his mouth. It burned against sanctity still clinging to him, but he swallowed anyway. Steam rose from his lips as the Grid forced the blood down into ruined channels.
A beat returned. Slow. Weak. But present.
He tore deeper, ripping muscle from bone. Each swallow sent fresh heat down his throat. Each mouthful eased the pressure that crushed his chest. His hands gripped harder, claws digging into flesh, pulling more of it open.
The Frenzy unlocked.
The change came like a lock breaking inside his skull. His back arched. A roar ripped from his throat, low and ragged, shaking rubble from beams above. His wing stubs twitched hard enough to spray blood. His eyes flared red, flat and bright.
He shoved off the floor and moved faster than broken bones should allow. His claws found another corpse, splitting it open, dragging hot blood straight into his mouth. He fed with no care, tearing, biting, swallowing, devouring until nothing but armor and ash remained.
Above, the last two angels had circled back to confirm the kill. They stopped in place, wings beating slow as they watched him rise. Their hymn faltered. Their eyes widened.
Noctis looked up at them with blood dripping from his mouth. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The roar that left his throat carried his intent.
Chains ripped into being from the air around him. They lashed upward and wrapped an ankle before the angel could pull away. Noctis yanked. The angel dropped from the sky like a stone. He met it with a fist to the face. Bone and steel crunched. The head jerked sideways. He hit it again. Flesh tore. The jaw broke loose. He sank his teeth into the open gap and ripped.
Blood sprayed over his face. He swallowed it in long gulps until the angel stopped moving. Then he tore the body apart, limb from limb, devouring everything that bled. Sanctity fought him in every swallow. The Grid inverted it into more fuel. Steam poured off his shoulders with every breath.
The second angel dropped fast, spearpoint first, a last attempt to end him. The weapon tore across his back, cutting deep, leaving a furrow down to bone. He spun under it, ignoring the pain. His claws seized the angel's wrist. His teeth closed on its palm. Tendons snapped. The spear clattered to the ground.
He slammed the angel to the floor. Armor split on impact. He straddled the chest and ripped at the gorget with both hands. Metal gave way. He drove his face into the open gap and fed, tearing at throat and chest until hot blood filled his mouth.
The angel screamed once, wings thrashing. The sound cut off when his teeth severed the trachea. He drank until the body shuddered and went still.
When it was over, he crouched in the wreckage, breath tearing at his chest. Blood dripped from his chin in long threads to the floor. Steam rose off him like smoke. His eyes were empty of thought, glowing only with the beast.
The square was covered in corpses. Feathers lay in heavy drifts. Armor lay split in every direction. One hundred and fifty angels had come. None remained.
The beast inside him pressed against his ribs, demanding more. But nothing alive was left. It eased back, curling low, leaving him trembling in the aftermath.
Noctis staggered to his feet. His knees shook. His right arm was half gone, still dripping. His chest bore the hole where the spear had pierced his heart, now filled with fresh tissue from the Grid's desperate repairs. His breathing rasped, but it held.
He spat blood onto the stone and muttered.
"Every one of you… gone."
The words were slurred, dragged through exhaustion. But they carried weight.
The Frenzy receded. His vision dimmed. The Reaver lay half-buried in feathers nearby. He reached for it, fingers brushing the hilt before strength left him. His body collapsed sideways into the drift.
His eyes shut. His chest rose once more, slow but steady. The Grid kept rhythm where his heart had failed.
The Floating Temples lay in silence. One hundred and fifty angels burned, broken, and consumed. Noctis lay among them, alive only because Frenzy had answered death with hunger.
The second sunrise burned across the ruins.
Ash sifted from broken roofs, carried sideways by wind. Columns leaned cracked and hollow, stone groaning when air pushed at the gaps. Blood had dried to black varnish across wide stretches of the square. Where shade kept it damp, flies had gathered and circled lazy. Armor shells ticked as they cooled further in the morning air. Feathers lay in piles, some flattened by his fall, some drifting loose to corners whenever gusts changed. The sea far below still hissed with thin sheets of burning oil.
Noctis lay face down where his Frenzy had dropped him. His chest had not moved since. Blood had dried tacky beneath him, fusing his ribs to rubble. His right cheek pressed against a slab edge, skin cut where bone had ground.
A twitch ran through his back. Fingers curled and scraped the stone. A low groan came through grit teeth.
