Light in the Darkness Finale

“That I am,” Ruzatz agreed with his wife, nodding gently along with his words. There was simply no denying the fact that the two – demon and human alike – were quite in love. The Prime Sin had never pretended, not even for a moment, that all of his heart belonged to Agatha, even in front of his kin. As far as he was concerned, they were the ones that needed adjusting; he was simply learning to roll with the times. But his affection for his wife wasn’t at the forefront of his mind, allowing only that small and brief moment before refocusing on the matter at hand. Serilda was here for a reason and, if they were going to get any answers, it required parts and actions from each one of them in attendance.

Agatha went to fetch her crystal, so that she could properly scry on the God Slayer. Ruzatz watched her go before turning back to Serilda, sighing as he did so. Luckily for them, the Voidwalker seemed to possess something for their needs. She pulled her keychain out and produced a single key, stating that it was the one that he had given to her. The Prime Sin walked over and looked over the item curiously before reaching out to press his finger against it. He wasn’t as keen to reading objects as Agatha or others were but… “Yes, this will do perfectly,” he told her, aiming to relieve any dread she may have had over its usefulness.

Now all they could do was wait for Agatha to return, which wouldn’t be too long. Ruzatz took a step back, reminding himself of Serilda’s cautious nature towards his race and was preparing to move back to his chair when the Voidwalker spoke to him. He raised a brow as she spoke to him, addressing the fact that her favor wasn’t small, easy… or without consequences. Indeed, the Fallen Goddess would rain hell down upon him and his if she ever discovered he was the one that had assisted her. With that knowledge, Serilda told him that if any dared to intervene in his peace, she would want to know as soon as possible. She refused to allow him to take the punishment full blow. He smiled gently. “I shall, Lady Sinclair. But I promise if Faera does come looking for me and mine, she’ll get more of a fight than she’s truly prepared for,” he said with confidence and pride, waving out towards the people in the gallery. “You see, these aren’t just people who adore perversion – they’re more like free spirits. They wish to live out their lives as they best see fit, eager to go where they aren’t supposed to and try things others might frown upon. You’d be surprised how many people try to stop them and not through all-together peaceful means either. They’ve trained their magics to protect themselves, as well as others too. So if anyone comes knocking in an attempt to interrupt our peace, they’ll find hell like many don’t even know.”

The ‘Titan’ part of their name was not merely embellishment – it was a statement for their strength. The titans of legend once sought to defy the gods, who ruled over the world with selfishness and corruption. The Lusty Titans weren’t as drastic or revolutionary but they did not follow the strict lines of most other guilds either. They defied the proletariat so they could seek their own happiness and helped any that sought to walk along the same path. The added benefit was that each one of them also enjoyed a little bit of fooling around, something that was never a requirement of experience. But any that wished to join needed to understand that sometimes the guild hall would devolve into one giant orgy of bodies.

Serilda’s thoughts weren’t completely empty yet though, as she expressed her vow that she would attempt to push aside her preconceptions of demons, at least when it came to him. It wasn’t applied to all but she would remember what he had done for her since their meeting, in what seemed like such a long time ago. “I appreciate that, Serilda,” he said, addressing her less formally in an attempt to show his humility to her words. “And you have my word I will do my best never to give you reason to fall back on your word.”

As their private, familiar moment passed, Agatha finally returned with her crystal ball. She set it on the closest table, the trio gathering around as Agatha attuned the crystal to Mythal’s essence. The Prime Sin couldn’t help the small smile that came to his face as he looked at his wife. When he had first met her, this kind of magic would have taken her a full rotation of the sun to complete. Of course, back then, he had been a far more rigid and proper demon lord. How marriage and soulful combination had changed them both, for the better it seemed. She finished the spell and held her hands over the orb, masterfully channeling the crystal with magic. Dark, ominous smoke appeared in its core, filling the entirety of the glass ball. And after a brief, terrifying moment of absolute silence… there was sound. The echoes of battle echoed out from the globe, the unmistakable cries of agony and pain as souls were brought low. There was a familiar cry that sparked recognition in the Prime Sin and Serilda – Mythal’s voice above the mass of violent noise. “I’ll be damned…” Ruzatz said, scoffing but also smiling. The God Slayer was still alive!

Serilda demanded she be sent as close to him as possible, something Ruzatz hadn’t been planning. His invasion into Kingdom Darkness would be far more obvious were he to open a portal closer to her subjects. He’d planned on slicing open the rift between worlds a couple of miles above the ground, so that she could free fall directly into the battle. But given how riotous the noise was coming from the crystal ball, he wasn’t sure he had that option. Agatha asked the Voidwalker to wait a moment so she could place a protective spell over them, as the air in the realm was poisonous to any that entered that didn’t belong to Faera’s control. In truth, the entirety of the realm was more dangerous than that but the other corruption required a lot longer exposure than that.

It seemed Ozorith had planned for just this situation, not surprising Ruzatz in the least bit. Her armor, as little as there was, was specifically enchanted to protect her from the magical essence within the realm. If it truly protected her against Faera was one thing but he deeply hoped that trial through fire wasn’t meant for the Voidwalker in this instance. The Star Wolf was the only one that required protection and Agatha quickly and efficiently weaved a protection spell over the hound, protecting Xiuhcoatl for the, hopefully, short time they would be there. Serilda thanked them for their actions and asked that should the worst come to pass, that they inform her family of what had happened. Ruzatz nodded gently before he sighed and closed his eyes. The air in front of him shimmered with magical power before it gave way to a solid object; a bound and wrapped whip of bright, white magic energy. It was smoking gently, undulating much like darkness magic might had it found itself injected with light. And wasn’t that just what Ruzatz had as a magical blessing – the power of a Hell Demon Slayer. He snatched the whip from the air and unrolled it with a quick flick of his wrist to the side.

“Be warned, Serilda,” he said as the weapon began to glow brighter in his grip, magic energy funneling into the weapon. “This is a one way portal. Once you are through, it will close behind you. You’re only way out of Kingdom Darkness is going to be through the door. I’ve never heard of any opening it that weren’t given explicit power to do so… so my advice is to find a head honcho and take his key. Oh and one last thing…” he said, flashing a smirk. “Kick some serious ass while you’re in there.”

With that said, he brought the whip up above his head, spinning it in a perfect circle of shadowy light. Then he snapped it forward, the weapon releasing a loud crack as it hit its full extension. And there, at its absolute extreme point, reality split open into a vertical tear of white light. Beyond the glowing entryway was only darkness, far darker than any shadow that ever appeared in their world. Once Serilda had stepped through, it would sew itself back up without sound or order, reversing the wound that had been made.

Ruzatz threw the whip into the air and it disappeared with a flash of light, storing itself within the pocket realm he rarely utilized nowadays. He looked over at Agatha briefly, giving her a small smile of hope before he reached into his pocket and pulled out his very own iLac. He pressed a few buttons on the screen and then brought it up to his ear, the device ringing. After a brief few seconds of ringing, someone picked up. “Ignacio. I think you have some explaining to do.”

---

The sounds of battle were everywhere, or so it seemed. Mythal’s sense of the world was so scrambled at the moment that he couldn’t quite place where there wasn’t fighting and where there was. That wasn’t quite true – he certainly knew where there was fighting, as it was almost exclusively revolving around him or Gren. The dark forces of Faera’s had come swarming en masse and hadn’t let up the entire trip from the prison to their open battlefield here. If he was going to die, he much preferred it to be outside anyways.

