Reality shattered. The very air twisted and screamed as the colossal, bleeding fortress of Evos surged forward, swallowing everything in its path. Its walls, pulsing with eldritch life, wrapped around the battlefield like the jaws of an insatiable beast, consuming both Byzor and Duskmaw before they could react. Darkness surged in an all-encompassing wave, devouring the golden temple of the Titan Duskmaw. The temple, a radiant beacon of divinity, did not resist; instead, it merged with the abyss, golden pillars fusing with obsidian stone, sacred engravings twisting into infernal scripture.
A moment later, silence.
Then—a flicker.
Crimson lights pulsed weakly, casting eerie, shifting glows across the immense chamber they now stood in. The walls bled in slow, sluggish streams, thick rivulets of dark red cascading down the massive pillars that reached endlessly into the void above. Every surface bore intricate engravings, words written in an ancient, forgotten language—etched not in ink, but in blood. The air was thick, suffocating, and the space between seconds felt stretched and wrong.
Eyes.
Dozens. Hundreds.
They lined the walls, embedded in the stone—some blinking, some unmoving, some dilating as they tracked the two figures now trapped within the abyssal throne room. Yet, these were not mere watchers. Some of the eyes bled golden ichor, others dripped blackened tar, the fusion of divinity and void itself forming something neither holy nor unholy—a place where even the laws of existence bowed in submission.
At the heart of the vast chamber, two figures stood amidst the wreckage of their own power, their gazes locked—one of divine judgment, the other of endless, corrupt hunger.
Duskmaw's twin golden blades pulsed with celestial radiance, his form standing defiant even as the oppressive weight of the domain pressed upon him. His light blue eyes glowed like twin stars in the suffocating dark.
Byzor cracked his neck, black flames mixed with crimson aura coiling around his daggers, his deep crimson eyes practically alight with bloodlust. He exhaled slowly, the energy surging through his limbs, strengthening him even as the weight of Duskmaw's presence fought to tear him down.
"Duskmaw's damn presence alone with that shitty Eldertree Howl bullshit... it's been making me fight in a weakened state for damn months." Byzor thought to himself as he exhaled again.
They moved.
A single breath passed before the chamber exploded into chaos once more.
They met in the center, blades clashing in a titanic collision, sending fractures of both radiant gold and abyssal black through the air of the throne room. Every strike sent ripples through reality itself—each blow carving open rifts in time, each movement distorting the space around them.
The chamber around them howled in agony as their battle raged, the bleeding walls pulsating violently with each impact. The golden temple's presence fought to reclaim ground, its holy essence searing the darkness, yet the abyss surged forth in equal defiance, devouring the light wherever it faltered.
Faster.
Stronger.
Byzor's roar shook the chamber, his voice carrying the fury of centuries.
"I'VE REJECTED THIS DAMN WORLD FOR SO LONG! YOU THINK I'D FALL NOW? I'VE BEEN WEAKENED, I'VE BEEN CHASED THROUGH TIME, I'VE BEEN FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE SINCE THE DAMN DAY I COULD WALK! I WILL NOT GIVE UP HERE JUST BECAUSE OF AN ENEMY WHO CAN WEAKEN ME BY EXISTING EXISTS. I WILL WIN, NOT JUST FOR ME… BUT FOR ALL OF VAMPIRE KIND AS THEIR KING. IT IS MY DUTY!"
Power surged from him like an explosion, dark mana boiling from his very soul. The blood-stained walls of the castle trembled, the ancient engravings pulsing in violent response. The room twisted, cracking apart at the seams of reality itself as Byzor's rage manifested in pure, unfiltered destruction.
Rifts tore open in the chamber—holes in existence itself, leading to places forgotten, realms abandoned. From them, creatures of nightmare spilled forth. Crimson beasts slithered into the room, their bodies twisting with unholy hunger. Beasts of deep, abyssal blue, their forms shimmering like shadows, howled in unison. And then—a dragon.
Its wings, nothing but skeletal remnants, scraped against the chamber's walls as it emerged, its body barely held together by rotted flesh. Blood dripped in slow, steady streams from its decaying form, its empty sockets burning with a relentless blood-red glow. When it roared, the sound was not of a beast, but of a grave torn open, a death unfinished.
Duskmaw's golden tides crashed into the horde, his divine magic washing over them in relentless waves. Yet this time, the light did not erase them as it had before. It weakened them, slowed their advance, but they endured.
Duskmaw's eyes widened slightly. "He's resisting my Eldertree Howl… how?"
Byzor threw his head back and laughed—a laugh devoid of warmth, a sound that carried death itself. A deep, guttural, inhuman noise that echoed through the chamber, seeping into the bones of the walls.
"I am Byzor. A king. A king that's been cursed."
He inhaled sharply, then exhaled—his breath curling into mist as if the air itself recoiled from him. He moved.
