The night was on fire.
Yet inside the heart of the Supreme's castle, everything was silent.
Nani stood before the balcony that overlooked the burning valley — the battlefield stretched far beneath him like a wound that refused to close. His white shirt clung half-burned against his body, blackened where scars still glowed faintly beneath the fabric.
The world below roared with war.
But his eyes... they were calm.
Too calm.
Like someone who had already seen the ending and accepted it long ago.
The wind rose, heavy with ash and the metallic tang of blood. It carried the echo of howls, the thunder of wings, the clash of iron.
And beneath it all — a heartbeat.
His heartbeat.
Sky's.
Distant, frantic.
But alive.
Nani's hand curled against the stone ledge, veins along his wrist pulsing faintly with the same rhythm. The mark on his neck — the mirror of Sky's — flared under his skin, glowing faint blue-white. The pain was sharp, tearing through him, dragging his thoughts northward.
The urge to go to him — to tear through the world and find him — clawed at every inch of him.
But he didn't move.
He couldn't.
Because this war was never meant to end with love.
It was born from it.
And love, when cursed, demanded a price.
William's command roared faintly through the bond. The wolves howled at the outer fields. The wards screamed under the strain. But Nani's focus never wavered.
He wasn't waiting for victory.
He was waiting for him.
For Dew.
His old friend.
His shadow.
The other side of a coin that had been spinning for centuries.
The wind shifted again, colder now — laced with a faint sweetness that didn't belong to the battlefield.
Nani closed his eyes, his voice a low murmur that barely escaped his lips.
"So this is how you've decided to do it... Dew."
He could see it in his mind — how the strings had been pulled, each carefully set, each tragedy leading to this moment.
The Council stirred only because Dew had whispered in their ears.
The creatures — those demons, those twisted remnants of ancient blood — were bound by the blood of the Mara.
And to summon the Mara, Dew had made his final move.
He'd sacrificed the only soul who ever truly loved him.
Nani's jaw clenched, a rare flicker of emotion breaking through his controlled stillness.
He'd known that man. The summoner. Dew's loyal devotee.
A creature of kindness, patience — someone who followed Dew not for power, but because his heart belonged wholly to him.
Nani remembered his eyes when Dew first brought him to court centuries ago — full of adoration, like Dew had hung the moon himself.
And now, that same man's blood fed the darkness growing beneath the ground.
"You always needed to be worshipped," Nani whispered to the wind, voice trembling between sorrow and rage. "Even if it meant burning the one who prayed to you."
The mark on his neck pulsed again — harder this time, searing through him until his knees nearly buckled.
Sky.
His power was shifting again.
The resonance between them screamed like two stars tearing apart their orbit.
Nani straightened slowly, dragging a deep breath into his lungs. He felt the power stir — ancient, divine, terrifying — rising inside him like a tide. His control frayed.
"This time..."
His voice broke into a whisper.
"...I'll end it before it ends him."
The ground beneath his feet quivered. The torches around him flickered, flames bending toward him in reverence. The air thickened, warping under the pressure of his aura.
Outside, the warriors could feel it — the oppressive presence of the Supreme.
Even the Council soldiers paused mid-strike, their instincts screaming run.
But he didn't descend. Not yet.
He waited.
Eyes lifted toward the horizon, where the first light of dawn began to split the night apart — cold and crimson.
Waiting for Dew to step out of the shadow he had created.
Waiting for the final betrayal to come to light.
And when it did, the world itself would burn to remember it.
---
The battlefield was unrecognizable.
The once-sacred grounds outside the Supreme's ward had turned into a pit of smoke and ruin.
Ash fell like snow. Screams tangled with the clash of steel and the roar of burning trees.
William stood at the front line, sword dripping red-black blood that hissed against the ground. His uniform was shredded, his sigil flaring along his chest — a luminous serpent winding from his shoulder to his ribs, pulsing with the rhythm of his power.
"Hold the line!" his voice thundered through the chaos.
The wolves obeyed, circling in coordinated strikes, their movements fast and brutal.
Magnus and Alexander tore through the enemy ranks on opposite sides — fire and ice personified.
Alexander's flames curled like a storm around his arm, each motion a burst of golden inferno, reducing the Council soldiers to ashes.
Magnus's power, colder, sharper, glittered in the air — frost creeping along blades, breath turning to mist.
