"Dirga—Kaela’s ready. Lock him!"
Saelari’s voice echoed directly into his mind through the rune link.
Dirga didn’t hesitate. "Got it."
He inhaled once, steadying his thoughts. Please... let this be enough.
The Crimson Core pulsed in his hand—then unraveled.
The bandages burst outward like living threads, twisting through the air in a blur of red and black. Dirga’s telekinesis surged, guiding them with razor precision.
They shot toward the Butcher, wrapping around his limbs, his gut-mouth, his monstrous eye.
"You think you can bind me, child?!" the Butcher roared, thrashing.
Dirga gritted his teeth.
The bandages tightened—compressing with impossible force. The Butcher’s muscles bulged. His breath hitched. The ground cracked beneath his weight.
And then Dirga pushed harder.
He poured gravity into every thread.
His entire Concept surged through him like a collapsing star.
Time seemed to slow under the sheer pressure.
The Butcher let out a distorted howl, caught in the middle of a crushing void.
The rune circle beneath Kaela’s feet ignited, radiant with divine Zarion.
Her body trembled violently.
Her voice echoed—cracked, desperate, holy.
"O Light above all things—
O Flame that sees all sin,
Cast your gaze upon this cursed flesh.
Break the spine of evil with a single breath.
I offer blood, bone, and soul.
I give you my sight, my voice, my truth.
Let my pain become your pillar.
By the names burned into the stars—
By the law written before time—
Dirga’s Crimson Core pulsed—then shattered back into dice form, spent.
He looked up—just in time.
The Butcher snapped free of one bandage.
His halberd screamed through the air—gathering blood into an infinite arc. A slash meant to erase everything in its path.
Dirga dodged—but it wouldn’t matter.
The halberd’s range was boundless.
It would cut through everything The Butcher could see.
He never finished the swing.
Two massive runes materialized—one above, one below the Butcher—glowing with divine authority.
"W-What is this?!" he howled, suspended mid-air.
The runes locked him in place like chains of law.
A colossal golden hand emerged from the upper rune, luminous and crackling with divine Zarion. It moved with deliberate finality, descending from the heavens like judgment itself.
Dirga could only watch.
The Butcher thrashed, roared, cursed.
"YOU THINK THIS IS OVER, YOU PUNY CREATURES?! I AM—"
The divine hand slammed closed.
There was no explosion.
The Butcher... simply ceased to exist.
Erased. Like a flaw in creation corrected by the divine.
Dirga dropped to one knee, collapsing onto the blood-slick stone.
His lungs burned. His limbs trembled.
His Concept flickered like a dying flame in the void.
Kaela lay at the center of the massive rune, unmoving—her cloak soaked, her eyes closed, blood trailing from the corners.
She was curled against the Zarion-etched floor, breath shallow, her lips parted in a silent whisper that never came.
The divine light that had once burned like a sun now pulsed faintly, fragile as candlelight.
Saelari was slumped behind a shattered pillar, her breathing ragged. Cracks ran through her glowing rune, light sputtering with every breath.
Her hand trembled as she traced a recovery seal midair—more reflex than precision.
Theryn stood in the shadows, barely upright.
Her dusky skin was torn in places, silver blood trailing down her arms.
Her hair clung to her cheeks, and the shadows around her flickered weakly, as if unsure whether to rise or retreat.
But they were still breathing.
And the Butcher... was gone.
Wiped from existence by divine fury.
Dirga sat in silence for a few minutes, letting his breath stabilize, letting the pain ebb into numbness.
His knuckles were cracked. His muscles screamed with every twitch.
Every heartbeat echoed like a reminder. Not just of survival—but of how close they’d come to death.
Eventually, he forced himself to stand.
His boots splashed through congealed blood as he walked toward the others.
The air still reeked of ash, ozone, and something fouler—burnt meat and ruptured power.
"How are you?" he asked quietly, his voice gravel-lined.
Saelari was already beside Kaela, checking her pulse, brushing strands of blood-matted hair from her forehead.
"She’s alive," Saelari murmured. "Just completely drained. Whatever that spell was... she pushed beyond her limit. I’ve already applied healing and regeneration runes. She just needs time."
Dirga exhaled slowly. Relief, guilt, and awe twisted together in his chest.
"I’m okay," Theryn said faintly, sitting now with her back against the wall. Her voice was raspy. "But... please keep my shadow powers a secret."
Dirga glanced at her, then nodded.
Another secret, added to the pile.
After what they’d all endured together, it didn’t matter. They were bound now. Not by trust.
By blood and survival.
Silence settled over the room like snowfall.
...Until something cracked.
The sound echoed—low, hollow, unnatural.
Dirga’s head snapped up.
A shiver slid down his spine.
Something... was coming.
The air shifted—cold and pressurized.
Then, without warning—
A coffin materialized in the center of the hall.
It was enormous. Black as obsidian, lined with veins of red.
Golden ornaments spiraled along its length, and at its center was an unmistakable symbol: a stylized ’2’, carved in silver so pure it glowed faintly.
Dirga’s entire body tensed.
His instincts screamed.
This... felt exactly like when Sasa first appeared.
The walls themselves seemed to lean inward, the air bending in reverence or fear.
Even the faint glow from Kaela’s rune dimmed, as if unwilling to compete with what had just arrived.
It wasn’t just power—it was presence. Ancient. Unyielding. Absolute.
This wasn’t just a creature of Hell.
Saelari and Theryn, though injured, stood immediately—positioning themselves between Kaela and the intruding presence.
Dirga took a slow breath and stepped forward, placing himself at the front.
Their formation wasn’t clean. They were exhausted.
But they stood together, ready.
The Butcher was gone.
But something worse had arrived.