Faster than before.
Too fast.
His dagger struck.
Duskmaw barely saw it coming.
A single blade—black as the void, yet lined with the shimmer of deep crimson—tore through the divine steel of his sword as if it were brittle glass. A warp in space erupted where they stood, a fissure into something neither of them understood nor controlled.
Duskmaw barely evaded the distortion, leaping back as the wound in reality snapped shut with a sickening crack. His expression was unreadable, but within his light-blue eyes, a flicker of something dangerously close to admiration burned.
Without hesitation, he conjured another blade of pure, radiant gold, and surged forward once more.
They clashed again.
Faster.
Harder.
The chamber around them warped, the battlefield stretching beyond what should be possible. Each impact sent ripples through existence, their power escaping beyond the floating castle itself.
Even from the distant capital of Velmara, Rosaline, Tio, the medic, and Celestia could see the war unfolding.
Though their mortal eyes could not pierce the veil of the floating fortress above, they felt it.
Every clash tore through the sky.
Every strike split the heavens.
Even from afar, they could see the land itself suffering—jagged scars cut through the island, mountains splitting, the ocean, pulling away as if in fear of the power being unleashed above.
Duskmaw's blade clashed against Byzor's daggers once more, sending an explosion of golden light and abyssal darkness rippling through the sky. Their movements blurred, the sheer speed of their strikes collapsing space itself as cracks formed in the air around them. The temple-castle groaned under the weight of their power, its walls struggling to contain the war that threatened to tear apart existence itself.
Byzor grinned, fangs gleaming as he spun, his dagger slashing upward in a deadly arc. Duskmaw barely tilted his head to the side, the tip of the blade grazing his cheek, splitting the skin. A single drop of golden blood slid down his face before evaporating into pure light.
Then, Duskmaw did something he hadn't done before.
He smiled.
It was not a smirk of arrogance or cruelty, not a grin of victory—but something more raw. More human.
"For someone who has rejected this world…" His voice rumbled like an earthquake, but this time, there was no condescension. Only understanding. "You still fight so desperately to live within the world."
Duskmaw clenched his blade tighter, and suddenly—his presence changed. The divine power radiating from him expanded, no longer just holy, but something greater, something immeasurable. His light-blue eyes vanished, replaced by twin orbs of pure, blinding white, ringed with golden fire. His body pulsed with radiance, his form no longer just a warrior, but a force of nature.
The golden temple, once on the brink of being consumed by the abyss, flared to life. Its spires glowed with an intensity so fierce that even the darkness recoiled. The engravings on its walls reformed, words of ancient divinity searing themselves into the very foundation of the floating domain. The weakened golden tides surged anew, roaring through the battlefield like an unstoppable flood.
"You think you've suffered?!" Duskmaw's voice thundered, shaking the castle to its core. "You think you're the only one who's fought? The only one who's been hunted? The only one who's had to crawl through the mud, covered in blood, just to keep moving?"
He lifted his blade, and the heavens above them split open. Light cascaded down, not just from the temple, but from something beyond.
Byzor shielded his eyes for a moment, his grin fading as he stared up at the sheer immensity of it.
A gate had formed above them. A celestial rift, shining with the weight of eternity.
Duskmaw's voice rumbled like a storm, his presence expanding with the weight of his words. The abyss recoiled, the shadows wavering as if even the void itself feared what he was becoming.
"I have seen blood across lifetimes," he declared, stepping forward, his every motion radiating power. "I have watched my brothers fall—one by one—until we four were the last. We were born from the hands of a damned priest, cursed to hunt the night, bound to a fate we never chose.
"But even so… they were my family."
His blinding white eyes burned with an intensity that rivaled the sun itself. The temple above pulsed in response, golden runes rewriting themselves across its walls, carrying the names of those who had fallen before him.
"You call us beasts? You call us abominations? Cursed creations of divine wrath?" His voice cracked through the battlefield like thunder. "Say it all. Shout it to the heavens. It doesn't change what I am. I stand, not as a single entity, but as four… no, as ALL Duskmaws—those who lived, those who died, those who were erased from history! I CARRY THEIR LEGACY! I BEAR THEIR WEIGHT! I AM ALL THAT REMAINS!"
The ground beneath them split apart as golden flames surged through the battlefield, rising like waves of judgment.
"I am not just a warrior. I am the final Titan Duskmaw. I am divinity's blade. I AM THE DAMN JUDGE OF THOSE WHO CLAIM TO BE KING!"
His words weren't just spoken.
They were law.
Byzor's crimson aura flared, his form brimming with defiance.
Duskmaw moved.
In a single breath, he vanished from where he stood. Golden flame streaked through the battlefield, a comet of pure power closing the distance in an instant. His sword, wreathed in divine fire, pulsed with enough raw energy to cleave through time.
Byzor roared, his fangs bared, and lunged to meet him.