The prison guards hadn’t been very impressive, to say the least. Mythal himself had managed to land single punches and kicks to each one to knock them through the walls. As he and Gren searched for an entryway to get out, they kept running into group after group of soldiers. They looked both oddly different and strangely familiar, all at the same time. Their faces were human like, along with their bodies and major features. They didn’t have wings, like the God Slayer had expected from angels, but there was a dark aura about them. There was also the fact that all of them had the same kind of eyes – pitch black irises with black veins filling their sclera. Even their equipment resembled that of what one would find in his regular world, though the blades and points were all as black as obsidian. The God Slayer weaved between slashes, stabs and swings to land strike after strike, his bare fists proving more potent that the weapons from the angelic guardsmen. He and Gren traveled up and down the building in search of an exit, the structure itself seeming to change to keep them lost. Eventually Mythal grew sick of simply running around and began to dismantle the building wall by wall, floor after floor. The prison lurched and fell away in several places and finally they found a hole that led to a tangible pathway outside.

Of course, by then, hundreds of Faera’s forces had gathered outside just in case this happened. Overwhelming two enemies of the realm seemed easy given their numbers but one could only imagine their surprise when Mythal and Gren dove into the stream of angelic forces and began to carve their way through the masses. They had no sense of direction, no real destination in mind – they would simply fight in hopes of finding some path that led them out of there. Despite Gren having seen little to no combat during his training, he moved like a pro; he weaved between angel’s legs and nipped at them, distracting the enemies for Mythal to swoop in and deliver a fatal blow. The God Slayer invoked every attack he had ever learned as he fought in a near three hundred sixty degree circle. Bodies and faces began to bleed together as he dodged and countered and punched and kicked and grabbed. It felt like hours, days even, before he finally delivered another punch that crumbled an angel’s body and realized that they had cleared out all of the forces… at least for now.

They had several paths to choose from and no idea which one was the right way. All directions seemed to lead towards more endless darkness and without signs or idea, it was almost a roulette of chance and danger whether they found salvation or further damnation. Luckily they got the opportunity to avoid a guessing game – one of the angels had survived the assault, long enough for Mythal to drag him up and demand answers. After a bit of squeezing, in the literal sense, the God Slayer learned some very basic details; they were in on the outskirts of Kingdom Darkness, right near where the realm fell off into an endless fall of darkness. It seemed the world developed based on how many occupants lived within it and, as more came in, the further the world grew. But there was a literal end to it all and that pit had no stop if one were to fall into it. The angel explained, in pained detail, that it was here that the door to the other realm, Mythal’s home realm, had been built by the gods of old. Apparently none were meant to pass through it unless it was absolutely necessary but at some point, the Fallen Goddess had decided to disobey that high law. Special rituals could be done to allow the celestial denizens of this world to take over mortal bodies and pass through the door without issue, so long as they possessed a special ‘key’. Unfortunately once one had used the key to come back into Kingdom Darkness, it was rendered useless for decades.

That explained why Archimedes had remained in the human world for so long. He didn’t want to return unless he was absolutely sure he needed to. Getting Mythal had apparently been enough for him to finally return to his home after over thirty decades. The angel seemed to hint that beyond the special rituals, there was no way to open Kingdom Darkness’ door from this side. But Mythal wasn’t having it and after learning the path to bring him to the door, he was quick to put his information broker down like his brethren.


The trip to the door wasn’t easy either; more angelic forces set upon them from every side. They were sporadic; special groups that were probably sent in to try and slow him down while the remainder gathered to swarm them. They were dispatched much like their brothers and sisters but not as easily as when they had started. Mythal’s magical core was already fairly drained and the constant battling was beginning to wane on him. By the time they reached the rise on the path that would lead them down to the door, Mythal had to take a moment and breath.

Gren’s whimpered gently as he walked over and brushed himself against the God Slayer, who had taken to one knee. He laughed softly between his breaths as he reached down and scratched the pup. “Don’t worry, bud… I’m not done yet,” he said softly, lifting himself a bit so he could sit with a straight back. The dark, starry skies shone down upon them from all sides, the purple lights as alien as everything else in this realm. The closer he got to the edge of the realm, the stranger it seemed to get – there were now floating pieces of land all around him, islands made of the same gray soil that had made up the ‘ground’ near the prison. A part of him, the part he imagined came from his bastard of a father, found comfort in the strange sights of the dark realm. The human part of him was just… well, truth be told he was rather ambivalent. But this didn’t feel like a home to him. It felt more like a place from a dream or a nightmare. “Pro’lly gonna haunt me for the rest of my days,” he said with a groan as he got back to his feet, feeling all the aches in his body cry out all at the same time.

He pushed forward, the eager hound running right beside him. As he came over the crest of the hill, he felt the energy in his core sigh once more as he laid eyes upon the massive army. They had all gathered on the circular plot of land at the bottom of the path and there, floating in the sky just past them, was the door. It was the same on this side as it had been on the other – its pearlescent sheen an eyesore against the dark backdrop of the realm. This army was… different. There were similar soldiers to the ones he had fought already but there were others too. Massive, troll-looking beings made of blackened stone, small white eyes glaring up at the God Slayer. They held large stone blades that were clearly meant for bashing rather than slicing – which would be easy, since they were roughly twice the size of Mythal. Floating over the giant’s backs were creatures that looked like shadow ghosts. They had no legs to speak of, only wispy smoky tails that whipped to and fro. Their torsos were covered in armor and they bore a hood that covered their heads. Beneath the hood was a white mask, painted in red and blue tribal markings. They each held a single sword in one hand and a shadow leash that seemed to connect to the giant’s necks in the other.

Mythal looked out at all the enemies before him and sighed, shaking his head softly. He looked down at the Star Wolf, also looking out at the forces but not looking nearly as defeated. The pup looked up and wuffed softly, ever the constant source of confidence. “I know; you’d think they’d actually try and stop us,” Mythal quipped, finding a bit of humor in the moment.

Gren wuffed again, his tail wagging to and fro. He was ready whenever the God Slayer was. Mythal looked past the enemies and at the door, the only barrier between him and freedom. As he had to do was get through this last army. That alone was enough to spark some will in his soul. “One last push,” he said aloud, more for himself than Gren. His right arm sparked to life, the dark gauntlet taking for mover his hand and squeezing shut in a fist. He inhaled slowly through his nose and then released it through his mouth.

And then he charged. Gren took off right beside him, each one of them racing down the hill at full speed. The army began to shift and move, several members of the soldiers funneling onto the path to intercept the incoming God Slayer. They were the first to fall as Mythal gave himself an extra speed boost, flinging himself through the entire front line as a flying punch. He rolled across the ground and popped back up to his feet, throwing punches and kicks to all the enemies that came rushing in at him. He dodged to the left and right as swords and daggers were stabbed at his body, countering back with magically infused strikes. Gren came barking in, sliding beneath the legs of one soldier and biting his ankle. As the angel gasped in pain, he was swiftly planted afterwards by Mythal leaping at him with his fist. From there, the God Slayer siphoned the magic from his gauntlet into his hand, the orb of darkness swirling against his flesh. “Chaos Blast!” He roared as he unleashed a beam of shadow into the foray of soldiers, ripping dozens of them apart in one fell swoop.

Gren barked in response to the blast and turned his attention to the other side. His growl began to gain traction and volume, as if he was suddenly growing in the instant. Behind his bared teeth, something swirled about. Then when he opened his mouth again to bark, a beam of darkness erupted from his throat and similarly decimated the other direction of enemies. Mythal spun to stare at the hound as the beam dissipated, the small pup coughing a puff of shadow out once before righting himself, licking his chops. “Well that’s not terrifyin’,” he quipped again, smiling at the hound. Gren wuffed excitedly, just as a shadow suddenly loomed over both of them. The God Slayer glanced up in time to see the massive sword of one of the giant’s over them, now beginning to fall towards them. He dove and wrapped up Gren in his arms as he rolled out of the way of the strike. The ground thrummed and lurched from the impact, sending both Mythal and Gren airborne from the strength of the quake.

