The field of carnage was silent.
Not with peace.
But the kind of silence that comes when a storm passes and everything it didn't kill just hasn't realized yet that it's alive.
Blood soaked the blackened soil. Splintered weapons, shattered bones, tattered banners—all strewn like discarded prayers. The air still trembled from the echo of what had happened. Where once there were hundreds, now only five remained.
Terra looked down at the broken form of the weeping goddess Mirethel. "…Oh shit," she muttered, blinking. "We killed her." There was a beat of pause. "…I just wanted to get answers from her," she added, glancing around, still holding her glowing red hand mid-air, blood and godlight steaming from her fingers.
Streng chuckled first, low and guttural, licking a crimson claw. "You didn't say not to go full force."
Cain crossed his arms, staring at the crumpled goddess with unblinking red eyes.
Artemis, standing rigidly upright, lowered her golden blade. "Forgive me. I should have asked first."
"Yeah. But this one's kinda on me," Terra muttered, rubbing the back of her head. She looked over at the group, deadpan. "…So, uh. Oops?"
Streng gave a wicked grin. "Eh. Worth it."
Then—Cain stepped forward, his warhammer resting against his shoulder. He tilted his head slowly, narrowing his eyes at the goddess's twisted form. "…She's not dead."
Everyone turned.
A low rumble began to rise from the earth. The air vibrated. The wind twisted in the wrong direction.
Nero looked around, snarling, "Something else is coming…"
Terra said, "Ohhhh we're done for. You guys shouldn't have killed her."
Nero, Cain, and Streng scoffed at Terra, "IT WAS YOUR IDEA!"
Terra chuckled, knowing that would get to them.
The sky dimmed—not like dusk, but like reality was faltering. The heavens above quaked, trembling as if something massive pressed against it from the other side. Then—
CRACK.
A jagged fissure tore through the sky itself, glowing at the edges like exposed nerve. From that wound, a weapon descended—a massive scythe, spiraling down with impossible weight. Its hilt was adorned with skulls blooming into roses, a crown of sorrow and finality. Black strands of a tattered cloak flared around the blade, whispering through the air like a death sentence written in wind.
Then, from the ground—a hand. Giant. Bone-white. Shattered stone and blood-buried dirt exploded as the skeletal arm surged upward to meet the falling scythe. It caught it. Gripped it.
And from the fractured earth below, he rose.
DEATH.
Rising at 30 feet tall, shadows and black rose petals spiraling around him in destructive winds, His form was cloaked in black sackcloth, stitched from shadows and bound with rusted chains. His face was a skull—ancient and unknowable. Two great black horns curled like obsidian serpents from his eye sockets, each tip twitching with unnatural life. Beneath the folds of his cloak, his body pulsed with a dim, sickly light, like a star that had long since gone out but refused to be forgotten.
Each step he took split the ground beneath him. Each breath dimmed the light around them. The scythe in his hands hissed with cold malice. The air recoiled from his presence.
The five warriors felt like insects before a tidal wave.
And yet—Nero stepped forward.
No hesitation.
He crouched, gripping his wrecking ball as it surged with flaming red aura. His breath was hot steam. His eyes glared like the last bonfire in a ruined world, power humming around him like a harem of warfare.
"Come on, then."
He leapt, flame trailing behind him like the wrath of a dying star. His weapon expanded—massive—and with a roar, he slammed it down toward Death's skull.
The scythe met it midair.
CLANG.
A shockwave blasted the sky apart in rings. The two locked, high above the ruined battlefield, in a frozen instant of raw power. Nero gritted his teeth.
Death's voice came like thunder wrapped in silence:
"I am the guardian of Purgatory. The breath between breath. The one who oversees the slipping soul. You… are not meant to be here. The living aren't meant to tread willingly amongst this plane."
The wrecking ball trembled in Nero's grip. The scythe sparked.
Death continued, "You violate the laws written into the root of existence—the rules of the First Engine."
