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The din of a world in its death throes. That was how Idris would have described it, if only he had still had the strength to put words to what he was seeing.
Around him, the battlefield was nothing but a gaping wound on the surface of the Earth. Howling figures, haloed in flames, in shadows, or in light, tore each other apart in a deluge of violence so vast that no mind could grasp its scale anymore. The sky was nothing but a black ocean streaked with golden, red, and blue lightning. Each strike, each prayer, each spell mingled there in an incandescent chaos. Angels hurled themselves from the firmament like falling stars, their wings consumed in rage. Demons, sprung from rifts, rushed them with the frenzy of despair. And humans tried to survive between those two tides, their cries lost in the thunder.
Idris ran through the rubble of an ancient sanctuary, the remains of a scorched cloister that now served as an improvised bastion. Fenja was a few meters away, her face covered in soot and blood, shouting orders to her troops.
“North front line! We hold the position until the Mad Smith sends us ammunition!”
But even her voice, so powerful usually, got lost in the roar of a war that was tearing creation itself apart.
The Darksiders fought on the horizon, colossal silhouettes tracing furrows of destruction through the celestial and infernal legions. Their mounts trampled the ground, triggering shocks so powerful they brought down stone walls and metal fortifications. Idris had never seen such power. The Watchers stood in the Four’s shadow, struggling to contain the assault.
Farther on, the Makers held the line firmly. Golems of steel and stone poured torrents of rocks onto the enemies who tried to break through. The Mad Smith’s men, somewhere behind them, supplied their ranks: supply chains, makeshift repairs, runes hastily carved into blades. His creations, monstrous and brilliant at once, called for blood. It was fortunate he did not need to sleep.
Astaroth’s demons formed a red tide, disciplined and methodical, far from their species’ usual savagery. Uriel’s Hellguard, meanwhile, was a storm of wings and flames. Their lances burned like miniature suns. Wherever they passed, the darkness retreated… only to return the next instant.
Meanwhile, Idris and his unit desperately tried to protect the experimental circle Muria had set up. The Watchers who had remained in the Twilight Realm, aided by the refugee Nephilims, were desperately searching for the energy source necessary to plant the seed. They had supplied the shaman with a multitude of various artifacts.
But nothing responded. Not a vibration. Not a breath. Not the slightest spark. And around them, the ranks broke.
A Watcher collapsed with a scream, his chest pierced by a lance of light. The soldiers around him were swept away like leaves. Swarms of angels dove from the sky, trailing behind them burning swords and hymns of destruction. The demons replied with chains, flames, and acid. Fireballs fell at random from the sky, blowing up friend and foe indiscriminately.
The air stank of burned flesh and molten metal. Blood formed thick rivers where the survivors waded. Idris, sword in hand, felt his arms break under the weight of the hours. His armor smoked, his throat burned from shouting. He no longer knew how long he had been fighting. He no longer knew how many of his were still alive.
Cries rang out, a line had given way. Fenja grabbed her bow and plunged into the melee, followed by her men. Idris hesitated for an instant, watching Muria try to activate a strange black stone. It cracked and a spectral light escaped from it, then died at once. The shaman was out of solutions.
Idris felt despair take him. Everything they had built, everything they had sacrificed… seemed derisory in the face of the madness of this battle. He raised his weapon and joined Fenja, shouting like all the others, charging into the storm of fire and shadows. And above them, the sky kept tearing itself apart.
He fought anyway. Because it was all they had left.
The crash of battle seemed as if it would never cease. The air still vibrated with the echoes of explosions and the mingled roars of angels, demons, and humans, when Fenja, panting, wiped away with the back of her hand the blood that barred her face. Her armor was split in several places, her shoulder bled profusely, but she still stood.
“How long can we keep this up?”
Idris crouched behind a pulverized wall section. His clenched jaw betrayed fatigue and anger.
“The next resupply is supposed to arrive any moment. If we hold until then, we might be able to…” He broke off, aware that the words rang hollow even to his own ears.
Fenja gave a bitter snort, a sound closer to a growl than to a laugh.
“Hold? Without an energy source, without a reaction from the Seed, none of this serves any purpose!”
Her eyes shone with restrained rage, directed more at the fate of the world than at Idris. Around them, their people still tried to push back an assault of winged creatures.
They were about to head back to the front when suddenly a sound pierced the din: a clear, vibrating note. A trumpet. The sound rose from the sky, powerful, solemn. A second answered the first, coming from the other side of the battlefield. Then a third. Then a fourth.
And little by little, the fighting slowed. The screams ceased. The clash of arms fell silent. The air, saturated with dust and magic, seemed suspended in a heavy expectation.
