The world groaned beneath the Leviathan's presence.
It had no true form—only an undulating mass of void and forgotten screams. Its skin shimmered with the essence of drowned stars, and its breath smelled of burned time. One eye opened, larger than any fortress, and stared down upon the Phoenix Vanguard like a predator gazing at defiant insects.
The air thickened. Hope strained.
Ashen stood at the vanguard's front, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, every muscle torn but refusing to yield. Behind him, Elara and the surviving Phoenix Knights braced themselves. Every breath was a silent prayer. Every heartbeat was a countdown to annihilation.
"It's not a god," Ashen whispered. "It's what devours gods."
Oran stepped forward first, his form shedding mortal shape.
Winds howled around him, becoming claws of typhoon and bone. He lunged into the sky, teeth gnashing toward the Leviathan's nearest eye. The beast opened its mouth—a jagged abyss—and screamed.
Sound died.
Not silenced—murdered.
Oran was flung back like a rag doll, bones breaking midair. Brielle caught him just before he hit the ground.
Ashen clenched his fists. "We can't take it head-on."
Elara, still breathing hard from her last battle, narrowed her eyes. "Then we don't. We unmake it."
"Explain."
She touched her spear to the ground, drawing glowing symbols in a circle.
"This thing is bound by Council seals. See the chains?"
Ashen nodded. "I counted nine."
"They're not just leashes. They're anchors. You destroy those, you destabilize its place in reality. You force it back into the Abyss."
Ashen turned to his vanguard.
"You heard her. We take those seals. We don't win by strength—we win by breaking the rules."
Brielle darted through shadows, flickering between reality and memory. She reappeared beside the first seal—an obsidian ring carved with screaming runes, floating midair.
As she reached for it, the Leviathan's skin shifted—birthing a guardian made of liquified gravity. It collapsed space with every step, folding the ground like paper.
Brielle didn't hesitate.
"Let's dance, nightmare."
She whispered an invocation—Tears of the Forgotten. Her daggers turned translucent, each forged from regrets she had buried deep.
One cut found the guardian's core.
It collapsed in a howl of rewound time—and the first seal shattered.
The Leviathan twitched. The sky dimmed.
The second and third seals were buried beneath writhing tendrils of night.
Mustan Korr led the assault, charging forward with two spears stolen from fallen Frames. Around him, the Flamebearers formed a circle, chanting the ancient Words of Unbreaking.
Solis fired skyward, his arrow splitting into five, each charged with phoenixlight. They formed a circle over the second seal.
Ashen reached out, channeled his own Sovereign fire through the glyphs below, and activated them.
The two seals screamed as they shattered.
The Leviathan recoiled—its mass undulating like a wounded world.
Three down. Six to go.
But the Leviathan struck back.
A lash of void tore through the battlefield. Dozens of Phoenix soldiers were lifted into the air, then unwritten.
Their names vanished from memory.
Oran tried to hold the line but was pierced through the chest. He fell, blood misting the air.
"No!" Elara screamed, leaping to his side.
Ashen's rage ignited. His flames changed again—no longer silver or crimson, but white.
Not the white of purity—but of annihilation.
With a cry, he launched toward the fourth seal, this one guarded by a fractured echo of a fallen god.
The echo laughed.
"You think rage makes you strong?"
Ashen grinned, bleeding from his lips.
"No. But it makes me fast."
He struck once—no flourish, no spectacle. Just will, condensed into truth.
The fourth seal cracked. Then shattered.
Elara, carrying Oran's unconscious body, led the charge for the fifth and sixth seals. She split her spear into twin blades, each resonating with her bond to Ashen.
Beside her, Brielle surged from shadow. Mustan Korr hurled a hammer that sang in ancient tongues.
The seals were protected by fear-constructs—visions of their worst failures.
But Elara stood tall, blades raised.
"We are more than our scars."
She cleaved through the illusions. Brielle struck the glyphs.
Two more seals fell.
The Leviathan shrieked, folding in on itself as its grip on this plane weakened.
Only three seals remained.
The Leviathan now floated low, writhing with desperation. The chains flailed like panicked serpents. It began to whisper.
> "Join me. Rule beneath the waves. End the war. I can give you peace…"
Ashen, now half-wrapped in phoenixfire and half in sovereign flame, replied coldly:
"I am the son of a forgotten rebellion. The flame of the fallen. Your peace is submission. And I'd rather burn the stars."
He darted forward, dragging fire into a blade. The seventh seal exploded on contact.
Elara struck the eighth with a phoenix spear thrown from across the battlefield—its core forged from Oran's lightning.
Only one remained.
The final seal hovered above all—nestled in the Leviathan's throat, where gods once screamed to die.
To reach it meant going inside.
Ashen turned to Elara, who reached out and cupped his face.
"You'll come back."
"I always do."
He took flight—flames becoming wings—soaring straight into the Leviathan's mouth.
Inside, time lost meaning. He saw memories that weren't his. Felt a thousand screams. Tasted the void.
But he found the chain.
Grasped it.
And whispered, "Burn."
Everything vanished in white.
The Leviathan burst apart.
Not in fire. Not in light. But in freedom.
Its body unraveled into wind. Its roar became silence. The seals, now broken, drifted into dust.
Ashen reappeared, falling from the sky—caught by Elara midair.
The battlefield stood still.
Then roared.
Cheers. Cries. The Vanguard had slain an ancient horror.
They had won.
Far above, within the Ninefold Council's black halls, the High Oracle watched.
"They broke the Leviathan," whispered one Councillor.
Veridax turned, eyes burning.
"Then we break the world."
And deep beneath the Council's vaults, a coffin opened.
Inside it, a god stirred.
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