Location: The Ruined Market Plaza, The Obsidian Enclave.
Time: 14:00.
The dust from the explosion had settled, but the smell of sulfur, ozone, and cooked meat lingered like a shroud. The crater where the Death Knights had fallen glowed with the dull red light of cooling magma, hissing as snow fell into the pit.
Dante sat in his wheelchair on the edge of the Command Terrace, looking down. Valerius stood beside him, sword drawn, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. Havoc was reloading the flak cannons on the ridge, his hands shaking from the adrenaline crash.
"He's stopped," Aurum said, looking at the long-range scanners with disbelief. "The horde. They aren't advancing. They aren't retreating. They've just... paused. Like a machine unplugged."
"He's calculating," Dante rasped, clutching his thermal blanket. "He spent his air force. He spent his elites. He knows the cost of the next wave is too high. He's an Aspirant, not a berserker."
"Or he's preparing something worse," Lyra whispered, gripping the railing until her knuckles turned white.
Suddenly, the green fog that lingered around the crashed dragon carcass began to swirl. It didn't dissipate. It coalesced. It rose like a column of sickly smoke, twisting into a shape in the center of the ruined plaza.
The fog hardened into a projection. It was fifty feet tall.
It was a figure seated on a throne of woven bone. Wrapped in decaying grey bandages, with green flames for eyes that burned with cold intelligence.
The Necromancer.
His voice didn't come from the projection. It came from the dead. Every corpse in the plaza—the dead flies, the dragon scraps, the fallen guards—vibrated to produce the sound.
"THE PALE KING."
The voice was dry, like sand pouring over stone. To Lyra, it sounded like her dead brother. To Valerius, it sounded like the Husks.
Dante wheeled himself to the edge of the balcony. He amplified his voice with the last dregs of his mana, refusing to look weak.
"You're trespassing, Mortis," Dante said. "And you owe me a new plaza."
The giant green projection turned its flaming eyes toward Dante.
"YOU FIGHT WELL. YOU HAVE THE BLOOD OF THE OLD KINGS IN YOUR VEINS. AND YOU POSSESS THE ENGINE."
The projection leaned forward, the smoke swirling.
"BUT YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE GAME. I DID NOT COME HERE TO CONQUER YOUR ROCK. I CAME TO SECURE IT."
"Secure it?" Dante scoffed. "You sent a plague. You bombed my city with a dragon. That's a funny way of asking for a rental agreement."
"NECESSITY," the Necromancer replied. "I NEEDED THE ENGINE. NOT FOR POWER. BUT FOR DEFENSE."
The projection raised a skeletal hand. It pointed South. Past the Enclave. Past the Ash Wastes. Toward the darker sectors of the world—Sector 5 and 6.
"LOOK SOUTH, KING. TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE."
Dante activated his mechanical eye. He pushed the zoom to the limit, peering past the horizon, filtering out the snow.
"I see the Ash Wastes," Dante said. "I see your army."
"LOOK PAST MY ARMY."
Dante focused. Past the green glow of the undead horde. Past the mountains.
There was... nothing.
Not empty land. Nothing.
The horizon in Sector 6 wasn't grey or black. It was White.
It was a blank, static white void that seemed to be erasing the landscape. Where the white touched the ground, the ground simply ceased to exist. Mountains were cut in half. Clouds vanished mid-air. It looked like a texture error in reality—a flat, featureless canvas consuming the world.
It wasn't entropy; entropy is decay. This was Deletion.
Dante's heart skipped a beat. The War Engine in his soul shuddered.
"What is that?" Dante whispered.
"THE HOLLOW," the Necromancer answered, his voice trembling with something that sounded like fear. "THE FIFTH ASPIRANT HAS AWAKENED. 'THE ZEALOT'. HE DOES NOT SEEK TO RULE THE WORLD. HE SEEKS TO PURIFY IT."
The projection flickered.
"HE WIELDS THE THIRD AXIOM: THE AXIOM OF LIGHT. IT DOES NOT HEAL. IT ERASES. IT JUDGES MATTER AS IMPURE AND DELETES IT."
The Necromancer looked at Dante.
"MY DEAD CANNOT FIGHT HIM. HE DOES NOT KILL THEM; HE UNMAKES THEM. I CANNOT RAISE WHAT DOES NOT EXIST. I AM LOSING GROUND BY THE HOUR."
The truth settled over the Enclave like a heavy blanket. The Necromancer wasn't invading. He was fleeing. He wanted the War Engine because it was the only thing strong enough to create a structural barrier against the Light.
"So you ran," Dante said. "And you decided to take my fortress on the way to hide behind my walls."
"I AM THE ASPIRANT OF SPIRIT," Mortis stated. "SURVIVAL IS THE ONLY LAW I OBEY. I WOULD BURN A THOUSAND CITIES TO SAVE MYSELF."
The projection began to fade.
"I OFFER A TRUCE, PALE KING. I CANNOT DEFEAT THE HOLLOW ALONE. AND NEITHER CAN YOU. YOUR WALLS WILL NOT STOP THE LIGHT. YOUR ENTROPY WILL NOT STOP DELETION. YOU CANNOT ROT A VOID."
A green spectral key materialized in the air in front of Dante. It wasn't a physical object. It was a rune made of screaming souls.
"THIS IS A FREQUENCY. A CHANNEL. IF YOU WISH TO LIVE, COME TO THE NECROPOLIS. WE MUST DISCUSS THE END OF THE WORLD."
The projection dissolved into mist.
The green glow on the horizon began to recede. The undead army turned around. They weren't attacking anymore. They were marching away, forming a defensive line against the encroaching White Void in the South.
Dante looked at the spectral rune hovering before him.
"The Third Axiom," Valerius whispered, staring at the white horizon with wide eyes. "The Light of Deletion. I have heard legends... the 'White Flame' that burns history. Gorm feared it above all else."
"He's telling the truth," Aurum said, checking his sensors, his face pale. "I'm picking up massive reality destabilization in Sector 6. Land mass is vanishing. Not exploding. Just... gone. The map is shrinking. My assets are being deleted."
Dante grabbed the spectral rune. It felt cold, like holding a frozen hand.
"Great," Dante muttered. "Just when I become the King of the North, the South decides to get formatted."
He turned his wheelchair around.
"Aurum, get the repairs started. Valerius, reorganize the Guard. We need to be ready to move."
"And you?" Lyra asked. "You are in no condition to travel."
Dante looked at the rune in his hand. He looked at his dead mechanical arm.
"I'm going to have a chat with a dead man," Dante said, his grey eyes hardening. "If we're going to fight the Light... we're going to need a lot of darkness."