"…What the hell's a First Engine?" Nero spat. "Get us home.."
"The truth that even gods obey. An object that rules over the concept of creation itself. The living do not reside here. Only the dying… and the already damned."
Death's eyes narrowed, one of them pulsing with the light of a thousand unburied names. "And yet, you… you are not gods. Not monsters. You are mere mortals."
Then—his scythe ignited in pitch-black flame. A blast of dark energy erupted, sending Nero hurtling back. He slammed into the earth, skipped across the bloody field like a stone, and landed hard.
He coughed blood, growling as he sat up. "…Piss off. Think you can just throw me and think you've won?"
He stood again, bracing himself to charge again.
"Fool," Streng growled. "You can't just charge—"
But then, without warning—Mirethel rose.
Floating. Untouched.
Her body radiant, as if no blood had ever touched it. Her hair glowing, her gown flowing like moonlight on water. Her eyes wept endless tears. Yet she said nothing.
She raised a hand.
Death froze.
Not by pain. But by command.
Chains of golden light wrapped around him, drawn not from her hands—but her grief.
He roared, "You break the Law of Death we forged with our own hands! The First Engine's law is not yours to bend!"
Her voice was gentle. Still crying.
"You wish to return home?" she said to the group. "Then enter Kalhalla. Kill my children. My gods."
Terra frowned, stepping forward. "Why can't you do it?"
Mirethel remained silent.
They all looked to each other.
Streng grunted. "So… straight through Death, then?"
Her finger pointed. "The gate lies within him."
They looked again. Death's chest had a hole—not gaping, but glowing. A red circle where once a soul had dwelled. A gate carved into the god of endings.
Then—
Behind them.
The Blood Sirens came.
Haunting. Tall. Terrible.
Their skin: smooth, ancient white-grey stone, cracked and flaking like weather-worn statues. Beneath their scars, red-gold runes pulsed—glyphs of sorrow, not power. Their eyes were mostly hollow, and from beneath them bled a slow, eternal stream of blood. A memory of every death they had sung.
Rusty black halos floated above their heads—spirals of iron spikes tangled with feathers, chains, or broken crowns. Their robes, stiff and petrified silk, twitched with whispers of the dead's last dreams.
They took no side.
They simply gathered the fallen.
Artemis said, "Blood Sirens.."
Streng added, "We have those in our world too. They pick up the souls of the dead and bring them—."
"—Here…?"
As the wind howled around them, Nero looked to the others.
And for once… he walked slowly.
'What if I don't want to go back?'
'What if there's really nothing to go back to besides fighting? I mean…at least it kept me from thinking too much.'
'What if I can really fix myself in this new world?'
'To gain real happiness..?'
He could still remember the long nights after his family's death. Sitting in the dark. Listening to the silence. Letting his thoughts drive him to the edge until he took the job—to hunt beasts, defend his world against terrorists, to kill without thinking.
To never be alone with his thoughts again.
Terra was the next to step forward.
"…Protect me, Godfrey," she whispered a silent prayer.
And though no one answered, she felt him. Somewhere. Watching.
She breathed deep.
She whispered, "…This is for you. I have to survive."
'I can't stay here in a place like this.'
Streng followed, grinning. "Don't care who we kill next. Just don't let it be boring."
Artemis joined. "If we are to carve our purpose… then let us do so with clarity. We have no choice in the matter."
Cain said nothing.
But he walked.
Together, they stepped forward.
Five warriors. Blood-soaked. Purpose-bound. Standing before Death and a goddess.
The sky cracked above. The ground wept below. The Sirens sang as they gathered the souls of the dead."
..
The wind howled like the last breath of a dying god, tearing across the broken ground, lifting cloaks, snapping strands of hair, and carrying with it the weight of everything unsaid. They stood before the Gate to Kalhalla, embedded in the chest of Death himself—a hole pulsing with a terrible crimson glow, as if creation had been wounded and left open to bleed its secrets into the void. The gate shimmered like it was carved from the marrow of stars, impossible and alive. Every instinct screamed at them to run, but there was nowhere left to run. Only forward.
