The Pavilion was hell incarnate. Screams, fire, smoke, the stench of blood. The nobles that had once filled the marble hall with velvet laughter were nothing more than scattered corpses, limbs twitching where beasts had torn them apart.
And at the center of it all, two titans clashed.
Kael's storm of steel had become a sun in orbit around him—blades shrieking, shards blazing like meteors as he directed them with the force of will and fury. The ground trembled with each sweep, each thrust.
Draven was no longer a man. His body bulged grotesquely, each muscle swollen to inhuman proportions. A second jaw split his face, lined with jagged teeth. His skin crawled with black veins that pulsed like worms beneath the surface. From his back sprouted tendrils of bone and sinew, each tipped with clawed protrusions that lashed through the air. His voice was a guttural symphony, no longer human speech but snarls and choked roars.
The moment they collided, the world broke.
Steel speared through flesh, ichor spattering in rivers. Claws tore across Kael's arm, ripping his sleeve and drawing blood. The governor staggered for only a heartbeat before the storm of blades whirled tighter, shattering the claws to bone dust.
Draven's laughter—wet, gurgling—shook the rafters. "Do you feel it, Kael? This is strength! This is freedom from weakness!"
Kael answered with silence, his eyes grim steel. The greatsword of his storm swung in an arc that cleaved three tendrils in one blow. They fell twitching, spraying ichor across the nobles who had cowered too close.
One noble screamed as the ichor burned through his face like acid, eating down to bone. His shriek cut off as his jaw fell away.
Selene flinched—but only for an instant. Her hand gripped Niamh's tighter, and she whispered fiercely, "He will win. He is my alpha, and he will win."
—
Draven struck again, tendrils whipping in all directions. Kael's storm fragmented, intercepting them mid-swing, cutting tendrils into chunks that slapped wetly against the marble.
But Draven only grew stronger. His torso split with another mouth, this one vomiting streams of black bile across the floor. The stone hissed and sizzled, holes burning through in seconds. A guard too slow to leap away screamed as his legs dissolved, body crumpling as he was dragged down into the sludge.
Kael roared, his storm compressing tighter, faster, until each shard burned with raw heat from friction alone. He thrust his hand forward—
—and every blade obeyed.
A rain of steel spears descended, dozens piercing through Draven's mutated body. They nailed him to the ground, skewering limbs, shoulders, even his jaw. Blood, black and hissing, gushed in torrents.
The nobles gasped, some whispering prayers. For a heartbeat, hope lit their eyes.
But Draven laughed through a mouth full of blades. He bit through the steel, snapping shards between his monstrous teeth. His flesh writhed, forcing the spears out, sealing the wounds as fast as Kael could inflict them.
"You can't kill me!" Draven shrieked, voice splitting into multiple tones. "I am eternal!"
Kael's breath came ragged. His arm bled freely, his blade arm trembling. He looked as if the storm itself might collapse under his strain.
Selene's heart clenched—but her voice was steady as she shouted across the chaos: "Kael! Do not falter. You are Nexus!"
Her cry reached him. His eyes blazed.
The storm whirled tighter, faster, until it screamed like a thousand blades on stone. Sparks lit the blood-soaked hall like stars, swirling into a cyclone of killing steel.
Kael raised his hand—and every fragment aligned.
The storm became a single weapon. A colossal blade, jagged and terrible, forged of every shard of steel in the Pavilion. Its edge burned white-hot, vibrating with lethal intent.
Draven froze for the first time. His monstrous grin faltered.
Kael's voice was low, final. "This ends now."
He surged forward, the greatblade cleaving downward in an arc meant to split Draven from crown to gut.
Draven roared, desperation giving him hideous strength. His body ruptured, releasing a flood of tendrils, bile, claws, every ounce of mutation erupting at once. He hurled it all into the strike, his voice a guttural scream:
"IF I FALL—NEXUS FALLS WITH ME!"
The Pavilion shattered. Marble burst, columns cracked, fire roared.
The storm of steel and the tide of corruption collided in one final, apocalyptic clash.
From behind the barrier, frost cracked across Jade's hand as though his instincts demanded he intervene.
Niamh and Selene held one another tight, whispering prayers, refusing to look away.
And Lio screamed, covering his ears.
The world exploded in light, steel, and gore.
And when it cleared—one of them would stand.
The other would be no more.
...
...
The Pavilion was quiet.
No roars, no steel, no screams. Only the crackle of dying fires and the slow hiss of blood evaporating on marble scorched black.
The once-grand hall was unrecognizable. Columns that had held for centuries lay split like kindling. The ceiling sagged, beams shattered, shards of crystal chandeliers littering the ground like stars fallen from the sky. The scent was unbearable—burned flesh, sour bile, iron blood.
Where nobles had once gathered in silks and jewels, the survivors now crawled from shadows, faces pale, bodies shaking. Their whispers were hoarse, broken.