He rolled, ribs grinding. He landed on his back, eyes opening a crack. Light stabbed through ash haze. He shut them, breathed once, opened them again. Vision swam, doubled. Shapes steadied: heaps of armor, feathers, severed wings, broken helms.
The Grid thumped in his chest, shallow but present. Each beat dragged steam from the scar where the spear had entered. He lifted his hand and touched it. Muscle pulled wrong. Scar tissue tore and wept blood again. He hissed, spat black onto the floor, and muttered, low, hoarse:
"…damn angels. Even dead, you stink."
He pressed his palms flat to stone and tried to push himself up. Elbows buckled. He dropped hard, breath torn out of him. He groaned and tried again. This time his arms locked. He rose to his knees. The scar tore again, but he stayed upright.
Bodies lay all around. Nearest was an angel with helm split, one wing torn off. Golden blood stained the stones under its ribs.
He crawled to it, dragging himself hand by hand, knees leaving streaks. He seized the helm, jerked it off, and threw it aside. His claws hooked the jaw. He pulled the head back. Fangs sank in.
Hot gold filled his mouth. It burned like molten metal at first. He coughed around it, then swallowed. The Grid inverted the heat. Pain at the chest dulled. The beat steadied.
He clamped harder and drank until nothing came. He let the husk fall, sat back on his heels, and dragged breath through his teeth.
"One's not enough."
He crawled to another. This one bled from throat where he had crushed helm and skull. He bit deep again. Blood rushed in, burning then cooling, filling veins. Shoulders steadied. He drained it dry and pushed to hands and knees again.
The third lay with wings split clean. He tore armor aside and put his face to the cavity. He fed until warmth left it. His chest pulled tighter, scar closing further. He rose unsteady to his feet.
"Better," he muttered. "Keep going."
He moved body to body. Each time his hands worked armor loose. Each time he dragged the corpse close, bit, drank, swallowed. Each time, strength returned a fraction more.
By the tenth, breath no longer scraped. By the twentieth, his arms held steady. By the fiftieth, his veins glowed faint under skin.
He muttered between corpses, words rough, real:
"Still hurts… but it's working."
"My legs are steadier."
"Need more. All of them."
At seventy, his aura pressed outward again. Feathers on stone trembled when he exhaled. Ash lifted and hung before settling. The Grid inside him roared brighter, forcing sanctity into inversion faster than before.
At ninety, heat pressed against skin. Steam rose off his shoulders. He paused over one corpse, mouth dripping gold, and laughed once under breath.
"They thought their hymn would burn me. I'm burning them instead."
He fed harder.
One hundred. The halo behind his head flickered. A faint white rim burned in air, visible at the corner of his vision. He turned, saw the shimmer, touched it with fingers. Pressure pushed back.
"…not yet."
He shoved another corpse down, bit, drank.
One hundred and thirty. His hair, black with ash, bled pale at the tips. Streaks turned blonde. Crimson burned in others. Strands loosened when sweat freed them from dried blood. They fell across his cheek, bright against gray skin.
He spat gold, smirked faint, muttered: "Of course."
One hundred and forty. His horns ached, heat running down them. He touched one, felt no weakness, only smooth obsidian, darker than before. The black flame wings behind him flared once, fire licking high, then settled. Green veins along his arms glowed faint and steady.
At one hundred and fifty, the last corpse sagged in his hands. He bit, drained, devoured it whole. The husk dissolved. Silence fell. The square held no more bodies.
He staggered upright, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. His chest had healed smooth. His strength was back. The Grid boiled with light. Then, in front of him, messages opened in crimson-gold script.
📜 System Update
— Blood Essence: 122.6M (+19.5M from 150 angels, fully devoured)— Faith Essence: 31.8M (+20.6M from Tier VII–X sanctity essence)— Iron Essence: 321.2M (no change)— Soul Essence: 8.1M (+5.6M from angelic cores, esp. Tier IX–X choir)— Apex Essence: 239 (+22 from high-tier sanctity ingestion and form shift)— Beast Essence: 226.3M (no change)— Wraith Essence: 6,956 (+2,000 nightly)— Dragon Bones: 1 (unused)
Blood Grid Gains:— Apex Evolution — Seraphic Hybrid Form• Cause: Devoured 150 angels including Tier IX–X sanctity essence.• Function: Apex Transformation shifts body into angelic-demonic hybrid. Halo expands into divine wheel. Slim, toned frame radiates strength. Retains horns, green veins, and black flame wings. Strength ×20, Speed ×15 baseline while active.
