Silence rippled.

  Not peace. Not relief. Just a brief absence of violence, stretched too thin.

  The Eclipse stained the ruins like an open wound, its glow deepening as tendrils of Void reached outward like fingers probing trauma. The skyline pulsed with low-frequency vibrations, distorting the air and warping the waning light. Somewhere deep in Caelin’s chest, something stirred. Not memory. Instinct. An ache behind the ribs where he felt Death's Orders, where the re-education processes cut the deepest.

  He felt the pull. A need to reap.

  A need to destroy. A need to act in the name of the Harbinger of Death once again.

  Space to his left rippled and Life appeared, head tilted slightly, watching him like a puzzle it hadn’t finished solving.

  “Interesting. I didn’t realise Death had carved orders this deep.” Life reached out and slowly traced a long finger down Caelin's chest. “Not just Void’s spawn. All Harbinger-born creatures at a certain threshold. No wonder you defied my Leviathan. Most would’ve accepted their death. This requires additional thought.” The being that controlled life turned as if to walk away then paused. “Don't die, Child of Death. You don’t have my permission. Yet.”

  With that Life disappeared, leaving Caelin staring at the space the Harbinger had vacated then down at his chest.

  His contemplation of Life and Death was interrupted as Void-threaded wind cut through the ruins. The Tyrant stepped through one of the few buildings still standing, its bulk crushing stone as it passed. It had forced its way into this world like an infection puncturing a vein.

  Stone cracked. Buildings bowed. Space bled.

  Caelin felt its presence, like pressure behind his eyes, a weight within his chest. He looked up and saw a silhouette too large, too real, struggling to contain itself inside reality’s shape.

  The Tyrant Hollowgnasher roared. The sound wasn’t just heard. It pressed against Caelin’s skin, vibrated through bone, and scraped at reality like it wanted inside. Even Caelin felt a fleeting compulsion to kneel. To accept extinction.

  Creatures peeled away from its sides, a combination of all the Hollowgnashers that had come before scattered into the ruins. Most turned toward Dara. Most.

  Some sprinted for Caelin.

  None reached him.

  The Tyrant struck them down mid-charge, scything its claws through its own kind before bellowing out its rejection of their intrusion. It had marked its prey. It wouldn't accept any challenges to its right. Not after challenging the System so publicly.

  Caelin’s hand tightened around the Reaper’s Scythe. He stepped forward, slowly dragging the haft across cracked stone, spectral light sparking in his wake, then slammed it into the ground. Once. Twice. On the third strike sound ruptured and spectral pressure screamed outward.

  This Crucible had begun.

  For the first time since the System returned, a Silenced One, former Reaper of Death, would fight one of the Harbinger of Void’s Tyrants. Dara took to the sky, flaming wings stretched wide.

  At the same time Caelin raised his hood and smiled in the darkness as he levelled the Scythe at the Tyrant.

  “Weak.”

  Dara’s Beacon struck first.

  A sphere of radiant light arced overhead and detonated mid-flight, its pulse a golden shockwave that shredded the leading Hollowgnashers. Those not killed were maimed, hurled into shattered concrete and warped rebar.

  Dara landed like a divine warhead. Wings folded. Feet slammed into fractured stone.

  Covenant swung once, a sweeping arc that carved burning lines through the wounded swarm. Broken bodies crumpled. Screeches filled the air. A halo of radiant fire flared around her, then vanished as she advanced. She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look. She just moved.

  Covenant vanished.

  Judgement snapped into place.

  She turned, boots skidding through blood, and opened fire. Each shot tore through Void-choked chitin. Snapped recoil bit her shoulder as she walked fire across the stunned flankers. The last beast reeled, its jaw gone, then collapsed twitching in her kill zone. Shields flared around her, shaping golden barriers into angled kill corridors, funneling the next cluster into firelines.

  “Closest are contained,” she said. Her voice calm. Breath sharp. Precision and control, even as ichor dripped onto her boots and light scorched across her plating.