The group hesitated, feet grinding into ash and cracked stone. This moment—this awful stillness—carried the gravity of eternity. Terra clutched the fabric near her chest, feeling her heartbeat pound like a drum of war.
"Man.." she breathed, voice paper-thin. "This is really it."
Streng scoffed beside her, baring his teeth in a crooked, almost mad grin. His claws flexed like a predator ready to pounce, and his blood-red eyes shimmered with anticipation. He spoke with the edge of a man who loved chaos far too much.
"Just another battlefield," he sneered. "And another bastard to rip apart."
Artemis shifted beside them, her blade drawn and faintly glowing—a whisper of purpose in her hand. The lines in her face were calm, but her posture was the poise of a warrior calculating every death that might lie ahead.
"We step into a realm of gods," she said. "Let our will be stronger than theirs."
Cain stood a little behind, half-shrouded in the curling smoke. His face was like stone beneath shadow—expression unreadable, but his voice carried the disdain of a man who had long since lost faith in anything.
"This is a grave we're digging ourselves into," he muttered silently to himself.
'We don't even have a damn choice.'
Nero didn't speak. His fingers curled around the chain of his wrecking ball. His jaw was clenched, the muscles in his arms trembling—not from fear, but from the tension of a dam about to break. The wind tore at his hair, but he didn't flinch. His eyes were locked on Death, the embodiment of inevitability, still bound, still looming. And yet, something was wrong.
A sound broke the moment. Not a crack—a groan, deep and ancient. Like something eternal shifting in its sleep. Death's body twitched. A single movement. Barely perceptible. But enough. The atmosphere tightened, as if the sky itself held its breath.
Then, from beneath the hood of black sackcloth, his voice rose like a storm rolling over the horizon—quiet first, then deafening.
"You were chosen."
It wasn't rage, not yet.
"You were chosen to wield the First Engine. To carry its song. Its logic. Its law."
The runes beneath his cloak flared. Dark red and void-black, they pulsed like veins of burning coal, threatening to tear through his flesh. The golden bindings shivered. The scythe hanging in the sky began to vibrate, the skulls on its hilt shrieking in voiceless agony. The wind stopped.
"And yet…" his voice cracked with something raw, betrayed—
"You break every law it wrote in blood and fire."
The scythe shuddered in his grasp. His cloak lifted as if caught in a rising hurricane. The vibrations beneath their feet turned to tremors. Cracks webbed across the ground. Pieces of the sky were peeling away above them, black and crystalline, shattering into lightless shards.
"This isn't what the First Engine was built for!"
The roar cracked reality. A shockwave erupted from Death's body—lightless, heavy—and everyone was blown back. Terra hit the ground first, rolling across stone and shattered petals. Artemis skidded into a pillar of bone. Cain landed on his feet but staggered under the pressure, his hammer driven halfway into the ground. Even Nero was launched into the air, his body rotating mid-spin before slamming into the broken earth.
Death rose—not walking, ascending—hovering in place, his sackcloth cloak unraveling into tendrils of shadow. His body was now a silhouette of fury and judgment, horns bursting from the sockets of his eyes like twisted branches of obsidian. The scythe dragged behind him, carving the air in a single slow arc that rumbled with pressure. Each step, each movement, was divine calamity.
He swung the scythe.
WHOOM.
It struck the earth.
The impact was colossal.
Stone erupted. The air shattered. From the wound in the ground, red roses burst forth in a spiral of fire, blooming with impossible beauty as they exploded in pillars of searing flame. The group scattered—dodging, tumbling, diving away. The next swing came, faster, more brutal. The path it cut through the air sounded like thunder having a seizure. Each time it connected with ground, more roses bloomed—burning, shrieking with flame and grief.
They tried to keep up. But the destruction was too great. Streng was grazed by a burst and thrown into a tombstone of melted stone. Artemis deflected part of the blast with her sword, but still took a searing burn across her side. Terra was limping, barely dodging the firebursts. It was relentless.