— Sanctity Nullification (Tier X cap)• Cause: Saturation at apex threshold.• Function: Noctis is no longer harmed or drained by sanctity up to Tier X. Choir hymns collapse in his aura.
— New Bloodline — Seraphic Hybrid Lineage (passives)• Sanctified Regeneration — heals faster under light.• Choir Break — harmonies fail within aura; choir spells lose 40% power baseline.• Ascendant Agility — ×15 speed baseline in Apex.• Apex Strength — ×20 strength baseline in Apex.
— 24 Divine Skills unlocked (examples):• Blades of Judgment — returning edge constructs anchored to aura lines.• Radiant Chains — binds targets inside aura field.• Soul Spear Dominion — marrow-following thrust, ignores sight.• Sanctity Severance — separates hymn effect from flesh.• Dawnflare Mantle — converts sanctity into armor.• Choir Drown — collapses multi-caster arrays.• …and 18 more logged to Master Ledger.
The messages lingered. Noctis stared at them, jaw tight, chest rising slow. He reached a hand through one line of script. It flickered, scattered. He exhaled.
"So this is it. A new form."
He closed his eyes, called the Apex.
The Grid answered.
Apex Activation
Heat rushed spine to skull. Muscles pulled tight, then relaxed. His bulk thinned. Angles sharpened. Frame leaned, not wasted but honed. Hair brightened in full, blonde threaded with crimson streaks.
The halo burned wide: three wheels, scripts circling opposite directions, lightless but visible. Pressure radiated steady from it, not in pulses but as weight.
His horns stayed, black and smooth. Veins glowed green beneath pale skin. Black flame wings spread wide, edges burning hotter, shapes defiant against the halo's divine geometry.
He opened his eyes. Crimson glare burned in gold hair. His jaw set. He lifted a hand. Fingers were long, clean, not swollen, nails black and sharp. He closed his grip. Stone cracked under his boots.
He muttered, quiet, steady:"…lighter. Faster. Stronger."
He moved. One step blurred him three paces. The air broke in sound. He struck the air with a backhand. Pressure burst outward.
"Strength… twentyfold. Speed, fifteen. At least."
He rolled his shoulders. The Reaver lay half-buried in feathers. He lifted it in one hand. It felt balanced, lighter than ever. He twirled it once, the halo behind him spinning in time.
"This form…" He exhaled, lips curling. "It fits."
The Floating Temples lay empty. No corpses remained. No hymns sounded. One hundred and fifty angels had been consumed. Their sanctity now burned inverted in him.
He stood at the center, halo wheels turning, wings spread, horns black, hair blazing, veins glowing.
Noctis had risen as the Seraphic Hybrid Apex.
Noctis entered the chamber of Obsidian Isle. Selandra lay bound on the bed, weakened from fasting yet waiting with eyes steady. He told her plainly: "If you will serve me, there is one last test — you will cast away all pride as an elder, and submit even to humans I command." She did not hesitate. "I accept."
The hypnotized men, who had fed her blood earlier, remained. At his will they stepped into place. What followed stretched for days — Selandra dominated again and again, pressed by Noctis and the men he used. Her silhouette rocked in endless rhythm: sometimes with him before her and a man behind, sometimes caught between, sometimes with a figure at each side. Her hands grew restless, her body jolted, her eyes rolled back — yet she never resisted. She endured until even the men began to collapse from fatigue, leaving only her and Noctis.
By the fourth day she was exhausted, voice frayed, pride broken, but her submission unshaken. She lay back where he placed her, chest rising, waiting.
Noctis sat at the edge of the bed and drew her onto him. Her silhouette showed clearly against the wall: back pressed to his chest, legs flicking as he supported her thigh, body rising and falling with each of his movements.
"Now," he said at her ear. "The vow."
Between broken breaths, she spoke it:
"I pledge myself to you, Noctis… I am yours alone… I will serve you until death… I will die for you."
As the final words left her mouth, his fangs pierced her neck. She jolted in his arms, every muscle locking, eyes rolling back. The rhythm broke in a sharp arc and then collapsed; she went limp against him, unconscious. He drank enough to take her vow into blood, then pressed his own blood into the wound, sealing her as his forever.
The mark burned through her veins. The Grid carried it true. The chain at her wrist slackened, but the bond between them held stronger than iron.
"Forever mine," Noctis said.
The sea pressed loud against the cliffs of Obsidian Isle. The fortress walls groaned with the storm. Noctis stepped onto the outer balcony and let the rain strike him. It hissed off black fire where it touched his wings.