  Caelin turned back to the Tyrant.

  They had circled. Neither rushed. Each testing the other. Claws struck Caelin’s shoulder, a glancing hit that cracked plating and dropped him to one knee. He recovered, returned the favor with a scythe swipe that split Void-slick armor. Blood steamed from the wound, but the Tyrant didn’t flinch.

  Then the Eclipse ruptured.

  A shape tore loose. Fast. Heavy. Too fast.

  It hit a skyscraper, shattered steel. Punched through another structure, collapsed a tower, then slammed into the ground near Caelin in a shower of pulverized bone and concrete.

  Everything paused.

  Even the Tyrant.

  Dara glanced over, tension tightening her posture. Caelin stared. The figure twitched. Crawled. One arm dragged behind, mangled and fused to the bone. What remained of the armor was Silenced tech, but warped. Blood. Void. Rot. All fused. Caelin’s mouth opened. No sound. The Tyrant Hollowgnasher watched, unmoving while Caelin’s grip tightened around the Scythe, but he didn’t advance.

  The Reaper choked, shifted, forced himself to his knees. One eye was gone, replaced by twitching black tendrils. The other, locked onto Caelin with something colder than rage. Hate forged over time. Hate honed.

  "You still have it," the voice cracked across the Network. Wet, ruined. Male. The words dragged. “Of course you do.”

  He coughed and leaned back, life was draining out of him as quickly as his blood.

  "You always thought you were better. The blade. The silence. We watched you walk into death and come back untouched. Like it didn’t cost you anything."

  The Tyrant tilted its head slightly. Still watching. Still silent.

  "Ansen said it was your Soul. Said it could be shaped. The rest of us were forged right. Originals. Superior. But you failed, you weren’t forged right. Then, when the blade bonded to you... it changed everything. We were punished.” His voice shifted as abruptly as the topic, going from anger to resignation. “I led my unit of Silenced Ones to the Void. I begged him not to send us."

  The voice thinned. Bitter. Broken.

  "There was no plan. No purpose. Just the rot. We waited for orders. None came. I listened to them scream. Then I stopped hearing them. We were sent to die slowly. Instead, he brought us back. One by one. Why?"

  Black blood hissed on the stone. The tendrils in his ruined face writhed.

  Caelin took a half-step forward. Still silent.

  "You don't speak?" the Reaper spat. "Of course not. Still the ghost. The blade makes you special, right?” The Reaper stopped abruptly, then growled, “You didn't earn it. You were just... there. Weren't you? Weren’t you! You were just one of thousands. A fractured Soul. And still the blade picked you. All our millennia meant nothing. You were an accident. All this time… I thought-"

  His voice broke. The words came with effort now. Wet and forced.

  "I don't just hate you for surviving. I hate you for existing."

  Caelin looked down at the Silenced One before him, then slammed the Scythe’s shaft into the ground beside the dying Reaper. The weapon hummed, spectral arcs crawling up its length, casting warped shadows across the broken ruin.

  Then he leaned in, voice low.

  "I've wanted to do this for a long time, Orakhis. Even with all my memories scattered, I remember what you did after Serrakia. I remember you wielding your blade, trying to cut this out of me."

  The Ethereal Blade flared into existence at his side, the colour reflected on both Caelin and Orakhis’ faces. The Void tendrils in Orakhis’ skull recoiled. The Tyrant shifted, but didn’t interfere. Caelin could see the need and the jealousy in the man he once considered his better. If not by action, by station.

  "You failed. Just like Ansen will fail. And your Original Soul? It won’t be wasted. It’ll finally serve a purpose. You're nothing. You’ve always been nothing."

  Orakhis tried to raise his hand. His body trembled with the effort.

  "Die badly."

  Caelin swung.

  The Ethereal Blade cut through Void, through bone, through everything Orakhis was. His head rolled free, black blood spattering in a silent arc, small tendrils is the man's neck and skull reaching out to each other.