As Mythal came down to the ground and landed, Gren rolled out of his grip and hopped up onto his shoulder. As the God Slayer turned to face the giant that had attacked them, the hound growled once more at the other forces behind him. At the same time they burst into action; Gren leapt at the closest angel and wrapped his jaws around its throat, bringing it to the ground. Mythal took off towards the giant, who was now turning to face the God Slayer and bring its sword up once more. Mythal bent at the knees briefly before launching himself upwards at the giant, his right arm cocked and then unleashed as he brought it forward into the creature’s face. The crack of bones breaking reverberated across the immediate area and the giant stumbled backwards. But another, smaller sword shot through the air and pierced the God Slayer’s shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain. He was pulled like a dog on a leash towards the top of the giant, where the small, ghost-like creature hovered. Yet Mythal was able to fight through his pain enough to thrust out his foot as he came within the creature’s proximity, divorcing its head from its neck. Mythal landed hard on the giant’s head as it started to fall backwards, the sword in his shoulder dissipating and leaving only a blood wound.

He leapt back down to the ground, rolling in his landing, and popped back up to continue the fight. Gren rushed over to him out of the mass of angels, taking up the spot right next to his left leg. Angels and beasts surrounded them on all sides, putting them right in the middle of the kill box. Yet none of them were making any moves whatsoever – they all kept a fair distance away from Mythal and Gren, all standing side by side. The clanking of armor and weapons filled the temporary peace with reminders f the dangers that lay all around. Before Mythal could make a move of his own, he heard the oddest sound coming from above; clapping.

“Now that is the kind of son I expected to have,” Archimedes’ voice bore down on them. Both Gren and Mythal looked up to see the Archangel hovering in the air, slowly descending from the sky. As his feet touched the ground, he ceased his clapping and let his arms drop. “Resistant to the last. And strong to boot.”

“Come back over here and I’ll remind you how strong I am,” Mythal snapped.

“Oh I’m good, laddy. That cheap shot ye landed on me is enough to remind me of my follies,” Archimedes’ tone shifted suddenly, angry and insulted. “But I’ll wear that scar as a badge o’ pride after Faera hollows ye body out for her own.”

“Ain’t gonna happen. I’ll fight and fight and keep on fightin’ until you got no choice but to kill me,” Mythal spat back. Gren wuffed in agreement.

“Don’t think I cannae feel how weak ye are, how low yer magic is. You’ve put up a good fight but you don’t have much left in the canister. Few more minutes and you’ll be ripe for the takin’,” Archimedes returned to his confident self. He lifted his hand slowly, smirking as gestured towards the man and his pup. “Kill the dog. But make sure you keep the man alive.”

Their orders issued, the army around Mythal started to move forward. The God Slayer scoffed and fell into a defensive stance, his head moving on a swivel as he checked all his sides. They were completely surrounded and with Archimedes backing them up, now it certainly looked like they had reached the end of the road.  So close to the door and now it felt like they had their backs to it more than anything else. Still, if they had come this far, at least they could say they fought their hardest. As much as the idea of Gren dying sickened him, he knew that they would be together after this. All he regretted was not having had the courage to tell Serilda how he had felt before it was far too late.

And it was, perhaps, that very thought that brought the light. It shone down from the sky with such an unearthly presence that everyone in the immediate area was blinded. Mythal bent down and covered Gren, fearing that this was some finishing spell meant to render them both defeated. But rather than the two of them losing their strengths, it was the cries of the army around them that drew his gaze upward. The angels and creatures that encircled the God Slayer were… in agony. Their armors and weapons were melting into ash, lost to the air and leaving them unprotected and disarmed. Every one of them grabbed at their skulls and groaned in pain, many of them falling to their knees as the agony became too much to bear standing. The ground also began to shake violently, several of the floating islands just beyond the platform cracking and breaking apart.

The light came down from the heavens and slammed into the ground near Mythal and Gren, rending the ground into a wide crater. As his eyes began to focus on the particular details of the light, they widened in awe at the sight of familiarity. There stood Xiuhcoatl, her normal dark coat nearly as bright as the sun. She was at the ready, her teeth bared and her fur on end. But if she was here, that meant…

His gaze turned to see the woman standing just beside her, nearly within arm’s reach. It was Serilda, the white knight who had somehow found a way into the realm to make quite the violent and abrasive entrance. Her armor was different, far flashier and open than she was used to bearing and there was another sheath upon her hip. But without a doubt it was the Voidwalker. His breath caught in his throat as all he could do was stare at her, unable to truly comprehend what was happening.

Archimedes though… his head was cocked slightly, a brow raised as he stared at the woman. Her voice broken through the agonized screams of the angelic forces, her ultimatum given with the full authority of one who felt she was in charge. Surrender or suffer the consequences – fairly routine in terms of these kinds of deals but all too strange to the Archangel and his forces. Never had anyone dared to hold such a standard to him or his people. A wry, wicked grin tugged at his face as he chuckled, clearly amused. “Aye, lass, aye – now that’s some boldness ye got there,” he said, bringing his hands up to clap once more. “Methinks I far misjudged ye before; ye got some spunk in ye. Mythal, my boy – ye got yerself a worthy lass here. Willin’ to throw herself into the deepest darkness just for a chance to save her beloved… or at least die with him. Ye have my respect.”

“But that ain’t gonna be enough to save ye.” As he finished his words, his body began to shift. His skin ran over with shadow, a purple hue trailing after the darkness that pigmented his skin. His ears began to expand backwards, growing long and pointed as they aimed in the opposite direction. The dark robe he wore tore as bone-like spines began to emerge from his shoulders and forearms, each spikes brimming with magic. Long, black horns thrust out of his temples and slithered towards the sky. Purple, glowing veins appeared in his chest, creating an odd symbol that was beyond comprehension. His hair grew even longer, swinging down low until it was past his rear. Then hideous, demonic-looking wings thrust out from his shoulder blades and spread open, their sharp fingers topped with razors. His eyes filled in with a deep, glowing purple fluid that seemed to fill the immediate area with despair. The final touch to his change was a black halo that wrapped around and above his horns, moving and flowing like a river.

As he finished his demonic transformation, he snickered. “Shake off your shackles,” he demanded, his voice now deep and brimming with power. He waved his hand and darkness began to flow upwards from the ground around them, hardening and blacking out the entirety of the land beyond the circle. It swallowed up the angelic forces, their cries lost to the shadows as they disappeared within. The dome rose up and completed its formation, locking everyone within its core along with the Archangel. His hand twitched once more and a broadsword appeared in his hand, a long and taloned weapon with glowing purple runes across the flat edge of the blade. “Now then… let us see what you are capable of.”

