The air in Gaisen's domain shifted. It wasn't only the wind or the trembling of the stone, but something deeper that pressed against reality itself, and the crimson sky warped faintly as it bent around a presence that did not belong. Then it came.
A monstrous, dragon-shaped being tore through the edge of the domain — not like Gaisen, and not like anything Youri had seen in Tartarus so far. It didn't feel like a ruler born of chaos. It felt constructed. Refined. Its form was that of a viverrine, sleek, predatory, precise, its torso powerful yet streamlined and wrapped in segmented plating that looked less like flesh than like finely forged metal, each plate overlapping the next so seamlessly that together they formed a natural armor reflecting the dim crimson light in muted, cold tones. Dark ridges ran along its spine, rising and falling like the teeth of a blade, before sweeping into a long tail that tapered into a feathered, razor-edged flourish. Its wings were vast and yet ghostly. They stretched out with an unnatural elegance, their membranes as thin and translucent as frost-touched silk, so that light passed through them in pale waves and made them seem almost unreal. And yet every slow beat of them carried immense, controlled power, as if the creature could erase its own presence from existence with a single motion. Its limbs were lean and coiled with quiet strength, and its talons dug into the rocky ground with effortless authority.
Gaisen roared. The whole domain answered — the cliffs trembled, the floating stones shivered, and the wind surged violently as the ruler of that land reacted to the intrusion. Without hesitation, it lunged, its massive body tearing through the air with claws extended and fangs bared, an unstoppable force bent on annihilating the trespasser. But the viverrine did not move. Because it was not alone.
High on its back sat a figure — still, composed, and untouched by the chaos around him. The rider looked as though he had always belonged there, as if he and the creature beneath him were not two beings but a single will split into two forms. The viverrine's pale, banded scales and translucent wings framed him like a throne of living power that raised his presence instead of overshadowing it. His armor gleamed white against the beast's darker tones, etched with gold accents that mirrored the creature's metallic edges, flawless in its design — neither ornamental nor excessive, but purposeful, refined and absolute. A long, horned helm crowned his head, its sharp contours echoing the jagged ridges of the viverrine. A blue-and-white mantle streamed from his shoulders like a banner caught in an eternal wind. One hand rested near the base of the creature's neck, calm and steady. The other hovered near his weapon — not tense, not rushed. Ready.
As Gaisen closed the distance with a roar strong enough to fracture the sky, the knight moved, slowly and deliberately. He rose to his feet on the viverrine's back, and he drew his sword — a golden blade, though not merely gold. It burned, not with fire but with something purer, something that radiated authority, as if the blade itself carried a law the world had no choice but to obey.
In the same instant the viverrine surged upward, its wings snapping open in a silent explosion of force that drove it skyward at impossible speed, climbing higher and higher, leaving Gaisen's charge to tear through empty air below. Then it stopped, perfectly still in the sky. And the knight jumped.
He fell straight down, with no hesitation, no adjustment and no fear — a single line of motion cutting through the air like a falling star. Gaisen reacted instantly, twisting in midair and hurling itself upward with savage force, its claws raking the air to tear the descending figure apart before he could land. For a split second the two forces aligned. Gaisen's claws met the knight's descent, and the knight swung.
The golden blade moved in a single, flawless arc, with no wasted motion and no visible effort. The moment it connected, the world split. A blinding surge of golden energy erupted outward, not as an explosion, but as a command. The air shattered around the point of impact. The force tore through Gaisen's massive frame as though reality itself had rejected its presence. The roar that followed was not one of dominance, but of pain. Gaisen's whole body was flung backward and slammed into the rocky ground below with catastrophic force; cliffs shattered, pillars collapsed, and floating stones cracked and scattered as the ruler of the domain was driven into a heap of broken rock.
Silence followed — heavy, and unbelievable. The knight was still falling, but before he could touch the ground the viverrine was already there, sweeping beneath him with perfect timing and catching him in midair as though gravity itself obeyed their synchronization. With its wings spread once more it carried him forward in a smooth, controlled glide. And then it turned — toward Youri, and toward Lea.
Youri's breath caught in his throat. "What is that thing?" he asked, low and tense.
Lea didn't take her eyes off the approaching figure. "That's no ordinary being," she said quietly, and there was something rare in her voice — not fear, but recognition. "That is a Knight of Sacros."
He frowned. "A what?"
But she didn't answer. Her eyes narrowed as the viverrine passed overhead and its long shadow slid across them. The wind it carried was cold and unnaturally still, like the calm before a storm. "But what is he doing here?" she whispered.
The creature descended — not toward them, but toward Altopereh. The broken Orbiton stood half buried in sand and dust, silent and hollow, its core empty, dark and waiting. The viverrine hovered above it with slow beats of its wings, holding its position with effortless control. The knight dropped and landed on one knee, firm, controlled, deliberate. Then he rose without haste or wasted movement and began to walk toward the machine, step by step.
Youri felt something twist in his chest. That pulse — it surged violently now. "No," he muttered under his breath.
The knight reached the Orbiton and stood before its empty core. Then he raised his hand high into the crimson sky, and a circle formed — golden and burning, not like fire, but like a rift carved into reality itself. It spread rapidly, its edges swirling with radiant energy while the space inside it folded inward, and from within it something emerged: a blade, dark and heavy. Unlike the golden sword he carried, this one was void-like, jagged in shape and oppressive in presence, less a weapon than a fracture given form. It descended slowly into his hand, and as his fingers closed around it the golden circle collapsed, dissolving into fragments of light that faded into the air.
For a moment everything was still. Then, with a single decisive motion, the knight drove the dark blade forward and pierced it straight into Altopereh's empty core.
The impact echoed across the domain like a heartbeat, and then darkness erupted — not outward like an explosion, but inward, consuming. A surge of black energy flooded the Orbiton and spread through its frame like veins igniting with void. The ground trembled violently, and the air warped as the very essence of Tartarus reacted.
Youri staggered back, his eyes wide. "What is he doing?" he shouted.
Lea didn't answer. She was staring, frozen. "He's sealing it," she said at last, barely above a whisper.
The dark energy intensified, and Altopereh's frame began to tremble — waking, reacting, resisting. And something deep inside it, something ancient, stirred.