  Caelin caught the severed head by one twisted tendril and hurled it toward the Tyrant. It bounced once, then slid to a stop at its feet.

  The Tyrant didn’t roar. Didn’t react.

  It watched Caelin and hissed, its mandibles spread wide in a ghoulish approximation of a grin. Then Caelin looked down at the broken body and Absorbed the Original Soul.

  “Superior?”

  With that, Caelin spat on the ground, activated Absorption and turned back to face the Tyrant.

  Ability Notification

  Ability Evolution In Progress

  Void Grasp – Enhanced

  Upgrade Complete

  Stability Siphon Functional

  Detriment Escalated: Phantom Commands Enabled

  SYSTEM ALERT

  UNAUTHORISED NETWORK INTRUSION DETECTED

  Override Signature Confirmed: Ansen

  A voice cut through the link like razored ice. Familiar. Cold. Absolute.

  “You’ve turned against your own.”

  Caelin froze.

  “You always needed an enemy to cut down, Caelin. This time, it was your own kind. Your own people.”

  The voice thickened with venom, the words serrated with disgust.

  “You killed Orakhis. Do you even remember who he was? No, of course not. Death unwittingly made sure of that. Orakhis remembered you. Every scream. Every moment you survived when you shouldn’t have. Every slice of his blade to improve you. He savoured his time re-educating you in the Soulspire.”

  Static bled through the channel, but Ansen’s voice remained crystal clear.

  “You were supposed to be the failed one. A fractured Soul. A puppet I could discard when your purpose ended. But then that cursed blade chose you.”

  There was no pause. No breath.

  “Don’t mistake that accident for value. You're still nothing. Nothing!”

  Then it shifted, the moment of anger changed, now bitter satisfaction curled each word.

  “I silenced your voice across the Network when you finally emerged. You’re not muted by malfunction. I did it. You haven’t been able to scream for help because you never had allies among us. To the rest of the Silenced Ones you're dead. You never emerged after Death fell. You took the cowards way out.”

  A moment passed.

  “Do you think this makes you strong? That blade? That scythe? You’re not special. You’re just a variable. Orakhis was the weakest of the Nine. There are seven more. Seven of the Nine, scattered, twisted, reforged. I sent them to other Harbingers. Experiments. Just like Orakhis. Just. Like. You. And you still think you can win.”

  Silence followed. Not peace. Not relief.

  Only the weight of Ansen’s voice ringing in his skull.

  Caelin stood still. He’d killed one of the Nine. And Original Soul, broken and tainted, but still, a creature forged to be superior. Caelin hadn’t hesitated, he'd cut Orakhis down with the blade he'd coveted.

  A sound pulled his attention down, dragging him from his thoughts.

  Void tendrils from the still upright body were moving towards Orakhis’ severed head.

  The Void tendrils stretched. Not out of hunger. Not to feed.

  To reclaim.

  They pulsed from Orakhis’ severed body toward the head Caelin had thrown. Twitching lines of black static, delicate as nerves, dragged across the stone. They moved slowly, steadily, closing the distance between them like threads desperate to stitch themselves whole.

  Caelin watched in silence.

  Then the Tyrant bent low, claws flexing. It didn’t roar. It didn’t posture. It consumed. Its mandibles cracked wide, and with one sudden movement, it snatched Orakhis’ severed head from the stone and swallowed it whole.

  The Void tendrils recoiled.

  The moment of peace shattered.

  The Tyrant lunged forwards.

  Caelin spun for his Scythe, boots grinding broken stone as the Tyrant charged. The impact came fast. A wall of force, claw and Void. Caelin caught it with the shaft and was thrown backward, skidding, cracking ground and kicking dust. The Reaper’s Scythe carved lines of spectral light in the ruins as he was shunted backwards long after the Tyrant stopped. Caelin spun the scythe and drove the base of the shaft into the ground in a shower of spectral light. He dropped low, centered himself.