Until—
One moment. One breath.
Death brought the scythe down directly at Terra.
She was frozen, wounded. There wasn't time.
And then Nero was there.
He slammed into her, shoulder-first, knocking her clear of the blast. The scythe landed where she'd stood—and the explosion of fire and roses nearly blinded the world.
Nero turned back, eyes glowing white-hot with sheer will. His wrecking ball glowed, then blazed—its size expanding in mid-spin, becoming massive, a sunlit meteor wrapped in flame. He darted forward, too fast for the eye, dragging the weapon in a wide arc.
He met the next scythe swing head-on.
CRASH.
The two weapons collided mid-air, light and force writhing around them like dying stars. The wrecking ball smashed into the blade of the scythe, cracking the air open between them. Death's eyes widened—genuinely stunned.
No mortal had ever deflected the Scythe of Death and Judgment.
Death said, "You…what are you? There isn't a single human bone..in your body."
That second of surprise was enough.
"Go!" Artemis shouted.
The group leapt in unison.
Streng howled with bloodlust, claws flaring.
Artemis's blade became a streak of radiant arcane of red and gold flames.
Cain dropped from above like a hammer from the void, sword aimed with surgical hate.
And Nero, teeth gritted, eyes wild, brought his wrecking ball down with a divine roar.
BOOM.
They struck Death with everything they had. A full-force, multi-pronged attack that staggered the unshakable. Cracks raced up his form. He roared—and then—
Mirethel was there.
She floated forward like a ghost through smoke and roses.
Her hand reached out—pale, shaking—and grabbed Death's skull-shaped face.
And he froze. Entirely. Body locked. Power stilled.
She turned to the others, voice breaking through the flames and thunder.
"Go. Do not waste any more seconds."
No hesitation.
Nero and Terra ran ahead, Cain leapt with silent fury, Streng grinned, blood dripping from his mouth, and Artemis turned once—saw Mirethel's face, still weeping.
Together, they leapt.
And as they did—the world around them cracked, and they fell not through space, but into silence, like being pulled into a watery abyss. A spiraling descent into a void of black.
No sound. No color. Only falling.
Together.
….
They fell like stars with their light torn away, tumbling in slow descent through a divine abyss that churned with memory and myth.
Above, visions unraveled like torn pages from a forgotten gospel. Blinding golden suns collided with crowned shadows, gods waging war in the skies, throwing mountains like stones, bleeding oceans into deserts. One deity, crowned in bone and smoke, raised a hand and crushed a burning city beneath it; another, weeping tears of gold, scattered those same flames into seeds that bloomed into worshipers chanting beneath obsidian towers.
Kingdoms rose and burned. Knights in armor of mirrors fell before beasts with wings made of screaming mouths. Cults danced in blood, praising the gods who never answered. Others knelt in silence, trembling before divine effigies so vast the stars bent around them. Beasts of nightmare and wonder galloped between realms—dragons with lanterns in their ribs, serpents with skin like stitched sky.
Laughter. Grief. Triumph. Massacres.
They weren't falling alone—they were falling into something. Kalhalla wasn't just a land. It was a world that remembered, one stitched together by the memories of gods and the screaming threads of those they'd forsaken.
Then the fall ended.
They slammed into the earth with bone-rattling impact, bodies skidding across the snow-drenched ground. But this was no ordinary snow. The flakes were black as coal dust, floating in slow motion, falling like ashes from a pyre too large for this world. It was cold—biting, real—but the light was wrong. The moon barely pierced the veil of falling black, and the trees stood twisted, frozen in mid-scream, like petrified wails.
Streng grunted as he stood, shaking frost from his fur-covered shoulders. "What the fuck is happening now?" he growled, his voice still rumbling with residual laughter.