Even in his full angelic form, she held a dismissive regard for the Archangel. Archimedes’ mouth pulled back into a wicked grin as he met the woman’s gaze. His aura was the very feeling of despair, meant to suck the courage out of anyone that dared witness his glory and mastery. But yet she did not fall to a knee, nor quiver with fear at her hopeless situation. It was impressive and frankly, he commended her for it. “You are quite strong for a pitiful human. None but those with the hint of Kingdom Darkness can withstand my presence in this form… save for a lucky few. Perhaps your connection to the Void gives you quite the edge. Maybe I won’t kill you just yet – I believe our Holder of Knowledge may want to experiment on you. Though you don’t need to be in one piece for that,” he snickered as he turned his blade about in his hand, better prepping it for the annihilation to come. He watched as Serilda unsheathed her sword and felt the unholy presence almost immediately, scoffing in light irritation from its damned aura releasing into the world around them. “You prepared well – an unholy sword for those most divine. You continue to rise above expectations, girl.” He held his ground, even as his minions clouded in the dome backed off and covered their features. Her weapon would surely hurt, but she would have to make connection for that to happen. And Archimedes had no intention of letting her lay a single strike on him.

“Serilda…” Mythal finally found his voice, though all it came out was a harsh whisper. How had she gotten here? How had she found a pathway into this realm without opening the door? As millions of thoughts played in his head in an alarmed, confusing orchestra, he was distracted by Xiuhco coming over to him and rubbed herself against him. Gren eagerly ran up to his older sister, proudly showing off the markings of battle still around his face. He was worn and tired for sure but as usual, his spirit was nigh impossible to crush. Serilda issued her order to the hound, asking her to help Mythal find a way out of the swirling storm of darkness that Archimedes had trapped them in. His questions would have to wait – it was far more important that they find a way to survive. Shaking off his daze as best he could, he got to his feet, reinvigorated by the light of the Star Wolf beside him. His eyes pulled away from the approaching battle and went to the wall of rushing shadow just behind him, right where the door to their world lay.

He approached it quickly, his hand stretching out to pierce it. But the immediate burning sensation that filled his entire limb caused him to cry out in pain and pull the arm back. Black smoke slithered off of his flesh and his skin had turned a charcoal black from reaching into the powerful magic. “Son of a bitch…” He hissed between clenched teeth. But as Xiuhco came closer to him, he noticed that the veil of darkness seemed to weaken. Its absolute blockage of the world beyond wavered and he could barely make out the brilliant white gate behind the dome. “Xiuhco, here,” he indicated to the spot right underneath him with his finger, putting her close to the wall without putting her in danger. Counting that she listened, he would watch as the swirling darkness lost much of its strength. Growling, the God Slayer fueled his magic into his already burnt arm, crafting his gauntlet once more. And then he thrust it into the storm, his fingers stretching out. With his darkness magic clashing against darkness, he could actually feel the magic almost as if it was a tangible object. His fingers wrapped around the weakened storm, his other hand wrapping around his forearm to offer additional strength. He pulled on the dome, the swirling mass warping and wrenching apart from his strength. The sight of the door just beyond became clearer as he pulled on it, literally fighting against a tornado of darkness.

Both Mythal and Archimedes’ felt the environment drop in temperature, the cooling sensation prickling the bare flesh of all upon the floating platform. Archimedes’ grin turned into a frown as his breath became labored, if only by a fraction. Her magical strength was enough to hinder him, enough so that he was forced to wrap his face in a mask of darkness. Glaring yellow eyes stared out from behind the liquid shadow over his features as he continued to watch the Voidwalker, his relief temporary. But then something new came – something neither man was prepared to feel and experience. The slotted eyes of the mask actually opened wider as the woman’s sword became covered in a thick film of blackened ice. The magic coming off of the weapon was heightened now, enough so that even he was forced to take a step back. “No…” He said softly, his voice now raised in utter shock. “She’s using…”

“God Slaying magic…” Mythal said in wonder. He had stopped pulling on the storm for a moment, his magical senses going crazy at the new source of God Slaying within the dome. His eyes turned to watch as Serilda’s sword was coated in the unholy magic but its source not from the weapon itself. In fact, he felt it in her soul now – a loud and bright presence that every Slayer was able to feel in one another. It felt as cold as the air she made, her very being like an ominous ice mountain of frozen dismay. He had all the questions in the world for her and wanted nothing more than to ask them there and then. But once more, his priorities were trying to find them a way to the door before more reinforcements came. He shook away his wonder as best he could and returned to pulling on the storm, attempting to tear a gash in its unfathomable cycle.

“Impossible!” Archimedes declared, slashing the sword in front of him in defiance to the sight before him. As the massive magic symbol appeared beneath her and began to spin wildly, he refused to believe what he was feeling. “This is a trick! There is no way you were a God Slayer the entire time!” But any of his words would not bring down the truth and his tantrum only left him more open for her attacks. Her body rocketed forward at him, her dash bringing the battle to a new beginning. Roaring, Archimedes brought his sword overhead and then back down towards her, looking to cleave her in two before she could even get started. But all he hit was the ground as she merged with the floor nearly as swiftly as she had flown at him. Before he could adjust his stance, she was behind him and her blade found purchase up his spine. The searing, frosted pain ripped through his entire body as his torso jerked forward, an agonized and angered yell echoing throughout the chamber. He spun around, his weapon leading the way in a horizontal strike as he attempted to deliver the same pain to her as she had done him. His senses told him she was above and as he looked up to find his target, all he found was a boulder of ice slamming into him. He roared as he fell back several steps, the mask barely protecting his features from the pain hitting him. It came back in and hit him once more, bringing forth yet another cry of pain. The third time he managed to bring his arm up and grab the icy boulder before it struck his face again. Darkness flowed out of his arm and thrust itself into the boulder, overwhelming it and swallowing it up until it was nothing.

“You bitch,” he snarled, his wings stretching wide. His magic rushed out of him and glossed over his flesh, creating a dark sheen over his musculature. Now bolstered by his home realm, he rushed her with refreshed speed, practically moving from point A to B within an instant. His sword swung low and hard at her, aiming to slice into her hip. At the same time, his other hand thrust out to the side and released a pulse of dark magic that attempted overwhelm the ground. Inky shadows began to rise from the soil, the thick liquid grabbing at all the occupants and holding like sludge from a marsh. He swung his sword at her a few more times, looking to put her back on the defensive before his free wrist flicked and sent a shadow orb flying at Mythal.

Luckily for the other God Slayer, Gren was on guard. Despite the darkness on the ground, the Star Wolf growled and then released yet another beam of dark magic right into the heart of the orb, dispersing it into a shower of glittering dark shards. He barked in triumph, his tail wagging as he hopped right in front of Mythal, clearly taking up the role of guardian.

After several long minutes of fighting Serilda back and forth, Archimedes flew back near the wall, his chest heaving. She wasn’t being overwhelmed – in fact, she was pushing him back! “Insufferable!” He roared as he waved his sword in front of him, rotating it around in front of his body like a clock hand. A circle of shadow appeared in front of him and then exploded outwards, disappearing just as quickly as it had come. But the immediate reaction of the minions in the storm caught everyone’s attention as they began to wail. Their bodies melted into shadows and merged together, the only sign of their individuality being the yellow eyes that popped up in the two masses. From the dome rushed out two tornados of darkness, the minions having been melted into two equally sized storm. As Archimedes stepped back, each cyclone split and went for separate targets; Mythal and Serilda.

The Fallen God Slayer was only alerted to the incoming danger by Gren, his barks an alarm for what approached. He turned just in time to see the rush of darkness coming at him and he had no choice but to dive away from the wall of shadow, grabbing Gren and Xiuhco at the same time to get them out of harm’s way as well. The breach he had made remained for the moment but he could see the shadows reknitting themselves together. “Bastard,” Mythal said as he backed up, bringing himself closer to Serilda. The two storms spun around them , forcing them practically back to back. “We’ll need to get rid of these things before I can get back to the wall.”

