Golden light poured through the breach in a continuous flood.
The Citadel was no longer a half-formed idea. Walls of burning scripture climbed higher with every soul the Remnant claimed, pillars of forced prayer locking into place like the bones of a new Heaven. Angels moved in perfect, merciless rhythm, chaining the newly freed dead and feeding them into the structure. The air itself tasted of metal and old hymns.
Hades did not wait for a plan.
He launched himself upward in a storm of black and green, shadows tearing free from his body and slamming into the rising walls. Where his power struck, the golden surface cracked and bled light. Persephone's energy raced through the shadows like living fire, turning every impact into a bloom of thorns and roots that tried to drag the structure down. The Citadel groaned but kept growing.