  The Tyrant charged again.

  Before Caelin could move, a surge of golden energy detonated in the sky above. Light, structured and tactical. Not divine. Directed.

  Dara.

  She was in a controlled descent. Wings spread wide, the golden halo around her was blazing bright, shields carving geometry into the air. She hit the ground beside a collapsed support column and swept her arm outward.

  Covenant cleaved the air.

  The blade released a ring of radiant fire, scything through the advancing Hollowgnashers. Four dropped instantly, carapaces ruptured and limbs scattered. The others hesitated, only for her to vanish in a flash of gold and reappear behind them. Her swing cut low, slicing legs, sending two more crashing down in a heap of ichor. She moved like a machine. Efficient.

  Judgement flared into her grip mid-spin. She opened fire before the smoke cleared. Each shot was precise. Measured. Controlled. Hollowgnashers dropped in a tight perimeter around her, their bodies folding inward under the force. Her wings didn’t falter, even as blood sprayed across the fractured street.

  "Close proximity secured," she said, her voice clipped. "Twenty-eight confirmed dead. Engaging the next group."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Targets rapidly appeared and disappeared on Caelin's map as Dara cut them down and discovered more. Above her, a new wave of targets moved. Dara turned sharply, throwing a beacon up into their path. It pulsed mid-air. A field erupted, shimmering gold. Hollowgnashers struck it and burned. The kill box closed tight, and she executed the survivors with a methodical sweep of Covenant before returning to the air, a shimmering stream of light chasing her from the downed Hollowgnashers.

  Caelin turned from her just as the Tyrant lunged again. He parried with the Scythe, feet sliding under the force. The impact numbed his arms. Claws raked past his face, missing by inches. He twisted left, planted his feet, and drove the haft of the Reaper’s Scythe into the Tyrant’s side. It absorbed the blow with impossible mass, then knocked him backward with a shoulder slam.

  Caelin rolled. Came up hard.

  The Scythe pulsed in his grip. Unstable. Too large. Too slow for this.

  He let it go, allowing it to be recalled into the ether as the weapon dissolved.

  The Soulblade flared to life in his right hand. The Ethereal Blade answered in his left. One glowed with ethereal light, the other, a black so deep that light seemed to be dragged into it.

  The Tyrant came again.

  They collided in the shadow of ruined stone, their strikes rupturing the air.

  Caelin carved down and across, the Soulblade catching carapace. The Ethereal Blade dug into exposed limb. The Tyrant twisted, retaliated with a backhanded sweep that shattered the remains of a wall. Caelin ducked under it, slid low, and slashed upward, carving deep into the beast’s chest. The wound didn’t slow it. The Void around it hissed, sealing the flesh.

  Caelin pressed forward anyway.

  Every move now was survival and spite.

  The blades became extensions of his need to cull Void's beast from existence. The need pulsed from deep within his chest. His footwork tightened. His timing sharpened. The Tyrant’s claws missed by inches. Caelin twisted, struck again, and again, carving one of the mandibles free.

  It shrieked.

  The sound was so loud the street shook. One of the Hollowgnashers nearby spasmed, dropped dead from the pressure alone.

  Dara surged overhead, dropping a barrier around Caelin as another swipe from the Tyrant came too close. The shield flared gold. Absorbed the blow. Then failed, shattering into particles as the impact passed through.

  "Keep moving," Dara ordered. "My shields won't take two direct hits from that."

  Caelin bled from the shoulder. The Tyrant circled him.

  Not frantic.

  Predatory.

  Caelin adjusted his grip. His breathing rough. His ribs fractured. Void saturation climbing in his HUD.

  He didn’t step back.

  He smiled as the Tyrant lunged.

  Caelin didn’t retreat. He shifted into the path of the blow and took it with the flat of the Soulblade. The force still cracked his arm. Bone splintered. His shoulder buckled under the impact. The Ethereal Blade stabbed forward, carving into the Tyrant’s flank, but the wound didn’t stay open. Void coalesced around the gash and hardened. Not healed. Replaced.