“He’s an Archangel named Archimedes. One of Faera’s favorites or so he likes to consider himself,” Mythal explained quickly, his eyes never leaving the swirling mass of darkness right in front of him. “He’s uh… also my dad, technically.” Not that that was an indication any leniency should be rendered to him. Archimedes was still the enemy, without or without the connection of DNA. His head cocked only slightly so he could look over his shoulder at her, taking a moment to take in the absolute rage that seemed to burn out of her like a wildfire. He’d seen her annoyed, he’d even seen her pissed – but this was an entirely new level. It was like she was living within the ocean of her wrath, swallowing down its essence and dissolving into its mass. It gave her plenty of sharp wit and ferocious words but just how wild was it? Already her tone was as venomous as any he had ever heard before. Questions that he certainly would be asking her later, if and when they survived this mess.

The Voidwalker brought her sword high and created yet another runic symbol in the sky above them, just below the top of the dome. It began to rotate and from its glowing form came an icefall like he’d never seen before. Jagged, shards of ice as clear and pristine as glass came falling from the symbol, crashing down upon the surface around them. A chilled wind roared down from the ceiling and swirled throughout the chamber, taking hold of the two dark cyclones. Each twister seemed to lost its shape for a moment before being reluctantly lifted from their spiraling paths, sucked up into the air. From there they were shaken like toys in a toddler’s hands, ripped from side to side in an attempt to weaken and disperse them. Several of the individual creatures were flung back into the dome of darkness, disappearing into the world beyond but assumed beaten.

Archimedes was forced to throw up his sword and create a shield of shadow to block the razor sharp shower. Even then several of the droplets broke across the top and sides, tearing into his flesh and carving thin slices that almost immediately froze over. He snarled as he cast yet another spell over himself, his entire form becoming covered in a thin membrane of reflective darkness. He dropped his shield as the ice crystals smashed against his full length barrier, the protective film holding against her wrathful storm. But as his eyes set upon her once more, he bore witness to her unraveling a thin, darkened twister from the tip of her sword and then lashing it at him. It cracked with such force that his body shield splintered along his shoulder, ripping open a wound on his body and causing him to yelp in pain. Another whip came in and slashed across his stomach, opening the shield temporarily to wound him before it healed over.

As Serilda quite literally whipped the Archangel like a bad animal, Mythal took the opportunity to get back to the wall. With the gripping darkness frozen over by another one of Serilda’s spells, Mythal was able to slide right over to the spot he had started his breach and thrust his arm once more inside. His fingers pulled with a greater strength now, his arm wrenching open the dome’s wall as best as he could make. But right then was when Archimedes let out a thunderous yell, magic ebbing off of him like a wave of heat. His sword lashed through the air and took aim for Serilda’s tornado, the weapon infused with such strength of magic that it would tear the funnel asunder. He swung the weapon back and a wave of darkness rushed towards her, intent on knocking her back from her position and towards the other God Slayer.

His free hand stretched up towards the sky and the two twisters that had been caught up in the storm were suddenly and violently ripped away from their positions. His fingers twitched and the two cyclones were rushed forward towards one another, slamming into each other with such force that the ground rumbled. They merged together into one massive storm of darkness, the air within the dome beginning to pick up even faster as the torrential storm made landfall and spun in the opposite direction. But it didn’t from its spot, instead acting as a counter current to the ice storm and sucking up the ice crystals that were still falling.

With that out of the way, Archimedes rushed at Serilda once more. His sword seemed to grow as he swung it, with his speed still maintaining even. He slashed and stabbed and swung in every direction, intent on damaging her despite the fact that his blade passed through her. Soon her magic would wear thin and his darkness would begin to seep into her core, cutting her off from her pool. Then no amount of concentration would keep her from simply passing through his blade – in fact, it was more like his blade would part her body in two pieces before she truly understood her predicament. That was, at least, his very hope. As his confidence began to return, his injuries began to slowly warm and heal as the realm of Kingdom Darkness started to heal its own occupant. Scars were left where the injuries were, showcasing that she had indeed hurt him plenty, but he would certainly be back to full health after several minutes.

His eyes flickered to Mythal at the wall, finally spotting the tear in his precious dome. He took a moment to part from Serilda, unleashing another wave of darkness at her with a swipe of his sword. His other arm thrust out towards Mythal, his fingers becoming coated in darkness. The God Slayer nearly had a full clearing opened when the dome suddenly stretched out towards him, hands of literal darkness thrusting out from the wall and grabbing him. Mythal balked at them and tried to pull his arm back but the hands already had grabbed ahold of his arm. Strength unlike anything he had ever felt before yanked him off his feet and into the dome, the shadowy barrier swallowing him instantly. Gren barked and charged towards the wall, stopping several feet from it as his senses told him of the danger. He continued to bark at the seemingly never-ending darkness, his eyes tracking through the shadows as Mythal was apparently lifted up towards the roof of the dome.

Archimedes was already moving onto his next spell, to ensure that Serilda didn’t attempt a rescue of her lover. His sword waved in front of him and another dome of darkness appeared, this time surrounding just the Voidwalking God Slayer. Once she was completely sealed, purple sparks of light would begin to appear within the film of shadow that made up her world. They twinkled much like stars, filling up the space like the night sky. But the stars began to slowly push out from the dark wall, becoming bolts of pure magical, cursed light. She would only get a moment or two to figure out what was happening before the blasts of darkstarlight began to crash down all around her, exploding as they made contact on the ground or her.

Archimedes felt he had relieved himself from pain for the moment, as he crafted the secondary dome of darkness around Serilda and began to rain darkstarlight down upon her. He could feel her body getting knocked around like a rag in the wind, each ray of cursed luminesce injuring her more and more. But as he had done nearly this entire battle, he had taken the momentary reprieve for a sign of victory rather than continuing to build upon his advantage. His confidence led him to assume that any little bit of traction he made was a sure sign he would continue to rise while the Voidwalker continued to fall. He was never truly prepared as the woman released more of her magic upon him, his entire form suddenly surrounded by glowing glyphs on all sides. As his eyes went wide in surprised, he had no time to prepare himself as intense, high-pressure wind suddenly shot out from the runic emblems. He cried out in anger and pain as his entire body was pressed in tight, practically curling his limbs in on his torso as he fought against the sheer strength of the gusts.

It would distract him and keep him occupied plenty long enough to Serilda to escape. Only once she had properly carved out a gash in his globe did he managed to summon up the magical strength to unleash a shockwave of darkness that cracked and shattered the glyphs, relieving himself of the wind. Now crazed with anger, he barely waited a moment upon laying eyes on her to throw his entire form at her, sword swinging across at her head. But rather than feel the satisfying sensation of her flesh being divorced from itself, he was instead treated to a thick, frosty fog nearly as black as the darkness within the realm. He flew through the fog several feet in search of her, his eyes glowing bright and scanning over the curls and subtle movements of the smog. But he couldn’t feel anything – truthfully, within the gaze, he couldn’t even feel his connection to the barrier.

Archimedes only felt the sudden shift in the air by the time the sharp gust of wind was nearly upon him. He turned to face it, expecting to find the Voidwalker charging at him. Instead his shoulder was torn open once more, his shield flickering from the frosted damage it had received. In fact, the protective layer of magic that covered all of his body did not return to where the slice had hit, the strength of her magic keeping it away. He reached for the wound, his fingers finding the warm liquid that was his blood staining his fingers in horror. But she wasn’t done – her sword came flying out of the smog, held by some invisible force as it slashed and stabbed at him. He moved to parry and block as best he could but was soon further injured as another harsh spell of compressed air came flying in, slamming into and through his left side. Once more his shielding was unable to block it or recover a large open hole now present on his back and front. His movements slowed as pain racked his mind, his sword blocks becoming sloppy and allowing more slashes and stabs to find purchase in his form. He swung at the weapon one last time to knock it away but it found its way back to Serilda’s hand, who was now soaring in to meet him once more. He managed to barely get his sword up to protect himself from her dive, his blade ringing out loudly and sparking as her scimitar slid across the flat edge of his weapon. He fought her back but found himself assailed by prickling darts of air that slashed through his shield and tore open his flesh, spraying more blood over his limbs.