He drew in breath once and opened the Grid.
Threads spread across kingdoms, lines of blood and command that he had carved into covenant. He reached into them like a hand through marrow. The strands tightened, brightened, and answered. Six voices came, each with weight and color of their own.
Lyxandra first—her aura a blade, bright but cracked at the edge from strain. Seraphyne next—controlled flame, sharp, impatient even in deference. Clara—a thinner thread, but resilient, like a bowstring under tension. Iris—a pulse steady as stone, voice carrying the rhythm of soldiers. Tina—lighter, restless but loyal, aura fluttering around the bond. And Veyra—iron set in sanctity, her presence heavy as cathedral pillars.
Surprise moved through all of them when they felt him. The bond had been silent while he was buried in the Floating Temples. Relief followed, then discipline as they shaped their reports.
Seraphyne spoke first. Her tone cut through the thread like steel drawn.
"The lair you assigned us is cleared. The demon host inside is destroyed."
Lyxandra's aura steadied in after. "The ground is held. No remnants remain. Only carcasses and ash."
Clara added, voice firm though thinner than theirs. "We are cleaning the battlefield. The hymn-stains from their warlocks still linger on the rocks, but they fade."
Noctis stood in the rain, eyes half-closed. Their words entered him like marrow pulled through vein. He let silence weigh before Veyra filled it.
"Our covenant suffered injuries," she said, tone even but strained. "But no deaths among us. We lost none of your queens. None of the saints under our direct banner."
Tina's aura flickered like candle in draft. "The only deaths came from the army of the Low Marches King. His levy broke under titan pressure. They bled first, before we could reposition them."
The Grid carried the picture into his mind: men from the marches trampled under giant limbs, their banners snapped, their lines scattering before command could bind them. He inhaled once, slow, then asked the only question that mattered.
"Did you face titans?"
The thread went still. Then Seraphyne answered. "Yes. Three. Demon titans. They came from the pits under the lair. Each carved from black marrow, flame under their plates. They broke the ground open when they rose."
Lyxandra's tone came clipped, as if to contain memory. "We pulled the Titan Breakers forward. They held the line, but the strain was heavy. Fourteen are cracked. Their joints scream when moved. If another titan rises, they will fail."
Iris's voice cut low. "Our men dragged the Breakers back under fire. One nearly collapsed outright. We will need you to reset them. We cannot restore them ourselves."
The images layered in his mind: fourteen great war-engines standing fractured on scorched ground, plates bent inward where claws had struck, smoke still rising from marrow engines inside. Soldiers standing beside them, bodies scorched, hands bloodied from hauling chains to move their hulks.
He said nothing for a long count. Rain hissed around him, steam rising off his wings where drops touched fire. The bond trembled under silence until Clara whispered: "We held, my lord. But we need you."
He exhaled, voice flat and final. "Rest. I will come. I will repair the Titan Breakers myself."
Relief surged across the thread like flood after drought. Each aura bent lower in assent. Veyra bowed her head in the link. "As you command. We will stand ready."
One by one the threads dimmed, voices returning to command, to clean-up, to tending the wounded. The Grid folded back into silence, leaving only rain, sea, and the thrum of his own blood.
He turned from the balcony and returned to the chamber.
Selandra stood dressed now, chains gone, hair tied back from her face. She had not left the room without permission. She looked at him when he entered, then lowered her gaze.
"You will go out," he said. His tone carried no question. "Resume your duties as before. Walk as you always walked. Speak as you always spoke. When I return, we will plan how to break the demons—and those who betrayed me."
Her voice came steady, vow still echoing through her blood. "Yes, my lord."
He placed a hand on her shoulder once, pressure firm, then let it fall. "Do not fail me."
"I will not."
He left her in the chamber and stepped back into storm. Wings spread. Black fire leapt. Rain turned to hiss and ash where it touched him.
The fortress shrank beneath. The Isle fell away. He climbed through cloud and turned east.
Below, the sea churned, dark with storm-light, flecked with white from waves breaking against one another. Far on the horizon, he saw where the storm cut, where land rose, where the banners of his host would stand. The Twilight Army waited, bloodied but unbroken, their Titan Breakers cracked, their commanders weary.
Noctis folded his arms against the air and let the wind tear at him as he flew. The bond of covenant burned steady in his chest. Ahead lay his army, and the titans they had survived.
He went to them.