  Claws raked across Caelin’s chest, tearing armor and skin in one clean motion. Blood sprayed. His HUD flashed crimson. Systems failing. Internal damage detected.

  Before the next strike could land, a radiant shield burst to life around him. Dara hit the ground beside him, one wing dragging in the dirt, blade already gone. Judgement fired once, twice, vaporizing two minor Hollowgnashers that had closed too far.

  “Get up,” she snapped.

  He rolled, slammed his hand to the ground and surged upright. The barrier held just long enough for the next strike. The Tyrant’s claws hit the shield with brutal force, but it absorbed the worst of it. Dara’s voice crackled again.

  “Your lung is compromised. Resetting.”

  Wings of Succor

  Ward of the Vanguard

  Healing surge deployed

  Fracture suppression in progress

  Aether reserve: 32%

  His chest locked. Then released. Bone reset. Breath returned.

  Caelin charged.

  The Soulblade slammed into the Tyrant’s hip. The Ethereal Blade followed low, severing a tendon. The beast twisted violently, caught him with a backhanded sweep that cracked ribs already half-healed.

  He hit the ground hard. Skidded through broken stone as Dara flared overhead. Another barrier crashed down in front of him. Caelin rose into a sprint and used it as cover, sliding under as the Tyrant swiped again. The edge of the claw hit the barrier. It exploded outward, golden particles lashing through the air.

  “Shields are degrading. Stop taking full hits.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  He spun under the next attack, the Ethereal Blade raking up the Tyrant’s side, carving deep. Black fluid hissed into the air. The Tyrant didn’t scream. It shifted stance and surged forward.

  The charge was brutal. Caelin braced. Caught it with both blades. Metal screamed. Pressure cracked the pavement. Then a claw caught him under the ribs and lifted.

  Caelin screamed. Blood hit his teeth. The world spun.

  Dara landed behind him, slamming both hands into his back. Power surged.

  Wings of Succor – Emergency Activation

  Bone reinforcement initiated

  Healing surge pushed beyond safe threshold

  Residual instability: High

  The claw broke loose. Caelin dropped to his knees. Dara stepped in front of him and fired point-blank into the Tyrant’s mouth. The blast burned out the back of its throat. The recoil threw her backward.

  Caelin stood. Barely. His armor was ruined. His blades trembled in his grip.

  “I can’t keep healing you,” Dara warned. “Your Soul Stability’s breaking. If you keep this up, I’ll have nothing left.”

  “Then stop.”

  “Caelin-”

  He turned. Face half-slick with blood. Voice flat.

  Life shimmered into existence.

  “You do not have my permission to die, Caelin. Kill this… interloper.”

  With that Life retreated to the back of his mind, leaving its own pull, similar to Death’s.

  “I’ll either kill it. Or it’ll kill me.”

  She hesitated. Then placed both hands on his chest.

  Wings of Succor

  Final Benediction

  Healing surge released

  Spectral shield deployed

  Soul-link stabilisation: Partial

  Aether Reserve: 9%

  She stepped back and Caelin walked forward.

  Harbinger’s Wrath – Activated

  Adaptation Engine – Triggered

  Silent Reaping – Evolved Sync Engaged

  Soul Stability Burn Rate: 7% per second

  Remaining Stability: 43%

  The Scythe reformed. Smaller. Compact. One-handed. Built for speed. Activating the three Abilities together hurt. The pain ripped in waves through his body until he pushed it from his mind.

  Adaptation Engine Unlocked: Phantom Vector

  Effect: Mid-range strike projection unlocked. Generates secondary Scythe arc after successful contact.

  Duration: 20 seconds

  Instability Warning: Critical ghost layering risk. Residual projections may turn hostile.

  Caelin lowered his stance. The Tyrant adjusted its footing.