Another symbol appeared above him and before he could react, his entire body was sapping of its energy through a deep, intense pain. As his mouth opened to cry out in agony from it, her sword rushed forward and unleashed a cone of ice that completely overwhelmed his features, trapping his head in ice and halting any sound from him. And for a brief moment, the entire dome would fall into an unsettling silence. The twister of dark souls just beyond their battle seemed to wither and crack, individual beings falling from its core and crashing into puddles of darkness upon the ground. Archimedes’ sword arm fell, his sword crashing to the ground and melting away much like the minions.

But then a high-pitched squeal shot through the air, causing Gren and assumingly Xiuhcoatl, to flatten their ears against their heads and whine. The ice cracked and exploded from Archimedes’ face as darkness spouted out from his mouth, pouring over his entire body and covering him in a black film. His body started to grow; a heavy, muscular form carved out of the shadowy essence that multiplied his size by twice what he had been. The hole in his side shifted, painfully wrenching itself up to the middle between his stomach and chest and expanded, opening up into the sharp of triangle. His eyes were now a deep glowing yellow as tendrils of darkness shot out from his neck and wrapped around his head, shadowing him even further.

The twister reformed and began to spin even quicker. It started to morph and lift itself from the ground, pressing itself flat against the roof of the dome and expanding outwards. Now looking more like her storm from before, it began to release globes of darkness, burning bright with purple and green flames from within their cores. They would fall all over, forcing any and all besides Archimedes to have to bob and weave between them. As they exploded over the ground, they seeped into the surface, creating a thick miasma over the black ice. Archimedes wrenched his arm back and slammed it down into the ground as well, the limb half-disappearing in the ground from a swirling dark portal that appeared there. More darkness rushed out of the new opening, flooding the immediate area and spreading out as his magic went into overload.

“This darkness will suck out your very soul!” He roared, his voice seeming to come from all over rather than just his body. “Much like it is already hollowing out Faera’s vessel!” It seemed he was implying that Mythal, who had been taken into the barrier, was currently having his soul ripped from his body within the dark confines of the realm. And indeed, if Serilda attempted to freeze the ground, she would find the darkness pushed back but then rushing over the ice to resume its attempt to fill the entire dome with its essence. “You can resist my regular form but when I tap into my Blessing, you stand no chance! Kingdom Darkness is my home and I cannot be defeated here!”

---

Darkness. That’s all Mythal could see. It was all he could feel, the shadows a near liquid as it swirled around him. He floated within its confines, weak and limp as hung within the world. He could feel it pressing in on him, its influence trying to scratch through whatever mental and spiritual defenses he still had left. He stared forward, his eyes half-lidded, as the power did everything it could to overwhelm him. He knew this feeling well – it had been the same one he felt all those years ago, when Faera had attempted to take him over. An ocean of darkness, as deep as any one could imagine, and it was pulling him into the deepest recesses. All that fighting and for what; now he was going to be taken over anyways. Serilda had come all this way for nothing. He’d led her, Gren and Xiuhco, to their dooms.

“You don’t seriously believe that, do you?” A voice asked within the darkness, its tone warped and ominous. The God Slayer’s eyes opened a fraction to search for the source, seeing something moving in the liquid just before him. As it stepped up, somehow its features took on color so that he could see them. And he was surprised to find… himself standing there. His skin was paler, almost gray, and his eyes were a deep gold color but without a doubt, it was him.

Who are you? he asked inside his mind.

"The part of you that’s broken. A you that was created when Faera tried to take you over. Your shadow,” it explained, its mouth unmoving as it stared at him.

My shadow?

“For years you teetered on light and darkness, never fully committin’ to one or the other. I was merely a speck in the back of your mind then. But as you gave yourself more to benevolence, the more I took form. Your negative emotions had to go somewhere.”

You’re…evil then.” Mythal concluded, his brow furrowing.

“Your negative. I’m not more evil than you are good. But we share very little… save for two important things,” it explained, holding up two fingers. “A tenderness for Serilda… and a hatred for Faera and her kind.”

Why are you here?

“Because you’re givin’ up. And that ain’t gonna fly with me.”

Why now? Why here? You’ve never come before when I’ve been in danger. It didn’t make sense to the God Slayer – why was this version all of a sudden appearing before him?

“Because you’re losin’ yourself in the very essence that you can control. Kingdom Darkness is not beyond you – it is you. It runs in your blood and it lives in your magic. You’ve just never been immersed in it to feel it before. Now you are. This realm holds no danger for you but you have to get up and fight. And you have to do it now before it’s too late.”

Kingdom Darkness… is part of me?

“Now take what is yours. Become who you were meant to be. The first Darkness King.” His negative self gave him a soft nod and then turned back from whence he had come, walking back into the shadows of the dark ocean. Mythal was left floating there, questions still bubbling up in his mind. But the thought of Serilda outside, fighting alone, sparked some spirit back in him. His hands slowly tucked in at his sides, fists forming as he found strength for one last push. But rather than push himself towards the surface, which lay just above, he forced himself downwards. Immersing himself completely in the dark waters and searching for what apparently lay deep within the shadows.

---

Just as Archimedes was finishing his speech, there was a loud and audible gong. It rang out across the entirety of Kingdom Darkness, the realm itself seeming to be the source of the loud, painful noise. The Archangel froze, his eyes widening in absolute terror as his gaze lifted from Serilda and up towards the top of the dome. From there he could see his darkness storm starting to warp, its core wobbling and shaking uncomfortably. Only a second later did a shadow emerge from it, rocketing out from inside and tearing out a glowing, throbbing purple ball as it fell. The shadow slammed into the ground beside Serilda, seeming to melt into a perfect orb for a moment before it unfolded, taking a more humanoid shape.

“Impossible…” Archimedes said, his voice rife with fear. As the darkness began to fade from the form, Mythal’s features could be seen through the inky clouding. As he took full form, tendrils of darkness billowing off his shoulders and forearms and a ring of gold now encircled his crimson eyes as he stared at the Archangel. The God Slayer extended his hand upwards, his fingers splaying like he was reaching for something. The storm above, which had been melting into dark clouds, swirled downwards towards him and was siphoned into his palm and, assumingly, into his body. He continued to suction from above, the dome itself now falling victim to the pull and beginning to give way.

Mythal extended his other hand to Serilda and opened his hand. As soon as it was flat, she would feel a surge of power boost through her entire body. A shadowy halo wrapped itself around the space above her head, moving with her every movement like it was attached. Dark, smoky wings unfurled from her back and then folded themselves for her beck and call. “This is it,” he said softly to her, turning to look at her briefly.

“Finish it.”

Archimedes had absolutely no words to speak as he stared at the duo before him. His eyes flittered between the two humans, wide in horror. But his gaze lingered on Mythal, standing before him without any reason to even be here anymore. That shield that he was now absorbing and using for his own benefit was meant to put him through such agony that his body would become nothing more than an empty shell. Then he would be able to keep Serilda distracted while his minions picked up the husk and escaped with it, bringing it to Faera. Even if this unbearable woman was able to keep the fight in a stalemate, the Fallen Goddess would get her vessel. But he had come out of the storm, practically looking like he had taken a fresh wash to revitalize himself. And that gong… it couldn’t be possible that he’d heard it. All the factors tugged on his mind as they barreled towards the only conclusion, despite how impossible it was.