Beside him, Artemis slowly rose from the crater they made. Her body, sleek and golden chrome-gilded, hissed softly with radiant heat as it met the cold. She examined her arms with a sense of distant awe. "I feel no pain," she said softly. "No pressure. I can't even feel the snow."
Her expression faltered—more than just curiosity. There was grief there. A longing. She reached out again to the snowfall but recoiled. She wanted to feel. But there was only void. Streng noticed but said nothing.
A few feet away, their attention turned to a tangle of limbs in the snow—Terra, her pale body curved protectively over Nero, who lay still beneath her. And above them, Cain stood already, silent, brooding, watching from behind a frostbitten tree as he covered himself with stripped bark and leaves.
"…Huh." Artemis tilted her head, lips curling slightly as she knelt beside them. "You two get a little… closer while falling through divine space?" Her tone was dry, but her eyes sparkled with mischievous warmth.
Streng, wide-eyed, roared with laughter. "You sly bastards! You land ass-naked in a graveyard and this is the first thing you do?!"
"Wait, wait," Artemis said, voice deepening in amused awe. "She's… biting him?"
Indeed, Terra straddled Nero, her mouth clamped on the side of his neck, hands clutching his jaw, her entire body trembling as she drank. The others paused, a sudden tension piercing the surreal moment.
Nero, mouth slightly open, was too stunned to scream. His body felt like it was being hollowed out, drained, unraveled. His mind spun.
'What the hell is happening?'
'Why can't I move?'
'Why the hell am I letting this happen?'
'Why the hell does it feel like—'
Terra pulled away suddenly, blood staining her mouth and dripping from her chin. Their eyes locked—wide, wild, almost comically stunned. They scrambled back from one another, slipping in the snow, covering themselves instinctively.
"What the— what do you think you're doing?!" Nero barked, pointing at her with one hand while covering himself with the other.
Terra scoffed. "I don't know! I just… did it!" she snapped, flustered and furious, wiping her mouth. "Back off! Why are we naked?!"
She covered herself before anyone saw anything serious, and she panicked, "No..no…no..no..what's wrong with me?!"
'Why was I biting him?! Godfrey forgive me…!'
They stood several feet apart, panting, awkward, shivering, and furious. But as they glared, something pulsed at Nero's neck. A glowing red sigil, curling in alien geometry, burned where Terra had bitten him. It flickered like a brand—alive, breathing, wrong.
Everyone stared.
"A sigil..?" Artemis asked, stepping closer. "A crest of magic of some sort…"
"I don't know," Terra whispered, eyes wide, trembling. "I don't fucking know. But I felt stronger. Like… like I unlocked something. I hated every second of it, I felt controlled…..Godfrey...."
Nero's expression hardened. He wanted to strike her. Every inch of him screamed for it. But something about the panic in her voice—real panic, not guilt—made him pause.
Terra's eyes narrowed. She didn't step back. She was ready to fight.
The tension stretched.
Nero touched the red glowing sigil on his neck, and it slightly burned. His head bumped and throbbed, his heart pounded slightly where he could hear it.
'Why me? Why didn't she bite anyone else?! Am I marked? Is something gonna happen to me? What if she does it again? What if she keeps doing it?! Will I turn into something, with horns like her? Should I take her down here and now…? Why didn't I end her before? Was It because it looked like she didn't know what was going on? I don't ever hesitate, I'm reckless for a reason. It's my own curse but it's the only way I'll outrun defeat, and my own shitty fate. But here…I've already hesitated twice. Jumping into Kalhalla, and not ripping Terra's head off for biting me when I just met her. I'm pretty sure she doesn't know what's going either, I can charge her for it. Her reactions..to natural. But what really is this mark..? It's hard to explain, but it feels like an extra limb. An arm or some shit.'
Then Artemis stepped between them, her golden blade humming softly as she held up her hand. "Enough. We've got bigger problems." She looked around. "The snow. It's not normal. There's something in it. Dark energy. Something old." She looked around. "And the gods," she added. "The ones Mirethel mentioned… her children. If we want to get home—if that's even possible—we have to kill them."