  Then both moved.

  And the real battle began.

  There was no buildup. No second chances. The Scythe pulsed in his hands and the world collapsed into motion.

  Phantom Vector triggered.

  The first swing landed and a second arc detonated behind it, a mirrored crescent of spectral force that scythed through a Hollowgnasher too slow to flee. Its upper half twisted off the lower, cartwheeled into the wall, and exploded.

  The next strike buried into the Tyrant’s leg. The projection curved high, carving a gash along the beast’s chest as it reared back to avoid the impact. Too late. Void hardened along its ribs, trying to seal the damage, but it couldn't keep pace.

  Caelin followed. Step. Slash. Projection. Repeat.

  Time fractured into violence. A dozen attacks landed within seconds. Every real strike was followed by a spectral twin. The streets lit up with afterimages of the Reaper’s Scythe, each projection trailing echoes, each one screaming through the warzone like a soul-rending guillotine.

  The Tyrant roared. It struck. Caelin took a glancing hit across the side. Something cracked in his back, maybe a rib, maybe more. He didn’t stop. Dara’s healing flared over him like fire, closing wounds just enough to keep him moving as he counted the seconds in his head.

  Four seconds gone.

  The Tyrant moved like a mountain, but its patterns broke. It overreached, it snarled too loudly before a charge, it telegraphed its next claw too wide. Caelin used every mistake. He dodged low, cut high, then reversed with a twisting rip across the exposed throat.

  Void filled the wound, but slower now.

  Six seconds.

  The Tyrant retaliated with a shriek that flattened a collapsed structure. Caelin was thrown off his feet, his HUD stuttering. One knee hit concrete. Blood ran from his nose, ears, eyes.

  He didn’t blink.

  He lunged.

  The Scythe carved a full arc across the Tyrant’s chest. The projection doubled back. It caught the same wound, re-opened what had just sealed. Bone cracked. Flesh split. Black ichor sprayed. One of the Tyrant’s arms faltered. A claw hung limp.

  Nine seconds.

  Dara flared again, her wings lit with molten gold. Shields slammed into place as the Tyrant tried to bring both claws down. One shattered the barrier, but it slowed the blow just long enough for Caelin to roll under the beast’s arm and gut it with a vertical slash. Phantom Vector triggered again, piercing the torso.

  The Tyrant stumbled.

  Twelve seconds.

  One of the Hollowgnashers tried to rejoin the fight.

  Caelin turned, threw the Scythe. The primary blade missed, but the phantom projection didn’t. It severed the creature from groin to jaw in a single pass.

  The Scythe snapped back into his hand.

  The blade fought him. It felt the blood pouring out. It tasted the weakness.

  It reformed, not out of loyalty, but because it refused to let him die without a weapon in his hand.

  Ethereal chains locked around his forearm, searing through flesh and armor, binding it in place.

  Caelin was breathing in fragments. Everything hurt. His Soul Stability was crashing. His HUD flared warnings he couldn’t read. He didn’t care.

  Fifteen seconds.

  He sprinted straight for the Tyrant, vaulting over debris, legs fueled by desperation. The Tyrant tried to retreat, to fall back, but its right leg was gone. Caelin had taken it. The projections had burned away the muscle and ligaments and even the Void wasn’t fast enough to replace it.

  Seventeen seconds.

  Caelin jumped.

  The Scythe swung wide. The blade landed across the Tyrant’s skull, not enough to cleave, but enough to blind. The projection followed, a crescent of spectral fury that caught both remaining mandibles and shredded them. The Tyrant bucked, flailed.

  Caelin didn’t retreat.

  Nineteen seconds.

  Caelin ducked under a retaliatory sweep, the shortened Scythe dragging sparks as it clipped rubble. He stepped in close, jammed the haft into a gap between chitin and sinew near the Tyrant’s side, and vaulted sideways along its flank. Mid-motion, he twisted, carving the blade in deep across the creature’s rib-like plating.

