The air in the Purgatory was dry and heavy, carrying with it the scent of scorched bones and charred silence. Ash drifted lazily in the air like dying snow.
Sybil led the exhausted group of witches and the rest of the Guardians, their robes torn and stained with dirt and dried blood. Their potions were gone.
Their stamina was drained. But their will—their will hadn't cracked just yet.
"We should've found Zayne by now," muttered one of the witches behind her, panting between each word.
"We've walked for hours…"
Sybil didn't look back. Her voice, though tired, was firm. "We'll find him. We're not giving up now."
With that, the group split into trios, fanning out across the twisted paths and ridges of Purgatory.
Sharp rocks jutted from the ground like broken teeth, and the ground shifted like it resented their footsteps.
Somewhere in the distance, a scream cut through the stillness.
"AY—I FOUND HIM!"
The call echoed, snatching everyone's attention.
They ran, stumbling across twisted ground and scattered bones until they reached the source.
What lay before them made even the hardened witches flinch.
Skeletons. Hundreds of them. Shattered skulls and splintered ribs littered the ground in a grotesque mosaic of death.
And at the center of it all, sprawled motionless and stained in crimson, was Zayne.
His eyes were closed. His blade lay inches from his fingers.
But the danger wasn't over.
A first-grade skeleton loomed behind him, sword raised, ready to deliver the final blow.
Before anyone could scream, the witch who had found him lunged.
She grabbed the skeleton by the neck with both hands and twisted sharply.
The spine cracked like dried wood, and the undead fell apart in her grip.
The others rushed to Zayne's side.
"Is he breathing?!"
"Barely," Sylvara said, checking his pulse. "He's lost a lot of blood. But he's alive."
Saphyra handed over the last of their minor healing potions. "This will have to be enough. We're out of supplies."
The potions hissed faintly as they poured them into his mouth and onto his wounds.
Slowly, the gashes sealed. The bruises faded.
Only a few scars remained behind—one of them stretching across the right side of his head.
Zayne's eyes fluttered open. For a split second, they were wild, unfocused.
"Get back—!" he barked, grabbing his sword and lunging.
Sylvara moved faster, her arm swinging up to block him with her blade. They clashed—but only for a moment.
Zayne froze.
His vision cleared.
"…Witches?" he muttered, stepping back. "I… I'm sorry. I thought you were one of them."
"It's alright," Sybil said quickly. "We're just glad you're alive."
Zayne sheathed his sword, groaning as he forced himself up. "Where's the fight now?"
"We're heading back. There are more Purgatorists.
One like the one Menma fought, the Multiply user, and another who trapped us in a castle," Sybil said grimly.
Zayne's jaw tightened. "I can't use my creation yet… I'll follow your lead."
The group continued forward, their footsteps more cautious now.
Along the way, the witches explained what had happened since they split.
Every word painted a picture of chaos, close calls, and death.
Meanwhile, Annie was walking alone through the twisted remains of the upper Castle.
Her eyes searched the empty corridors with growing irritation.
"Where are they?" she muttered to herself. "Not a single trap.
Not even a cursed lock. What's the point of all this if no one's left to fight?"
She didn't have to wait long.
Ahead of her, the path widened into an arena-shaped canyon.
The air here was warmer. She stepped in, and there he was.
He wasn't hiding.
He stood shirtless in the center, shadowboxing—punches slicing through the air, his body twisting with muscle memory.
His skin was red-toned like the dying embers of a forge.
A scar, identical to the Purgatorist fighting against Menma, marked the left side of his forehead.
His buzzcut hair glistened with sweat, and black metal gloves clanked faintly as he moved.
His legs were wrapped in tattered shorts, dirt-stained and burnt at the edges.
When he noticed her, he stopped mid-motion and smiled.
"Ahh. Zorath was right. A possession finally came."
Annie's hand reached instinctively for the light forming at her side.
Unlike the one Menma had fought—the long-haired Moon user—this one felt different. Tighter. More refined.
There was no unpredictability here. Only precision.
"My name's Vel'Kareth," he said casually, stretching his arms over his head. "Been waiting for someone like you."
"You look like you've been warming up for hours."
He grinned. "I have. Because this one's going to be real. I've heard you're strong, so I'll need to go full force, or I'll die."
As he said this, a small sun floated into view beside him. It looked harmless—like a charm. But it pulsed with heat.
"Sun Creation – Sun's Rays: 50%."
He vanished.
Annie barely had time to blink before she felt the heat rushing toward her. She summoned twin daggers made of light and flung them in his direction.
They hit—solid contact. But they didn't leave a scratch. Not even a dent.
Vel'Kareth barreled forward, twisting into a punch that could've shattered bone.
Annie dodged just in time, and the blow slammed into the arena floor, reducing it to rubble.
Cracks split out in all directions. Dust filled the air.
When it cleared, Annie was standing on a floating platform of light.
"Your creation…" she said, narrowing her eyes. "The way you count it by percentage… It reminds me of my son."
Vel'Kareth chuckled. "And the way you craft weapons with your light… That's just like my brother."
She raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. I like you."
She summoned a sword in her right hand, gleaming like a star. In her left hand appeared a broad knife, crackling with radiant energy.
"But I still have to kill you."
Vel'Kareth didn't flinch.
Instead, his grin widened.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
He lifted his hand.
"Sun's Rays: 65%."
The tiny sun beside him flared brighter, and his body shimmered with golden veins running across his chest and arms.
The ground below them hissed, rocks beginning to melt from the heat.
Annie leapt forward, weapons ready.
The battle had only just begun.