They fought like legends reborn — two leaders who once warred against each other now standing together, back to back.
"Didn't think I'd see you again without trying to kill you first," Magnus growled, slicing through a hybrid witch.
Alexander smirked, not breaking stance. "Don't tempt me. I'm reconsidering it every second."
Their laughter — dark, battle-worn — mingled with the chaos, the sound of centuries-old rivalry turned reluctant camaraderie.
Behind them, the Council faltered.
Their ranks thinning.
Their witches, exhausted, could no longer hold the wards together.
"Fall back!" an elder cried, voice breaking. "Regroup and—"
The air changed.
Every head turned as the ground trembled — a deep, resonant quake that silenced even the wolves' howls.
A thick, black mist began to seep from the forest beyond.
Slow. Creeping. Alive.
It rolled across the battlefield like a tide swallowing the stars.
And then — the sound.
A shriek — too high, too deep, too wrong — split the air.
It wasn't one voice.
It was many.
Thousands.
Each crying out from the same throat.
The first creature burst through the fog.
Huge. Misshapen. A twisted parody of wolf and man, its flesh splitting where the black veins pulsed beneath translucent skin. Its eyes burned white. Its mouth opened, revealing rows of jagged teeth that still dripped with the essence of the last souls it devoured.
One of the Council witches screamed. "The— the creatures—! They're not ours!"
And she was right.
The monsters didn't distinguish between ally and enemy.
They tore into everything — soldier, wolf, vampire, witch — all the same.
The field erupted into chaos.
Lines broke. Screams turned to choking gasps.
Blood and smoke rose as one.
William spun, cutting down a creature that lunged toward him.
"Fall back to the inner ward!" he ordered, but the sound of his command was nearly drowned by the inhuman cacophony that filled the air.
Alexander's flames barely held them off, each burn only spawning more.
Magnus's ice shattered, but the black mist reformed the bodies, grotesque and relentless.
"This isn't natural," Magnus shouted through gritted teeth. "This is summoned!"
And then — silence again.
A terrifying, heavy silence that fell like a curtain.
From the mist, a figure walked.
Graceful. Unhurried.
Every creature stilled, bowing their malformed heads as he passed.
The Council froze.
Hope flickered across their bloodstained faces.
"Lord Dew!" one elder gasped, relief flooding their tone. "You've come to aid us—"
But Dew didn't answer.
He smiled instead — slow, deliberate — a serpent's smile.
The fog clung to him like a cloak, dark tendrils twisting around his feet. His eyes gleamed faintly gold, but not the color of life — the burn of corruption. His presence alone bent the air, thick with the scent of iron and something older, fouler — a power that shouldn't exist in this world.
He looked around the battlefield — the corpses, the burning, the wolves snarling in pain — and laughed softly.
"Aid you?" he said, voice low, musical, cruel.
"Oh no, my dear Elders. I'm only here to watch what I've created."
William's eyes narrowed. "You."
Dew tilted his head, golden eyes glinting.
"Still so loyal to him, aren't you? Tell me, William... does it ever tire you? Living in the shadow of a god who can't stop bleeding for love?"
The creatures behind him shifted, their forms flickering, as if drawn to his heartbeat.
The Council stepped back, confusion breaking into horror.
"Lord Dew," one of them stammered, "you— you summoned these—?"
Dew turned to them, that same pleasant smile still on his lips.
"Summoned?" he echoed softly.
"No. Birthed."
His eyes burned brighter now, his voice distorting like a dozen whispers overlaid.
"I am the vessel, the mouth, the offering that Mara chose. The blood you all tried to bury has simply... awakened."
Gasps rippled through what remained of the Council.
Even the wolves faltered.
William took a step forward, hand tightening on his sword. "What did you do, Dew?"
Dew looked past him, toward the inner ward where the Supreme stood hidden behind layers of light and magic.
"What I was always meant to," he said. "You all worshipped him as a prince. But I was the one who loved him. And now—"
He raised a hand. The ground quaked.
Black flames spiraled upward.
"—I'll burn this world until he finally looks at me."
The creatures screamed as one, their bodies convulsing in reverence.
Then, chaos again — louder, bloodier, unstoppable.
And Dew stood among it all, smiling.
The false savior.
The betrayer.
The man who dared to summon a demon king.
The war had just changed shape.
And now, it was no longer between the Council and the Supreme.
It was between the living — and what Dew had become.