Fenja straightened, her gaze turned to the clouds.
“What is… what is happening?”
Idris, motionless, scrutinized the horizon line where angels and demons stood frozen, wary, but motionless. A whinny suddenly rang out, powerful, followed by a heavy drumming. Dust rose, and the massive silhouette of a horse burst from the ruins, galloping straight toward them. Fury, covered in blood, dismounted in a cloud of ashes. Her gaze blazed, a mixture of exhaustion and defiance.
“Lucifer has proposed a truce,” she stated simply, wiping her dripping whip with a distracted gesture.
Idris clenched his teeth, his hand tight on his sword hilt.
“It’s a trap…”
“Probably. But accepting will buy us time. So, for now… let’s humor him.”
And for the first time in hours, the battlefield fell into an almost total silence, a silence more worrying even than the war itself.
.
Idris and Fenja had climbed the hill in silence, framed by a small group of humans. The wind carried the smell of fire and burned flesh. From the summit, the view stretched over entire ranks massed under a red sky, black and white banners snapping.
At the center of the crest, a delegation had formed. The Darksiders watched from the side as arbiters. At their side, Samyaza represented the Watchers; Ulthane, the Makers.
Opposite stood Lucifer and Lilith. The Prince of Hell dominated the hill with a disturbing presence; Lilith followed, sensual and dangerous, caressing with a finger a giant Rephaim at her side. Around them, Anakims and Rephaims formed a monstrous guard: tanned hides, mutilated wings, jaws ready to snap. The angelic envoys, lined up farther away, looked at those creatures with a mixture of horror and disbelief.
The first to break the silence stepped forward, his wings beating with contained anger. His voice thundered on the hill like a trumpet blast:
“What monstrosity is this?”
His words carried like an accusation. Lilith, at his side, smiled and slipped, softly.
“Strange way to begin negotiations, Gabriel. No rule specified the forces authorized for the End War.”
She stroked the flank of a Rephaim as one scratches a pet, and the gesture had something offensive about it. Gabriel’s jaw twitched and his wings quivered.
“The Council will have its say on this affront!”
Lucifer inclined his head with a falsely suave politeness. His voice was honeyed, dangerous.
“We execute its will. The Kingdom of Hell proposes a truce so that you may consider your surrender.”
Strife let out a hoarse chuckle.
“Aren’t you a bit alone in your army to make that kind of offer, Luci? You must have cobbled together new buddies to replace the ones you already smashed.”
Lucifer cast over them an icy look, which settled for an instant on Idris and Fenja with a sadistically amused gleam. An angel stepped forward, his face pale.
“You already claim yourself master of the Earth? How dare you?”
“The Universe needs a new… Creator,” Lucifer replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
The word fell into the heavy air, shocking some, igniting the fury of others.
“Blasphemy!” someone shouted among the angelic ranks.
Ulthane bristled.
“Control of Earth and humans should not even be in question! None of us should be here! The End War was not supposed to come about like this.”
Gabriel then turned toward the Horsemen, rancor burning in his features.
“The Four Horsemen are responsible for this chaos. And we will execute the will of the Council by settling their fate here.”
“They prefer the term Darksiders…”
Idris started. He and Fenja turned at the same time, muscles taut, convinced they had imagined it. But it was not a hallucination.
Aisling advanced, a small group of humans whom Idris did not recognize, yet strangely familiar, climbing the slope at her side. She looked radiant, in blazing health, and her anger, a contained furnace. There was a hesitation, a silence so dense one could have heard a feather fall. Lucifer let out a cynical laugh, first light, then trying to cover the shock within.
“I had heard you were dead…” he tossed, half mockery, half challenge.
Aisling ignored him with the purest arrogance, a scorn so frank that Lucifer’s smile cracked a little. She raised her voice, clear and borne by a new authority.
“Leave, all of you. You are neither for the Balance nor for the Council. You are terrified. Locked in worn-out roles that keep you from thinking. You know nothing of the universe around you. This world does not belong to you. The fate of humans does not belong to you either.”
Gabriel exploded, outraged and wounded in his priestly pride.
“Who are you, human, to dare speak to us thus?!”
Aisling looked him straight in the eye, without the slightest trace of worry. Her voice, now sharp, did not waver:
“You claim to know the laws of the universe, you have studied them, you have cataloged them, and precisely: if you understood, you would know that everything has its place. It is your absurd desire to control who and how participates in the Universe that has broken the balance. You follow a terrified and corrupt Council.”
Around them, murmurs turned into roars. An angelic officer screamed the order, choking the air:
“Silence her!”
