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“Back off!”
Astaroth yanked Aisling back violently, just in time to save her from the lightning-fast strike of a soldier chasing them. In the same motion, the young demon lunged at the attacker, tackled him and hurled him through the inner glass of a laboratory in a deafening crash. In one fluid movement, he retrieved his sword, planted nearby, before turning back to Aisling and offering his hand.
“Are you all right?”
His worried gaze settled on her as he helped her to her feet. Aisling nodded, still stunned. Adrenaline pounded through her veins and her vision swayed slightly. Around her, everything was chaos.
They had rushed down to the lower levels of the prison, evacuating the poisoned inmates as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, somewhere above, the Mad Smith was feverishly working on Strife’s weapon. When Astaroth had asked what he was doing, the old blacksmith had simply growled:
“Take cover… and run.”
They had barely managed to evacuate the last prisoners when a titanic explosion rocked the tower to its core. The floor trembled beneath their feet, the walls cracked as if the stone itself screamed, and a shockwave swept away dust and fog in a furious blast.
Aisling had rushed to the twisted bars to observe the laboratories. Below, she saw the scientists panic briefly… then begin working frantically.
They had released all the Rephaim they could, and she had feared they would send them all upstairs. But no, they seemed to be evacuating them, sabotaging the tanks of the premature subjects. They weren’t trying to fight — they were trying to leave nothing behind.
She didn’t have time to reflect further.
“Messenger! The mist!”
Astaroth’s voice snapped her out of her daze. She inhaled — and for the first time in hours, felt her lungs fill without burning. The mental pressure that had gripped her like a vice was easing. Her thoughts cleared.
The mist was dissipating.
She looked up toward the heights. It seemed the Mad Smith had managed to punch a hole through the prison’s ceiling, just wide enough to reach the summit and connect with Azrael.
And that could only mean one thing: the Well was finally closed.
Idris, Nimue, and Strife… they were still up there!
Aisling’s heart clenched at the thought. She had to warn them, quickly. And above all, they had to find a way to secure the Air Elemental before everything collapsed.
Without hesitation, without even trying to explain, she turned on her heel and sprinted toward the door leading outside. Behind her, Astaroth called her name, but in vain. Trapped in the melee, he couldn’t follow.
The mist had vanished, and with it, the lethargy that had paralyzed minds. The former prisoners, just freed from the toxic influence of regret, hurled themselves at their former jailers in a storm of fury, with old scores to settle. The tower had turned into a true battlefield — screams, blades, fangs, and cries of vengeance.
Aisling weaved through the crowd like a shadow, zigzagging between fights. More than once, she narrowly dodged a stray blade, an axe swing, or a misfired spell. Once, she felt the searing whistle of a blade graze her cheek, leaving a drop of blood. But she didn’t slow.
When she finally reached the metal door leading outside, she rammed it halfway open with a furious shoulder strike and burst out into the open air. The wind slapped her face. She clung immediately to the safety railing, her fingers clutching the icy metal, as a dizzying vertigo clawed at her throat. The yawning void before her still held all its terrifying power.
Below, the mist was slowly clearing, revealing the surviving scientists evacuating the Rephaim. A bitter taste rose in her mouth at the thought of those mutants loose in the world, but she didn’t have the luxury to worry about it now.
A dull detonation burst above her, shaking the air and the top of the tower with a sinister crash. A wave of heat and smoke blew upward, and a cold terror seized Aisling’s gut.
Her concern for her companions instantly overpowered her fear of the void. Without thinking, she threw herself into the spiral staircase clinging to the tower, ignoring the treacherous gusts and the yawning chasm beneath her feet. Each step felt more slippery than the last, but she climbed, again and again, gripping the handrail, driven by visceral urgency.
The wind howled around her, carrying with it screams and flashes of combat. Then, suddenly, a shriek tore through the air: a demonic guard toppled from the top of the stairs and plummeted into the void, his body smashing far below.
She had barely caught her breath when more figures appeared above her — massive guards with weapons raised, facing off an invisible adversary higher on the ramp.
She tried to back away silently, praying to go unnoticed. But one demon suddenly turned his head, his yellow, burning eyes locking onto hers with cruel delight. He growled and raised his sword in her direction.
Aisling stepped back, heart pounding wildly, desperately searching for an escape.
Then a hiss cut through the air, followed by a blue flash shooting out from the void. It struck the guard in the chest, hurling him violently backward.
“Don’t touch her!”
A small figure sliced through the air and landed between her and the demons. Nimue, her three eyes narrowed with feline gleam, floated like a furious flame.
“Nim!” Aisling gasped with relief. “Where are Idris and Strife?”
“Up there! Naamah has unleashed all her abominations on the Elemental and— Duck!”
She shoved Aisling backward just in time. A sphere of electricity burst out and exploded against the tower wall where she had been a second earlier. And suddenly, the ground gave way beneath her feet.