Terra turned slightly, whispering under her breath. "Godfrey, forgive me… for drinking blood. I'll fast for a day. I promise. Just don't… don't let me become something else."
Meanwhile, Cain covering himself, emerged from the forest, clutching makeshift wrappings of bark and vine. "There's nothing out here to wear. No animals. No structures. Just… darkness." He looked haunted.
Artemis tilted her head. "Nothing?"
He shook his head. "Except for a rabbit. Dying. Its body… rotting from the inside. Boils. Pustules. Its blood hissed when it hit the ground. Rot."
The group went quiet.
Then Streng broke it. "We're really in it now, huh?"
Cain ignored him. "I'm not staying with you." His voice was final, sharp. "I'm finding my own way back home. If there's even a way. Hunting gods is suicidal."
Streng's grin widened. "Aw, c'mon, don't be like that, you little sissy boy. Just 'cause you're broody and slow don't mean you're smart."
Cain's eyes sparked with red lightning. His warhammer manifested in his hand with a crack of thunder. "Say that again."
"I said," Streng leaned forward, "you don't look cool trying to ditch us."
Cain's voice was low and venomous. "I don't care about you. I won't fight with you. I won't die for you. I don't even want to know you. That goes for all of you."
Nero told Cain, "Leave then. You'll probably just get in the way anyway. And I don't need people in my way."
They stared each other down.
Artemis stepped forward, again. "We're not fighting each other. Not now. Please."
Cain turned, scoffing as he vanished back into the trees—but the thunder in his wake lingered like a warning.
And so the group stood, amidst black snow, naked and broken, each with a secret they hadn't yet spoken aloud. The sigil on Nero's neck pulsed again. The wind howled like something buried beneath this land was just beginning to stir.
Streng's eyes narrowed as he caught a glimpse of the dying creature Cain had seen moments earlier. The crawling thing—a tangle of exposed ribs and twitching fur—dragged itself an inch at a time through the ash-like snow, its flesh bubbling with grotesque rot. Black blisters pulsed beneath its skin, bursting in slow, gory convulsions. Streng turned his head fast, his grin gone. His fists clenched just slightly, something grim tightening behind his eyes.
Nero stood up then, the hot blood in his veins already surging to the surface. He looked around at the twisted forest, the black snow, the eerie silence stretching far too deep.
"Great," he muttered, voice raw and sharp, chain wrapped around one hand like a comfort. "This is just perfect. Dropped here ass-naked, no guide, no map, no sign of these so-called gods we're supposed to kill. Just a cursed forest and a bunch of freaks."
"You talk too much," Cain muttered from the back, but Nero ignored him.
Terra rolled her eyes, her delinquent posture slouched as she crossed her arms and scuffed at the ground with her foot. "Best thing to do is keep heading north," she said with a shrug. "I guess. I don't know. I just wanted to be part of the conversation."
Streng gave a soft chuckle at that, but Terra didn't look at him. Her eyes kept drifting back to Nero's neck, to the glowing mark she'd left there. It pulsed with faint red light, and each time she looked, she silently begged Godfrey for forgiveness.
'That wasn't me. That wasn't who I am. What's wrong with me? I swear to you Godfrey…this isn't me. I'm no heretic of you. Forgive me..'
They began walking, slow and cautious, the snow thickening underfoot like black sludge. Trees towered around them, leafless and warped, stretching like crooked arms toward a moon that refused to shine.
Cain lingered behind, keeping his distance.
Artemis noticed. She slowed her steps and turned back to him. Her face was calm—soft even—but there was always something ancient in the way her eyes read people, like she saw everything all at once.
"Do you really not want to go with us?" she asked, tone serious but gentle, like a sister refusing to let her sibling eat dinner alone.
"No," Cain replied sharply. "I don't."
He kept walking, arms folded across his privates, his makeshift covering barely holding together. "We got lucky in Purgatory. That's it. Now we're out here with the worst luck possible."