“Darkness King,” he said softly, his words pained and terrified. There had been a legend that none dare speak aloud, prophesized by a rogue angel long ago. He believed that someday, a power would rise from Kingdom Darkness that would rival Faera’s. His right over the realm would be in contention for hers and a great war would begin. Sides would be made, lines would be drawn and in the end, the alleged Darkness King would bring about the end of their way of life. It had been born back when the corruption first started to take effect, while certain angelic beings were still in their right wits. It had been called heresy and cast away, along with all of those that dared wonder and hope for it.

But all within the realm had certainly heard the sound. It would be a matter of minutes before the reverberant sounds reached Sanctuary Castle, where the Goddess herself dwelled. If she were to hear it… there was no telling what would happen to him. He had allowed her vessel opportunity to embrace the darkness of this world and, by doing so, had brought the prophecy to the forefront of truth. Perhaps that’s why the fight seemed to leave his eyes in that moment, just as the finale was finally coming in at him. His arm slipped out of the portal on the ground, the miasmic flood beginning to weaken and dissipate. He watched in horror as Serilda brought forth an orb and broke it within her hand. The frozen magic within it exploded outwards, filling the entire space with its icy winds and snow. Mythal held his ground, the constant river of darkness still flowing down from the dome above as it began to give way more and more. At this point, he didn’t allow himself to get surprised by anything – save for the sight of the Voidwalker when she reappeared after sucking down the magic.

She looked as close to a frozen angel as one could be. Both men watched as she rushed the Trumpet of Despair, appearing before him as if she moved from one room to the next. Her swords swung viciously at his completely black form, geysers of darkness exploding out from the chunks of black meat she hacked away. Chunks of black hail pierced his shoulders and head, causing him to cry out in pain and his body to jerk violently. He couldn’t fight against her, could barely keep himself on his feet as she plunged her hand into his chest, her fingers wrapping around his heart with such indignation and fury. He let out a low, mewling gasp, a mere squeeze away from becoming just a memory.

Her words sounded as harsh as the wind, rippling through his mind like a wintry mix through flesh. He could only stare as she brought her other hand forward and placed it against his head, her magic reaching its peak as she chanted her spell’s name. All at once his world became ice; his veins, his muscles, his bones, all were frozen in agonizing frost that silenced his throat in a visible breath. His form began to melt away, the darkness that armored and protected him retreating off like he was suddenly a plague. His magic evaporated out of him, emptying out his core until there was nothing but a blank memory. By the time the spell had reached its conclusion, he was back in his humanoid form, as bare as a babe out of the womb. His body was quivering as he fell to his knees, his arms tucking in to his chest as reality took over. “Cold… cold... cold…” he repeated over and over again, his eyes a dull gray now that his magic couldn’t enable them to change color. He could barely meet Serilda’s gaze, afraid to meet the frosty stare of the powered woman before him.

Mythal’s eyes never left his form throughout the entire ordeal, his emotions a blank slate against his father’s purge. As Serilda asked if there was anything more he needed to say, he simply shook his head. This man was his enemy, one that had birthed him as use as a vessel, hunted him for decades, warped his sister against him, kidnapped him and tricked him, attempted to murder Gren and even Serilda. There were no words that could fully comprehend the anger and hatred he felt for the now depleted angel. As Serilda gave Ozorith’s regards to the meek man, Mythal stepped forward enough to stand in front of the crouching, shivering man. He waited until Archimedes had enough courage to attempt a glance up at him before his right fist shot back and then forward in a rising uppercut. The impact against Archimedes’ chest was so loud the ground shook and then off the Archangel went into the sky once more, this time moving at a much faster pace. Within a moment he had disappeared into a speck against the dark backdrop, lost to the realm.

He glanced over at Serilda as she handed him the key, Archimedes’ way of transporting himself between the realms. Having forgot what the Archangel had said, he turned it around in his hand and pointed it at the door. The key lit in a dark purple aura as its magic attempted to breach the barrier… but failed. “He said we’re locked in here. Only the door can open from the other side,” he spat, suddenly remembering. The key began to dissolve from his hand, its tie to Archimedes’ magic apparently wearing off. He let it fall from his grip as he turned to look around the realm, searching. He thrust his hands outwards into the darkness beyond, his fingers splaying. He began to slowly pull the limbs back and, as he did, shadows from around them began to move. They rose up from the ground, forming into a congealed form. A pair of hands, made of darkness, took full form as his magic latched onto them, flexing both his physical and magical fists. Then he reached out and grabbed a hold of the door’s handles, pulling them tight into his grip and then pulling back. He grunted as he dug his feet into the soil, his physical strength trying to aid into his magical one. There were a few cracks of creaking from the barrier but overall, it didn’t seem willing to budge.

Then a high-pitched wail, an angered sound that reverberated throughout the entire realm. It seemed the gong had finally reached the Goddess’ ears and she was rightfully upset. As Mythal snapped his head around, glancing in the direction of the sound, he spotted something in the distance. A massive, swirling cloud eye was building up and rushing towards them, easily making the dark storms Archimedes had made look like dwarves. He released his magical hands and spun around, now in a defensive stance. It seemed their fight wasn’t over, even with the both of them on the last straws of their magical capabilities.

But before he could properly prepare, he heard another noise from behind him. The sound of a lock undoing itself and as he glanced over his shoulder, he watched in surprise as the door began to open. Light poured in from the doorway, spilling over the ground around them and illuminating the floor and their path. Gren barked happily at the illumination, his eager tail wagging furiously as he bounded back and forth, indicating he was ready to go. Indeed, they all probably were. As he turned to the door, he held out his hand to Serilda. “We all go together,” he said softly. Counting that she took it, he would race towards the light with Gren and Xiuhco bounding right beside them, his vision blinded by the warmth of the rays as they all finally left Kingdom Darkness behind.

Fresh air and sunshine never felt so good as this moment.

Bursting through the breach between realms, Mythal stumbled forward and nearly fell over as they fell through back to Earthland. He placed his hands on the ground to keep himself from going completely flat and turned back to look as Serilda slammed the door shut. It locked loudly and then, before their eyes, began to melt away. The frame melted into glittering white particles, flowing up into the sky above them. Before long the entire portal was gone, suctioned into the air and dissipating into the natural world. The realm of Kingdom Darkness was gone… for now.

Mythal sighed as his vision turned back to the ground, letting out a long and deep breath. He felt his new power retreating internally, his eyes returning to their natural crimson and the wisps of darkness fading into nothing. It was gone just as quickly as the door had been but for how long? Was this something he could access after the fact? Only time would tell. For now, he was glad to be far away from anything involving Faera and her realm. His fingers curled into the soil, feeling the tiny pebbles buried in the dirt and smiled in spite of himself. He closed his eyes and lifted his head up, quite literally basking in the sunlight.

At his eyes opened, something metallic caught his eyes. There was Curse, stabbed into the center of the ground. Hanging from its guard was the keyword he had taken from Key, dangling and jingling as it swayed. It was beginning to fade away from its use, glittering in the same white particles that the door had faded from too. As Mythal staggered to his feet and over to his weapon, he spotted dark marks in the sand. Burn bruises on the earth from… a lightning strike.