Aisling slipped violently backward, her boot sliding on the wet stairs. The world tilted. She rolled onto her side, arms flailing, and then — in a chilling rush — the void opened beneath her.
Her hand closed at the last moment on the iron railing, rough and icy. Her body swung out into the void, hanging in the abyss, her arm twisted under the brutal weight of her fall.
She choked back a scream. Her legs dangled in emptiness, and only her desperate grip kept her alive.
“Hold on!” Nimue cried, rushing toward her, her wings trembling with effort.
The little Watcher dove in, trying to grab her — but a bolt of energy streaked toward them. A crackling sphere grazed Nimue, throwing her violently backward.
A cruel laugh split the air, echoing in the void like a mocking knell. Aisling looked up, her neck twisting at a painful angle, to see Naamah’s silhouette hovering just above her. The demoness’s shadowy wings beat lazily, keeping her aloft, while a sadistic smile stretched her red lips. In her palm glowed a sphere of electric energy.
“I should have known you’d be trouble…” Naamah purred, savoring every word. “Females are always craftier than males, aren’t they?”
She rolled the sphere slowly from one hand to the other, letting it gleam ominously above Aisling’s head.
“I know, I know… he wants you brought in alive.” She mocked the word with a smirk. “But who’ll know, hmm, if you have a nasty little fall? No one. And I could finally understand how such a pathetic little primate could house so much power…”
Her eyes gleamed with unhinged scientific fascination as she added brightly:
“Rejoice, my dear. You’re going to die for science.”
But just as she raised her arm to strike, a gunshot cracked through the air. The bullet hit Naamah in the shoulder with a sharp sound of tearing flesh and fracturing bone. She screamed, shocked and furious, pulling back in the air and momentarily losing balance.
Higher up the stairs, Strife had just fired, his pistol still smoking in his hand as he finished off another demon with a clean shot to the head. Idris was already leaping after him, bounding down the steps four at a time.
“Aisling! Hold on!”
But despite the pain, Naamah managed to hurl the electric sphere. The orb spun through the air and slammed into the metal supports of the stair section where Aisling was hanging.
The metal creaked — then suddenly tore loose with a wrenching screech. The staircase tilted slowly. Aisling screamed, swept away by the motion, her legs thrashing, the void swallowing the space around her.
Idris slid to his knees on the stable part of the stair, just in time to see the segment she was on begin to rotate on itself, held only by a few twisted supports slowly giving way.
He stretched out his hand in a desperate reflex, but froze — he realized that one more step would make the metal collapse under his weight.
Nimue launched herself at once, diving toward Aisling to grab her arm, pulling with all her strength to bring her back toward the shaky platform. Her small, clawed hands slipped on Aisling’s sweat-slicked skin, and her three eyes burned with desperate fear.
Meanwhile, Idris began crawling on all fours across the twisted metal. He held his breath, tense, shifting his weight carefully to avoid worsening the structure’s collapse. A bead of sweat slid down his temple, followed by another. Finally, reaching the edge, he flattened himself against the warped metal and stretched his arm as far as he could.
“Aisling! Take my hand!” he shouted, his voice distorted by wind and panic.
She reached out, muscles trembling, clinging to the railing with her other hand in sheer desperation. Their fingers brushed. She thought she had him.
Her fingers slipped. Nimue couldn’t hold her. Aisling fell, and the world fell with her.
“NOOOOO!”
Aisling’s breath was ripped from her chest as she fell, the wind screaming in her ears. The ground rushed up at a terrifying speed, each second stretching into a slow agony of pure fear.
Then, suddenly, a white flash tore through the sky—a streak of pure, blinding light. Aisling had no time to understand. Something caught her.
A warm, soft cocoon closed around her, breaking her fall with brutal gentleness. Feathers? Wings!
And a voice, deep and calm, whispered into her ear:
“I’ve got you.”
Azrael.
Aisling clung to the angel with all her strength, her arms wrapped around him. With a powerful gust, he soared upward, climbing back toward the tower’s summit.
She glimpsed Strife, still standing atop the swaying staircase, unleashing a hail of gunfire at Naamah to keep her gaze away from them. Below, Nimue was helping Idris back to safety, their faces painted with relief as they saw Aisling safe.
But Azrael didn’t stop. He kept rising until he reached the observation dome at the top of the tower. Without slowing, he dove through the gaping opening.
Inside, chaos reigned. The Mad Smith stood firm in front of the still-slumbering Air Elemental. Facing him, demons screamed and charged in relentless waves. The Mad Smith held the line, spinning his massive hammer with one hand, striking the air with methodical violence, hurling his attackers like rag dolls.
Azrael landed with the grace of a raptor and slowly unfurled his wings to shield Aisling, whom he gently set down behind him.
