The Rift now resembled a dying, colossal heart. Its pulse was no longer consistent—sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes halting briefly before pounding with even greater ferocity. Each beat folded reality around it, creating fractures forced back together by something beyond the laws of the world.
At its center, Ren stood. His body was half-submerged among floating stone fragments, almost bare except for the Core throbbing in his chest. Muscles twitched uncontrollably, veins on his neck and temples bulging a dark violet, blood seeping from the corners of his eyes, mingling with burning Rift particles. His breath was no longer human—each inhale a command, each exhale a compulsion on reality itself.
The Core in his chest pulsed with a color that could not be named—a mixture of light, shadow, and a will that refused death. Fine cracks appeared on his skin, crawling toward his jaw, forcing his cheekbones to protrude, teeth grinding as his jaw moved. Veins were filled with shards of black-blue light, moving like living liquid, occasionally piercing flesh, demanding the human body follow the Core's rhythm. His pupils elongated, shattered into fragments of light before rejoining, mimicking the way reality shaped the human eye. The air was thick with the smell of metal and burning flesh; the Rift's lungs trembled as if cracked from within.
Meanwhile, far from the center, Elyndor was pulled into a distorted dimensional layer. Time there did not flow linearly; each second folded, compressed, chewed and regurgitated by the broken space. He did not vanish—he observed, recorded patterns, waiting for the precise moment. When the Rift's pulse began to lose synchronization, he realized: their time was almost up.
Lyra appeared atop a stone fragment still holding her weight. Her knees struck the hard surface; the stone cracked halfway, as if rejecting the concept of mass. Fragments pierced her soles, vibrations traveling up to her knees, nearly toppling her. The Rift's heat burned away the pain, leaving a more terrifying numbness. Glowing runes on her arm left thin black marks on her skin, like tattoos imposed by reality itself. Her fingers trembled as energy gnawed at her nerves from within.
"Ren… stop… you'll…!" Her voice distorted under the Rift's pressure. A split second later, a thin rift appeared in the air; Elyndor was flung outward, driving his sword into the ground to anchor his existence.
"Position worse than predicted…" he murmured.
"If he dies, we die with him," Lyra responded sharply.
Zyd appeared last, standing atop the Core Rift fragment. Energy cables pierced the structure that resisted existence itself, leaving red-dark glowing cracks in their wake. The tips of his fingers began to blacken—not burning, but the matter itself rejecting existence. Skin blistered; his hands became transparent, bones visible through flesh before fracturing into shards of light. He remained calm, aware that the structure would not hold.
"If the Core keeps forcing stabilization… Level 4 will collapse inward."
The main pillars of the Rift cracked from the center, like death trumpets resonating across dimensions. Fragments fell into the black abyss below, dragged by something older and hungrier than this world.
Dresk Thorn moved. Standing atop the highest fragment, his body a statue amid the storm of existence. The Prime Mark at his nape glowed, forming a breathing crown of liquid shadow over his skin. The skin around his neck split; blood was reabsorbed into the crown, muscles tensed, bones adjusting to a greater kingly frame. World particles froze, dust becoming silent witnesses. Rift creatures melted—existence itself considered an insult.
The Fallen King awoke. An aura of dominion flooded the space; Rift and Chaos fell silent for a moment, bowing to absolute authority. The giant silhouette of the king formed, faceless, formless, yet carrying the weight of defeats and unimaginable power. Dresk said,
"The vessel cannot endure this. I will stop it."
In a layer untouched even by the Rift, the shadows of the Nocturn Circle stirred. They did not emerge from a portal—they had always been there. Ancient seals glowed, following the pulse of Ren's Core. They did not obstruct Dresk, nor did they openly aid anyone. They merely shifted balance enough to provide a single escape route.
The Rift walls trembled. Dresk's crown glowed darkly, shadows binding the remaining world fragments. The king's silhouette pressed the air.
CRACK.
Fractures rang out; their bodies felt it: bones crushed, teeth collided, shards of reality fell like invisible glass rain, piercing Elyndor's shoulders without drawing blood, leaving only a dense void. Level 4 cracked simultaneously; dimensional screams shattered like thousands of breaking glasses inside their heads.
"We cannot hold any longer!" Elyndor shouted. "The exit gate formed—but it's unstable!"
Zyd smiled faintly. His gaze shifted from Ren, Lyra, Elyndor, to the Core itself.
"If one of us becomes the anchor, the escape structure will be stable enough."
Too late. Zyd destroyed his safety unit, plunging his hand into the Rift reactor's Core. Flesh blistered, his arm losing shape; the line between flesh, bone, and energy blurred. Finger bones cracked into shards of light. The scent of metal and ozone exploded in the air. Yet he remained focused.
"Direct them out—NOW!"
A burst of light swallowed him; the escape circle formed perfectly for a quarter of a second.
Elyndor grasped Ren's body, Lyra activated the final glyph.
The Fallen King's crown descended, piercing Level 4 like a divine spear. Everything collapsed—time, space, memory, screams—leaving only emptiness. They were flung; their bodies did not move, as if torn from one dream into a darker one. Lyra saw the shadow of her body remain, frozen, shattering into dust of light, then vanishing.
Silence replaced chaos. Ren slammed onto the damp ground, followed by Lyra and Elyndor. The air was heavy, thick with a thin mist not of the Rift. Level 4 had not collapsed, but… it had been extinguished. Ren did not move; his eyes were blank, breathing uneven, yet his chest still rose and fell. The Core still beat—slower, deeper, unstable… yet alive.
In the distance, a hooded figure slowly lowered their hand. The released seal faded. The Nocturn Circle did not approach. Did not speak. Simply turned… and vanished.
Lyra knelt beside Ren, her hand trembling as it touched his cold face.
"He… is still here…" she whispered.
Elyndor stared at the empty space where Level 4 had been. Something had ended. Something else had just awakened. And deep within Ren's consciousness… something answered a call he had never sent.
The final legacy had yet to be discovered.
The world was not yet ready to be afraid.