  A secondary arc erupted.

  It struck low, slashing clean through the rear leg at the knee. Void matter hissed. The limb folded, bone grinding, and the Tyrant crashed down onto its side in a shriek of broken weight. Two words flashed across his HUD and he repeated them softly.

  Twenty seconds.

  “Twenty seconds…”

  Caelin coughed once and the Scythe pulsed ominously, then vanished. The spectral metal tore itself from his grip and unraveled into the air, leaving only Caelin's blood-slick hands and the weight of the Soul Stability he’d burned to hold it this long.

  He stumbled. Caught himself.

  The Tyrant was still moving. Crippled. Cracked open. But alive.

  The Soulblade reformed first. The Ethereal Blade followed, pulsing cold in his grip. He barely felt them. Only the pressure. Only the command.

  He straightened. Broken ribs ground together. Blood leaked from too many places to count. His Soul was a furnace.

  He was not done.

  Void matter crusted along the Tyrant’s ruined side. It dragged itself up, one limb at a time. The limb Caelin had taken was gone. The Void tried to replace it, but the crust spread too slow. Too thin.

  Caelin moved.

  The Ethereal Blade slashed down, carving across the creature’s recovering flank. The Void cracked under the strike. The Tyrant shrieked and turned too late. The Soulblade followed, jamming into the knee of the still-standing leg. Cartilage popped. Bone shifted.

  The Tyrant roared. It struck. Caelin blocked with both blades, absorbing the blow against crossed hilts. His feet tore through the dirt, momentum dragging him backwards, armor shearing off one shoulder.

  He didn’t stop.

  He pushed forward, twisting one blade low, the other high. The Soulblade drove up under the chin, tearing a line of blood across the throat. The Ethereal Blade stabbed into the gap between neck and shoulder, biting deep.

  The Tyrant reeled.

  A final shield flared around Caelin, the last flicker of Dara’s healing slamming through him. His fractured knee locked into place just enough to let him pivot. He didn’t thank her. Couldn’t. He charged instead.

  The Tyrant rose again, Void healing knitting over its face.

  Caelin met it head-on.

  No tactics now. Just instinct. Just violence.

  The Soulblade hacked downward. A mandible split, hung by a thread. The Ethereal Blade plunged into the gut, scraping spine, then pulled free with a spray of pressurized ichor.

  The Tyrant slammed Caelin with a forearm. He went airborne. Hit a wall. Dropped in a slump. Bones cracked. Vision spun.

  He climbed up the wall instead of standing.

  The beast charged.

  He ducked low and rolled, slicing across one of the remaining legs. The Soulblade cracked bone. The Tyrant shrieked, fell to one side. The impact split the ground.

  Caelin climbed onto the downed body.

  The Ethereal Blade came down. Once. Twice. He buried it in the neck, dragging it sideways until the beast convulsed beneath him. The Soulblade followed, punched into the exposed heart-mass of twisted Void.

  Black ichor erupted upward, splattering his face.

  The Tyrant flailed. Caelin didn’t retreat. He rode the spasms. Drove both blades in again and again until the noise stopped.

  Not a roar. Not a scream.

  Just a silence so complete it felt wrong.

  He stood on its corpse. Swayed once. Bloodied. Breathing like an engine about to fail.

  Dara’s voice crackled over the comms, faint and strained.

  “Caelin…”

  But he didn’t answer.

  The Tyrant was dead.

  Caelin stood over its body. Blood coated his armor and face. The Void reeked around him like spoiled heat.

  He didn’t blink, didn’t speak. He just dropped the Ethereal Blade, letting it dissolve away, then raised the Soulblade and drove it down through the Tyrant’s skull.

  The blade punched deep. Bone split. Flesh buckled.

  Again.

  He pulled it free and slammed it down again, and again. The sound was wet. Crunching.

  A fifth strike. Then a sixth. Until the creature’s head was unrecognizable. Until the corpse twitched, then stilled for good. Until the pull in his chest snapped. Death was silent once again.