“We’ll hold them off. Wake him.”
Aisling turned toward the Air Elemental. Wrapped in silence and feathers, it remained perfectly still, despite the complete dissipation of the surrounding mist.
“But… how? I already tried. He won’t respond!”
Azrael glanced at her briefly, his gaze slicing through the chaos.
“Naamah drowned him in the grief of the dead. She flooded his mind with their sorrow. But you… you’ve made it through yours. Show him. Bring him back.”
At those words, he suddenly unfurled a wing and deflected a projectile that had been headed straight for them, then leapt into battle beside the Mad Smith, already engaged in a titanic clash with the demons. The clash of weapons echoed in the suspended chamber, amid lightning, flames, and detonations.
Strife, Idris, and Nimue burst in, pushing back the creatures trying to reach the heart of the sanctuary. Above them, Naamah hovered, launching her attacks like furious arrows. On the ground, her minions charged the defenders.
Aisling ran toward the Elemental.
She placed her hands against its feathers, unreal in their softness, and closed her eyes. She tried once more to reach him. But it was like screaming into a void. A chasm of absence—a dull, numb emptiness—where the creature’s mind seemed trapped, lost.
She knelt against him, nestling her head against the feathers on his chest. The sounds of battle rose and fell around her, but she ignored them.
How do you fight regret?
Idris’s face came to her, his cruel words echoing, then his outstretched hand. Anger had only been a mask, an escape… One didn’t destroy regrets by striking them down.
You had to acknowledge them. Walk through them. Let them go.
She took a deep breath, trying to project her presence toward the Elemental like a calm wave. She showed him that memory: Idris’s hand reaching for her, moments before her fall. Choosing your battles doesn’t mean facing everything… It means knowing when to fight, and when to simply reach out to those who matter.
“Let go… let them go…”
Then she felt it. A shift. A massive breath. Her body was gently lifted. She stood, stepping back.
The colossal bird moved, raising its head from beneath its wing. Its eye—white and round as a pearl—fixed on her, filled with a supernatural intensity. The fighting stopped as it rose, revealing the vastness of its legs, its immense wings unfurling in a majestic arc. It raised its head… and screamed.
A storm-cry—primal, resonant—exploding into a wave of power that made the entire structure tremble. Chunks of the dome’s ceiling began to fall. Aisling immediately clamped her hands over her ears, lowering her head, overwhelmed by the sound’s force. Everyone reacted. Some fell, others staggered back. Even Naamah, hovering in the air, seemed shaken.
“Nooooo!” she screamed, her voice cutting through the chaos. “You. STAY. HERE!”
Her voice cracked like a whip. The effect was immediate: the Elemental froze, as if struck by a divine command. Even Aisling felt an invisible blow knock her down, pinning her in place.
And in that instant, she understood.
The voice. Naamah didn’t just manipulate with words… She commanded. Her voice carried a subtle, insidious power. Aisling had resisted it until now only because the commands had been disguised as promises.
A sound. Lahash was a sound.
“Oh, that bitch…”
Without thinking, Aisling bent down, grabbed a stone, and hurled it at Naamah with all her strength. The projectile whizzed through the air and struck the demoness in the shoulder. It wasn’t enough to wound her seriously, but the impact startled her, and her torrent of commands was abruptly silenced. She turned toward Aisling, eyes blazing with fury.
But Aisling didn’t wait for the counterattack. Seizing the moment, she leapt to her feet and waved her arms frantically at the Elemental.
“Go! Fly! Escape!”
As if it had been waiting for the signal, the gigantic bird spread its wings. Their unfolding cracked through the air like an explosion. A titanic gust swept across the arena, flinging several demons to the ground amid a chaos of feathers, screams, and wind. Some rolled backward, disoriented. Others crashed into the walls.
Then, with a surge of majestic power, the Elemental took flight.
Its body sliced through the air with lightning grace, soaring through the dome’s opening in a thunderous rush of energy. It vanished into the sky, leaving behind only a whirlwind of white feathers and swirling air.
Already, the sky was changing. Where the winged giant had pierced the heavens, thick black clouds began to form, spiraling into a menacing vortex. The air grew heavier, charged with electricity.
A low vibration rolled through the ground. The wind began to churn. And thunder rumbled—a deep, foreboding growl echoing through the tower’s bones.
A storm was coming.
Aisling had no time to admire the view. A brutal impact tore her from her balance—she was hurled violently against a wall, the breath knocked out of her, her bones slamming into the stone with a sickening thud. Before she could catch her breath, a cold, clawed hand closed around her throat, lifting her off the ground like a rag doll.
Naamah, her face twisted with fury, held her at arm’s length, her fingers digging into Aisling’s skin.
“No! That was my victory! You miserable insect!”
The demoness’s claws sank deeper, slicing into Aisling’s flesh. She tried to scream, but no sound emerged. Her legs kicked frantically in the air, striking at nothing, searching for nonexistent support.