“Gren…” he grumbled, shaking his head. So that's who had opened the door. How did he know to do so? Who even knew at this point -- the old man seemed capable of appearing where he needed to be… or didn't need to be. As he pulled the sword from the ground, he looked around the immediate area. His eyes widened slightly as he realized that this was the Ravines of the Lost. They were down upon the platform that he had first used to get into the dark realm. But now the fog had cleared away for some reason. As his eyes looked about, he could see the clay and dirt walls around them, rising up to the scarred surface beyond. Had their defeat of Archimedes caused this?

He felt Gren brush against his leg, wuffing as he wagged his butt against him. The God Slayer smiled down at the hound as his questions were temporarily forgotten. He could wonder later -- now he should be enjoying the fact that he was alive at all. “Listen, Seri…” he started as he turned to the Voidwalker, ready to start some kind of explanation.

Her slap hit him with such surprise that he fell to the ground. It hadn't been very strong but he has half-turning and not expecting it so down he went. He sat on the ground for a beat, staring wide-eyed at her feet for a moment before all his own questions and emotions came boiling to the surface. With it came the strength to literally pop up to his feet in front of her. “What the hell me?” he snapped back. “What the hell you? What is with the ice and the wind and the snow and the magic and the outfit and how did you get in there and and why are you a God Slayer and how are you a God Slayer?!” His words came out in such a rapid fire rate that he may as well have jammed them all together. Now that his mind was clearer, he wanted answers from her.

“I don't what?!” he yelled back at her, clearly exasperated by the bold statement. She really thought he had.no right to get mad? After she countered his stupid suicide mission with one of her own? He opened his mouth to yell more but she cut him off once more, her words as sharp as daggers as sliced into him. She was as angry as he had ever seen her, somehow finding energy enough to scream at him with such indignation. She attacked his choice in vivid detail, asking him what he had expected from her, given what he had done. He had expected this wrath, sure… but he hadn't expected her to do anything as stupid as him. “I had no choice! I had hours, maybe, before she supposedly recreated the same ritual that birthed me. If not, they made it quite clear they could cause damage to anyone I ever looked at. I did what I had to do to limit the damage. I didn't have time to think about promises; all I could worry about was stoppin’ them from hurtin’ you, from hurtin’ everyone! But you had a choice - you could have prepared everyone here for what could have come but instead you came chargin’ into that damn world on the same stupid mission I was on!” At this point he was just yelling to yell back, fighting against her wisdom with his own stubbornness. It was no different from their first fight, as they struggled against one another in Desierto. Ironic that they were out in the middle of another desert as well.

Seeing her cry and cringe now tore him apart and he had to fight back his own tears. He stood there as she told him how she had finally given into Ozorith and allowed him to take her own as a vassal. He ground his teeth together and shook his head softly. They had been in agreement that doing anything the demon wanted was absolutely against their better judgement. No matter the cost, she couldn't agree to any terms of his. But apparently there had been one purchase of moral that she couldn't surpass, one she couldn't let pass by. How stupid was he to think she'd just let him go?

Once more they revisited their divergence the past couple months, the distance formed from his sudden fear of love. She told him tearfully how she had been there, thinking she had caused the divide, that she had been the one to drive a wedge between them. Their divide had made hesitant to approach him, afraid his own troubles were too weighty to take on anymore. His fingers dug into his palms as his anger and pain showed itself plainly on his face as she told him about her choice to get drunk, how she had been afraid his ex bastard of a husband had been right. Her fist hit him square but he didn't budge, his body only shifting only a fraction from the impact. She screamed at him again, her words as heavy as her fist as it lashed forward with almost every statement.

“I am not worth dying for,” he spat at the ground, his aching mixing in with his anger. “After everythin’ that had happened with your idiot of an ex, I couldn't bear the thought of tellin’ you what was happenin’ and leadin’ you to doom. I'm not a whole person -- I'm half of that piece of shit that just tried to kill us. I'm corrupted, I'm broken and not worth anyone’s time. But I can fight and if I had the chance to end Faera, bring everythin’ to a stop, I had to take it.” He raised his gaze to look at her, tears teasing the edges of his eyes. “I told you that what was happenin’ to me was because of me. It was my own mind, my own emotions. You had done nothin’ and I told you that back on Sphere Island. Everythin’ was gettin’ to my head and I could barely function, let alone try and figure out my feelings. Because how could I explain my feelin’s without soundin’ like an idiot? Without soundin’ like a cliche when nothin’ could be further from the truth?!” His voice raise again as he got himself ramped up. “I went out this mornin’… yesterday mornin’… whenever the hell it was, to collect my thoughts. I was ready to finally tell you what had been happenin’, to tell you how I feel and then Archimedes showed up and tore my entire world apart. Only to tell me the reason I was afraid of my feelin’s was because I'm his son and have a connection to that stupid realm. So yes, I went there stupidly to try and punish him, punish them all. I wanted to bring down the entire world because they had robbed me of the ability to tell you outright, without hesitation, that I fucking love you!” Now the tears broke past his eyes, peeling down the side of his face and dripping off of his jaw. “I had to stop them. I would die a thousand deaths to keep them from getting to you. And I couldn't bear the thought of leadin’ you to doom too. Not after everythin’ that had happened.”

She pushed back against his words yet again, explaining that she’d never asked him to protect her. She rationalized that even with his warning, there would have been very little she could have done to prepare, which was true. His going to Kingdom Darkness had been a complete and utter gamble that would have saved the world or ended it, dependent on his success or failure. But that wasn’t the point. “I didn’t ask you to come save me either!” He shot right back at her, though it was really the only thing he could spit back in her face. His energy in the fight was wavering now, his relief over the fact that they were both alive far more focused in his mind than anything else. His hands rolled themselves out of fists and he stood there, almost uneasily, as she held her ground for only a moment longer. Then the next she was pressed against him, her arms flung about his waist and pulling him to her. He grunted a bit in surprise before his arms came up and wrapped around her as well, feeling her tears wetting his bare chest.

She protested his words and downtrodden thoughts with great disdain, insisting that he stop basing who he was based on where he came from. He stared down at the top of her head as she tore through his self-inflicted insults with encouragement and confidence, insisting he was not his father and he was better than that. His opinion didn’t matter, only the people that truly cared for him did. And despite all his flaws, spaces and weak points, Serilda still loved him for who he was. He was everything to her and if she had lost him, she simply wouldn’t have known what to do. Hearing her words stabbed at his heart with such a sharp knife that it nearly took his breath away. Both pain and warmth flooded his body as he realized what he could have put her through, along with the tingling feeling of her words to him. Still tears fell from his eyes as he sunk to the ground slowly, coming to his knees completely with her still pressed tight against him. His hands came up and slowly and took hold of her cheeks, managing to wrestle her out of the hidden spot she had made against his chest. He lifted her face enough to look at him, so he could take her in fully in the moment. The sapphires in her eyes seemed to sparkle in the light, reflected in the tears that clung to her lashes.

“I’m sorry…” He said softly, the fight within in now completely gone. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers as he fought back breaking down completely, the constant stream of liquid staining his cheeks unlike they had ever done before. “I’m so sorry…” he muttered again, grinding his teeth together. “I couldn’t stand the thought of puttin’ you through that. I couldn’t stand the thought of losin’ you in there. I nearly lost Gren and that almost broke me. If it had been you…” He took a moment to collect himself, mentally reminding himself that both the hound and the Voidwalker were safe. He took a shuddering breath as he looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry, Seri. I just…” What else was there to say? Really only one thing swam above all the confusing thoughts and pain and aches and exhaustion that racked his beleaguered and beaten form. “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner…”