"...Is it over?"
"Which one won…?"
"Stars above, don't look at the bodies…"
Jade lowered his barrier. The frost melted away in fine mist, revealing him, Selene, Niamh, and Lio untouched amidst the ruin. The sudden silence of the shield's collapse made the devastation sharper, more real.
Selene's grip on Niamh's hand was iron. Her heart thundered in her chest, but her eyes were unflinching as they swept the wreckage. She did not call Kael's name. She did not weep or beg. She simply waited, as if the world itself would bend to the inevitability she knew: her husband's victory.
Jade's eyes shimmered faintly, his silver-grey and golden-violet irises pulsing under silver grey ones reflecting the ruin like mirrors. He said nothing, though his small frame was tense. He could see it — echoes of power, the lingering pulse of the clash.
The marble floor was split clean in two, a deep gouge running through the heart of the Pavilion. Blood pooled into the crack, running like a black river into the depths.
And at the far end of the ruin… movement stirred.
The nobles gasped, some stumbling back, others clutching one another.
From the smoke, a silhouette rose. Tall, broad-shouldered, steady. A blade rested across his back, formed not of metal, but of countless shards fused into one living storm of steel. Each fragment pulsed faintly with heat, their glow dimming as if the weapon itself was finally at rest.
Kael.
His body was bloodied, his arm torn and his cloak scorched away, but his steps were sure. His eyes—cold steel grey—scanned the Pavilion until they found only one thing: Selene.
Her lips curved, faint but unshaken. "Thank the goddess," she whispered, her voice breaking only with relief.
Kael gave her the barest nod, too exhausted for words.
But then—
A wet sound echoed.
Behind him, something twitched.
The nobles screamed. A malformed hand, bloated with black veins, clawed its way up from the rubble.
Draven.
Or what remained of him.
Half his face was gone, jaw split open in a grotesque parody of a smile. His torso was caved in where Kael's blade had nearly bisected him, organs exposed and writhing with corruption that refused to die. His voice was a bubbling gurgle, but the madness burned on:
"—Not… yet…"
The Pavilion fell into silence once more.
And then ...
The Pavilion shook with Draven's laughter. Wet, broken, bubbling through blood. His half-destroyed body writhed against the marble, one eye rolling wildly while the other hung lifeless in its socket.
Kael strode forward, raising his massive storm-forged blade. "Enough."
Draven gurgled something unintelligible, his limbs spasming. Yet even as Kael brought the blade down, cleaving him through the heart and silencing that laughter forever, his withered lips twisted in triumph.
The nobles dared to hope it was over—
Until the air itself screamed.
From Draven's ruined chest, a glyph flared—a sigil etched not in ink or blood, but in alchemy burned into his very bones. The moment his heart ceased, the array ignited.
Kael's eyes widened. "No…"
A spear of energy, black as void and streaked with venomous green light, tore free from the corpse. It didn't lash toward him. No—it curved, screaming across the Pavilion toward the far side of the hall. Toward Selene. Toward Jade.
Selene gasped, throwing her arms around Lio and Jade, as if her body alone could shield them. Kael's heart stopped.
"SELENE!"
He hurled his storm to intercept, shards screaming like a thousand knives. But the spear cut through them as though they were smoke, unstoppable, unerring. His body lurched forward, blood pouring from wounds already too deep. He pushed, desperate, knowing he was too slow.
For the first time tonight, Kael felt fear. Real, bone-deep fear.
And then—
The world stilled.
Jade stepped forward.
Not rushed, not frantic. His movements were calm, deliberate, a child's small frame silhouetted against the rushing dark. His strange, mirrored pupils gleamed as they locked onto the spear.
He lifted one hand.
The spear met him—
—And vanished.
No explosion. No sound. It simply ceased to exist, the air folding around it like water swallowing a stone. For the briefest moment, a ripple of pure void shimmered in the space before Jade, devouring everything of the attack until only silence remained.
Jade lowered his hand. The ripple collapsed.
The Pavilion was silent.
Kael froze mid-step, his chest heaving. Selene's breath caught, her wide eyes darting between her husband and the boy who now stood like nothing had happened. The nobles stared, some collapsing to their knees, others whispering prayers in terror.
Jade turned slightly, his hair catching the dying light, and met Kael's gaze with those impossible eyes. He said nothing—no boasting, no explanation. Only quiet, steady certainty.
Kael let out a shuddering breath, part relief, part awe. He forced his blade down, the storm dissolving into fragments that rained harmlessly across the marble floor.
Draven's body lay still, his final gambit erased as though it had never been.
Selene exhaled, her knees finally giving out as she clutched Lio to her chest.
The Pavilion, once a monument to power and wealth, now stood as a tomb. A tomb for Draven, a tomb for the nobles who had fallen
And a stage upon which something far greater had just revealed itself.
.....