A black veil crept over her vision. Her temples throbbed in pain, and her ears filled with a deafening whistle.
“What do you think you’ve accomplished?” Naamah snarled. “You’ve only delayed the inevitable! We’ll do this again and again! And your pathetic survivors will serve in our next glorious experiments! You’ve stopped nothing…”
But she couldn’t finish her sentence.
A guttural scream escaped her as her body arched suddenly. Her face froze in a look of utter shock. Aisling felt the grip around her neck weaken abruptly, and she collapsed to the ground with a muffled cry, gasping for breath as if her lungs were tearing apart.
When she looked up, the world reshaped itself around her in a blur of pain. She saw the blade of a sword jutting out from Naamah’s belly, slick with blood. Behind her stood Idris, his face expressionless, his eyes burning with cold resolve, both hands gripping the hilt of his sword, plunging it in to the hilt.
Naamah staggered, stunned. She slowly looked down at the bloodied blade protruding from her stomach, her trembling hands reaching for it as if to deny reality. She tried to pull it out, but her fingers slipped, powerless.
Idris let go of the weapon and rushed to Aisling, shielding her with his body as the tower trembled under the fury of the storm. Around them, the tempest raged. Thunder shattered the sky, and lightning clawed at the horizon with blades of light.
Naamah stumbled, step by step, toward the yawning opening of the dome. She screamed—a cry of pain warped by hatred and frustration, her wings twitching with murderous instinct.
But just as she seemed ready to pounce, a lightning bolt tore through the sky, blinding everyone, and struck the sword embedded in her back. A blinding white light erupted from her body, coursing through her with electric arcs. Her wings spread in a spasm, her arms twisted under the jolt.
The thunder that followed felt as though it split the world in two.
Naamah’s body remained suspended for a moment, twitching as black arcs of lightning surged through her. Her face, contorted with pain and rage, froze into something almost grotesque. Then, slowly, she toppled backward and fell, swallowed by the gaping void.
Still cradled in Idris’s arms, Aisling might have felt a flicker of relief—even a dark satisfaction—if not for the tower beginning to collapse beneath them.
Thunder rolled so violently it shook the foundations. Chunks of stone were already falling around them, dragging screaming demons with them.
“Not exactly grateful, that gust of wind!” Strife shouted as he appeared beside them. “Come on, kids, time to move!”
“How?!” Idris yelled, trying to stand, keeping Aisling tight against him. “The stairs are gone!”
“You’re taking the elevator…”
The Mad Smith’s deep, gravelly voice cut through the panic. He strode toward them with heavy steps and, without hesitation, grabbed Idris and Aisling, tossing them onto his metal shoulders as if they weighed nothing.
“Hold on. Tight. You too, Horseman.”
Strife didn’t need telling twice. He leapt up nimbly, clinging to the giant’s back. All around, the dome was crumbling in a deafening crash, crushing Naamah’s remaining demons in a chaos of stone and screams.
Then, with a final roar, the Mad Smith jumped. With superhuman strength, he hurled himself into the void as the walls fell apart behind him. His mechanical arm drove into the tower’s facade with a screech, carving a trail of sparks as he slid at a terrifying speed toward the ground.
The wind shrieked in their ears. Aisling let out a strangled cry, sure her heart would leap out of her chest. She clung to Idris with all her strength, who held her tightly, arms wrapped around her, eyes shut to block out the rushing emptiness around them.
Behind them, the tower cracked, groaned, then began to collapse like a shattered carcass, swallowed by the very storm they had unleashed.
The rest blurred into a chaos of dust and thunder as they hit the ground. The tower, moaning in agony, crumbled entirely in an apocalyptic crash. The Mad Smith had just enough time to hurl his passengers to safety before stretching his massive body over them, forming a final shield against the falling tons of stone.
The impact of the debris striking him was brutal, shaking the earth around them. Aisling wanted to scream but couldn’t. Idris held her tightly, as though sheer will could protect her. Above them, she also felt Strife, crouched low, shielding their fragile group.
The deafening noise seemed endless, marked by stone crashing, the wind howling, and distant thunder. Then, little by little, the sounds began to fade. The storm was moving on. Only a piercing ringing remained in Aisling’s ears.
When Idris’s arms finally loosened, she slowly lifted her head—numb, dust-covered, and trembling. With a sharp movement, the Mad Smith stood, sending rubble flying off his back. Whole slabs of stone rolled across the floor in a cloud of ash.
Idris gently helped Aisling to her feet, his hands leaving pale streaks on her dirty arms. He, too, was unrecognizable beneath the dust. Strife, for his part, was brushing himself off with casual nonchalance, sweeping debris from his shoulders.
He turned to them, a smile in his voice.
“That was fun. Shall we do it again?”