Artemis didn't argue. Instead, she simply sat down in the snow.
Cain blinked, confused. "What are you doing?"
"If you're going alone," she said, "then I'll stay here with you."
Cain grimaced, rubbing his face. "You're a robot. You don't get it. You're not even supposed to care."
She tilted her head slightly. "And yet, I do."
Cain shook his head. "Nero's a reckless child who's gonna get himself killed. Probably get the rest of us killed, too. Terra drinks blood, worships some divine hallucination, and acts like she's better than everyone. And Streng is the worst of all. Just want to pick at everyone, watch them bleed, and revel in senseless violence."
Artemis looked up at him, her voice softer now. "What about you?"
Cain's jaw clenched. He didn't answer at first. Just stood there, muscles taut, eyes dark.
"Whatever," he muttered, finally. "I'll go."
He turned and walked forward, still covering himself, still brooding, but moving.
Artemis stood and walked beside him, a quiet smile just at the corners of her lips. "Thank you."
Cain frowned at her, frustrated, but curious. "Why do you treat people like this? People you don't even know?"
She didn't look at him. Her gaze was on her own hand, watching the black snow melt against her golden-plated fingers.
"I want to feel something…" she said softly. "Anything."
Cain looked at her for a long moment. Then he said nothing more.
The group moved together now, one loose formation of bruises and tension, forged by divine ruin and the unknown path ahead. They trudged forward through the dark forest, the black snow falling harder, piling up on the cracked and crooked roots beneath their feet.
And the air whispered like something ancient was watching.
The black snow thickened as they pressed deeper into the darkened woods. It fell in slow, drifting curtains, dead and heavy, settling like ash over gnarled roots and moss-stained stones. Around them, the forest grew quieter—not in peace, but in suffocation. The trees moaned faintly in the wind, bark split open as if wounded, and the land exhaled rot.
They passed the first corpse without meaning to—a stag, once proud and towering, now collapsed in a twisted sprawl of shattered limbs. Its antlers were torn clean off, jagged splinters left behind. Its ribcage had peeled open from the inside, as if something had clawed to escape. Black boils clung to its exposed flesh, each pulsing with slow, meaty gurgles before bursting in viscous blood. Its eyes were still open. Glowing red in the shadow.
More came as they walked. Mythic beasts—some recognizable, some warped beyond reason. A massive feathered serpent, its wings dissolved into threads of melted flesh. A three-eyed wolf with its skull split and steaming. Dozens of rot-choked carcasses, their mouths open in eternal silent screams. Some were still twitching.
Streng kept his eyes closed at first. His breathing was steady, but there was something stiff in the way he walked, like even his twisted grin couldn't survive this kind of atmosphere. Eventually, he let his eyes open, slowly, and then muttered, "So, Terra…"
Terra tilted her head slightly but didn't stop walking. "What."
"Who's that god you keep whispering to? That 'Godfrey' guy."
Terra glanced at him, uncertain at first, but then shrugged and answered. "He's worshipped by few. But those who do.." Her voice sharpened with pride. "…They believe in sacrifice with purpose. Happiness as a virtue. Blood as proof of devotion. To not take pleasure in the things of the world, that trap those into lust and submission. That type of stuff."
"What type of world stuff?"
"Falling in love. Drinking, celebrating anyone's birthday, killing without valid reason, sex, kissing, hugging, holding hands. I can only eat plants and herbs instead of meat. I can't go to any theatres, I can't play games, or work to make some damn coin."
Streng raised a brow but said nothing, letting her continue.
"Godfrey's image is always the same: a destroyed king. A sword buried in his chest with the other. He never smiles. Never speaks." Her delinquent tone softened for a heartbeat. "But I was taught he watches. He weeps. He understands."
The wind groaned through the trees, but Terra's voice stayed strong.
"I was raised in a forgotten temple. Way the hell off the grid. Last one left of his faith. Everyone else is gone. Wiped out. There were those who hated Godfrey worshippers, and purged them. I am the last faithful one."