  Only then did he stop.

  Caelin staggered back. Shoulders heaving. His blades hung limp at his sides.

  The Eclipse overhead pulsed.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Then it fractured.

  A seam of violent light split the sky above it. Choked energy recoiled, folding inward. Tendrils of Void snapped in all directions, severed by an unseen force. Space groaned.

  The Eclipse imploded.

  It didn’t vanish. It collapsed. Pulled inward like a dying star. The shockwave tore across the ruins like a tidal wave of pressure. Stone buckled. Glass exploded. Buildings that had survived the battle cracked and fell.

  Every Hollowgnasher still alive screamed once, then burst apart.

  The wave hit Caelin and Dara like a wall of gravity. Both staggered. Caelin dropped to one knee, blood gushing from reopened wounds. Dara’s wings snapped tight and her shield flared too late. She hit the ground, shoulder first, skidding across broken asphalt before pushing back up, breath ragged.

  System Notification

  Eclipse Collapse Confirmed

  Remaining Aberrant Signatures: Null

  User Status: Critical

  Aether Reserve: 3%

  Soul Stability: 14%

  Silence returned. Not relief. Not safety. Just aftermath. Then voices. Small. Scared. Human. Weak.

  A group of survivors emerged from behind the wreckage of a collapsed building. Dirty. Armed with scavenged weapons. Eyes wide, stunned at what they’d walked into. They saw Caelin first. Standing beside the Tyrant’s corpse. Bloodstained. Breath rasping. Void dripping from his weapons.

  He turned toward them and launched.

  He crossed the broken stone in a flash. Not sprinting. Hunting. One of the survivors screamed. Another raised a rusted pistol. It wouldn’t have mattered.

  But something else moved faster.

  Dara.

  She hit the ground between Caelin and the lead survivor, she didn’t land gracefully, prioritising speed. Then her wings flared for a single moment of light. Her shield snapped up, full-body, reinforced.

  Caelin’s strike hit the barrier with enough force to send cracks through the stone around it.

  The shield held, but it hurt.

  Dara dropped.

  Her body crumpled, weight sagging into the dirt. She landed hard, boots dragging, one hand still pressed against the flickering barrier.

  Her voice came out cracked. Barely a whisper.

  “Deflection. Not absorption…”

  The survivors stared, frozen as Caelin stood over her, blades trembling and dropping with Void… and his own blood that had flowed down his arms. The light in his eyes flickered.

  He stepped back. Both from the survivors, and the edge he'd almost dived over. Then he dropped to one knee beside her. His breathing was ragged. His armor ruined. He looked at the survivors without blinking.

  “Get her help.”

  None of them moved.

  “Now!”

  One turned and bolted into the ruins. Whether for help or to escape, Caelin didn’t care. There were others.

  He collapsed beside her, the last embers of the battle drifting up into the broken sky above Liverpool.

  Nothing moved.

  Nothing dared.

  Aether Reserve: 1%

  Soul Stability: 9%

  Night fell over the ruins.

  ---------------------------------------------

  Void Grasp – Enhanced

  Type: Active

  Effect: Tendrils of Void extend from Caelin's arm, impaling enemies within range. Each tendril destabilises the target's Soul, suppresses abilities, and drains Soul Stability on contact. Stability drained is funneled into Caelin, replenishing his reserves.

  Range: 8 meters

  Duration: 15 seconds

  Cooldown: 60 seconds

  Stability Siphon: Targets lose 4–6% Stability per second. Caelin absorbs 50% of drained Stability.

  Visual Effect: Void tendrils pulsing with fractured light. Targets appear soul-fractured before rupture.

  Draconic Soul Detriment – Escalated Instability

  Aggression bias heightened

  Persistent Void hallucinations may overlay allies

  Phantom Commands possible under stress

  Soulstorm blowback risk from overdrawn siphons