The summit of the Bleeding Spire became a crucible.
Xavier stepped forward and the four-rune mark on his chest tore wide like a second mouth. Gold fire and violet void poured out in equal measure, meeting in the air between him and the three-faced Harbinger, twisting into a single column of white-black flame that punched upward and split the bruised sky from horizon to horizon. The Heart-Crystal above the abomination pulsed once, violently, as though recognising its true owner. The chains that wrapped the Spire snapped one by one, links exploding into molten rain that hissed against the platform and carved smoking runes into the iron. Every sarcophagus on the inner walls burst open at once. The mummified guardians of the First Enigma rose on joints that had forgotten how to bend, eyes blazing gold, mouths open in silent war-cries that shook dust from the rafters.
Lyra felt the shift first. The silver fire in her claws guttered, then reversed, flowing back into her veins until her entire body glowed white-hot. She snarled, dropped to all fours, and became something larger than wolf, larger than woman: a storm of silver blades and living fury that launched itself at the nearest of the Harbinger's six arms. Lucian roared, voice doubled by Zamiel's inside him, and Wrath's End lengthened into a two-handed greatsword of violet-white fire longer than a wagon. He swung in a flat arc that severed two arms at the shoulder; the stumps did not bleed, they simply opened like mouths and screamed in voices stolen from Havenfall's dead.
Xavier walked straight into the centre of the storm.
He did not shift. He did not need to. The god inside him rose like a tide, and for the first time since the Final Shroud he let the leash go slack. Violet fire poured from his eyes, his mouth, the wound in his chest. His skin blackened and cracked, revealing living void beneath. Horns of pure darkness curled from his brow. The four-rune mark burned gold against the black, holding, holding, refusing to let the darkness swallow the last piece of the man. The god laughed with Xavier's mouth, a sound that cracked the platform in a perfect circle around his feet.
The three-faced Harbinger answered with its own laughter and lunged.
They met in the middle.
Six arms against two. Void against void. Heart-Crystal pulsing overhead like a dying star. Every blow shook the Spire hard enough to send chunks of iron the size of houses tumbling into the blood-lake five hundred storeys below. Xavier caught a fist the size of a wagon wheel, bones in his arm shattering, and used the momentum to drive his forehead into the central face. The impact exploded the face into violet shards that tried to burrow into his skull. He opened his mouth and ate them. The god inside him purred.
Lyra carved her way up the Harbinger's back, claws punching through void-flesh, silver fire pouring into the wounds faster than they could close. She reached the spine and began to climb, ripping out chunks of living darkness and hurling them over the edge. Lucian fought at the front, Wrath's End singing a high, continuous note as it carved arm after arm after arm. Zamiel's voice guided every strike: left, high, centre, low, twist. The blade drank the pieces it severed and grew heavier, brighter, hungrier.
The Heart-Crystal began to fall.
It dropped like a meteor, trailing violet fire, aimed straight for the open wound in Xavier's chest. The three-faced Harbinger reached for it with all six remaining arms, desperate to complete the fusion. Xavier saw it coming. He let it come. At the last second he stepped inside the Harbinger's guard, wrapped both arms around the thing's torso, and pulled it into a crushing embrace. Void-flesh met void-flesh. The Heart-Crystal struck them both dead centre and sank into the place where two gods were trying to occupy the same skin.
White fire exploded outward.
The Spire cracked from crown to root. The blood-lake below boiled. Every guardian wolf on the walls threw back their heads and howled a single, perfect note that shattered the remaining chains and sent them leaping into the fight. Lyra was thrown clear, landed hard on the edge of the platform, claws scrabbling for purchase. Lucian planted Wrath's End point-down and held on as the shockwave tried to rip him into the sky.
When the light faded, only one figure remained standing in the centre of the ruined summit.
Twelve feet tall. Skin of living void shot through with gold runes. Horns like broken moons. Eyes one gold, one violet. The four-rune mark blazed across its chest like a brand. The Heart-Crystal was gone, swallowed whole. Roshan lay on the ground twenty feet away, blade whole again, humming with satisfaction.
The thing that had been Xavier looked down at its hands, flexed claws longer than swords, and spoke with two voices braided so tightly they could no longer be told apart.
"At last," it said. "Whole."
Lyra rose slowly, silver fire gone, blood pouring from a hundred cuts. She stared at the creature wearing her mate's face and felt the mate bond scream inside her chest, gold and violet at war.
Lucian stepped forward, Wrath's End levelled at the thing's heart.
"Xavier," he said, voice rough. "Come back."
The creature tilted its head. The violet eye bled light. The gold eye flickered, faint, desperate.
Deep inside the shared body, in the cage forged by four hearts, something small and stubborn and utterly human clawed its way toward the surface.
The war for the enigma's soul had entered its final battlefield.
And this time there would be no one left to pull him back.