She reached up and brushed some black snow from her shoulders, still covering herself. "We were taught that peace was the only path worth bleeding for. But sometimes, to keep that peace, you had to destroy what tried to twist it. Godfrey was all about that. Keeping the blade buried in yourself to protect others. Even when it kills you inside."
Nero, silent all this time, kept walking a few paces ahead of her. Her words faded into a hum in his ears as his thoughts drifted—backward.
'What kind of religion is that? She can't even enjoy herself in any kind of way. Fuck that. Whatever it is, she sees enjoying herself with even playing games or going to theatre or having a job is forbidden by Godfrey's doctrine, whoever that is.'
But then, Nero began to think, and have a vivid memory.
Rain. That endless kind of cold rain that sank into the soul. Not snow, but it felt the same. Like the world had turned its back on the sun and just forgot what warmth meant.
He was walking the streets of his world alone, his boots splashing through cracked neon puddles and gutter streams. Futuristic towers loomed like dead trees. No one looked at him. He didn't want them to. His coat was heavy, head down, and all he could hear were his own thoughts clawing at his skull.
He hated that. Being alone with himself.
So he stopped being still. Started fights. Caused chaos. Broke things—because breaking things was easier than feeling anything. Getting hurt was easier than being still.
And then, that day… the armed warriors came. Sleek black armor, guns shimmering with augmented magic, cloaks trailing smoke. They told him he was wasting his rage. That it could be turned into something useful. That he could be a weapon for the nation—against the terrorists that threatened their glass-plate cities and fortified mountain halls.
He never even said yes. He just followed them.
BOOM.
A deafening shriek tore through the woods. Nero's head jerked up, dragged violently back into the now.
The ground shook faintly beneath them.
"What the hell was that?" Streng asked. "I wanna kill it…"
"A scream," Artemis said calmly, unsheathing her blade. The runes pulsed softly.
"A big one," Nero muttered, eyes narrowed. "Definitely some monster."
Terra looked like she wanted to say something to him, but she hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek. He hadn't forgotten what she did. And she was sure he hadn't forgiven it either.
Still, she tried, speaking low. "You've fought before… Haven't you?"
Nero didn't look at her. "I've gotten used to it. To a certain extent."
Streng snorted behind them. "I don't regret jumping into Death's chest," he said with a dark grin. "Maybe I'll find what I need here."
Terra looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
Streng's smile didn't waver. "That's my concern. And mine alone."
"Whatever," she mumbled, groaning and clutching her arms tighter around herself. "Still can't believe we're walking around naked in the woods."
Nero scoffed. "I know. What kind of divine trial is this? The way my world was advanced, I could be hallucinating all this crap."
Streng laughed, then jabbed a clawed thumb toward Artemis. "At least she's lucky. No skin to get frostbitten."
Artemis, ever composed, turned slightly to glance at him. "It's bad. Can't feel anything."
The forest was suffocating now, like it was folding in on them. The black snow blanketed the world in thick, soundless decay. No wind. No birds. Just the faint crunch of bare feet and claws over frozen earth.
Then they stopped.
A cluster of corpses lay ahead, sprawled across the trail like discarded dolls. Six—maybe seven—men and women, their black leather armor stitched and reinforced like something out of an old war chronicle. They wore cloaks, boots, and tattered scarves, all dyed in shades of shadow. Their lanterns—now shattered—lay among them, thin wisps of oil smoke still curling from broken glass.
The armor was fine—sleek and layered, resembling something from a forgotten knightly order. Battle-worn, practical. Their hands were frozen in reaching gestures, as if clawing toward something before death took them.
Streng narrowed his eyes. "They look like they didn't even get a chance to fight back."
Artemis stepped closer, carefully kneeling to examine one. The corpse's face was locked in an expression of horror—eyes wide, mouth agape. His chest had collapsed inward like glass beneath a hammer.
Nero raised his wrecking ball slightly, chain rattling in the silence.