“She is going to get herself killed!” Fenja grew alarmed and wanted to throw herself forward, but Idris held her back by the shoulder, firm. Something in Aisling’s silhouette pinned him. She was something else, and everyone could feel it.
The Four visibly felt the change: a vaster presence, an intensity familiar to them. Lucifer, for his part, frowned, unable to recognize the docile little human he had planned to manipulate. His superiority faltered for an instant.
“What are you?”
Aisling smiled. She exchanged a brief complicit glance with the humans who had accompanied her then, slowly, pivoted toward Lucifer and, in a glacial and mocking voice, let fly:
“Blink, asshole.”
Idris would literally have fallen backward if he had not had the presence of mind to hold Fenja, who had just jolted in a leap. In a single blink, the Nephilims at Aisling’s side had abandoned their human appearance. Their true nature burst in the light, tearing the veils of illusion.
And Aisling… Aisling changed as well.
He could still recognize her features, her gait, the stubborn gleam in her eyes, but everything else defied reason. Idris felt his brain rebel, unable to reconcile what he was seeing with the woman he knew. Around them, the angels screamed, the demons fell back, and soon the same cry ran through the lines:
“Impossible! Nephilims! Nephilims!”
That was the end of the negotiations. The next instant, chaos resumed, more brutal, more disordered still.
“Quick, get down!” Aisling called in a firm voice.
She rushed toward Idris and Fenja, grabbing them without hesitation, pushing them to run down the slope. The Four Horsemen had the same idea and covered their retreat.
“Aisling?! Is it you? Is it really you?!” panted Fenja, between incredulity and nervous euphoria.
“It’s… a long story. And I’d rather tell it after we’ve won this bloody war.”
They reached an improvised shelter between two ruins, breathless. Uriel and Astaroth joined them almost at once, escorted by the Four. The battlefield rumbled again all around, but at that moment, everyone had eyes only for Aisling.
“Incredible!” exclaimed Strife, throwing his arms wide before hugging her, nearly cracking a rib in his enthusiasm. “Do you realize you just threw ‘asshole’ at the Prince of Hell?!”
“It sounded better in my head.”
“It sounded perfect in mine!” Strife snickered, hilarious despite the tension.
Fury, for her part, stared her up and down, arms crossed, eyes half-wary, half-fascinated.
“How is this even possible?”
“Promise, the whole story. Later.”
War slowly nodded, heavy and pragmatic.
“She’s right. First, we survive. Then, we talk.”
“The Seed is not reacting to anything,” declared Fenja in a tense voice. “Muria has tried everything.”
Aisling stepped closer slowly, eyes narrowed.
“Except… asking it the question directly.”
“You think you can do that?” asked Astaroth.
“It spent enough time in me feeding on my life force. The least it can do is answer when I call.”
Fury stepped forward.
“Then we clear the way for you. Idris, Fenja, you escort her. We cannot afford to lose a second.”
“Ogias and his people will support you.”
Uriel turned her head, intrigued.
“How did you manage to convince them?”
Aisling shrugged, a nearly amused smile drawing itself on her tired lips.
“By telling them I would go fight alone if I had to. That my parents died so I could be free… Apparently, that resonated.”
An explosion thundered a few meters from them, throwing up a cloud of flames and rubble. Death appeared at once, grabbing Aisling, Idris, and Fenja to shove them to the ground before debris reached them.
“Come on. Time is short,” he said in a cutting voice, hauling them up without gentleness.
He nevertheless held Aisling a second longer, his gaze settling on the sigil on her shoulder. Uriel, already in the air, gave a small sidelong laugh.
“What’s left at the bottom of the box, eh?”
Aisling answered with a complicit smile, then Death finally let her go.
“Go. Finish what you started.”
So they ran. Idris and Fenja took the lead, cleaving the smoke and dust, their weapons ready. Around them, the war howled: flames flared, cries mingled with the crash of metal and wings.
They finally reached Muria’s position. The young shaman raised her head, her features frozen in surprise at Aisling’s arrival.
“By the forges of the ancients… You’re alive?!”
“For the moment,” Aisling replied, catching her breath. “Show me the Seed.”
Muria presented her the luminous sphere, its dull glow nearly extinguished.
“I admit I no longer know what to do.”
“Give it to me.”
Without waiting, Aisling took the Seed in her hands, pressed it against her chest, and closed her eyes. Around her, the world seemed to slow. Idris and Fenja positioned themselves on either side, while the enemy attacks resumed. Lucifer’s demons and Lilith’s monsters were already trying to force the line.
Minutes passed in the tumult of battle. Then Aisling abruptly opened her eyes, looking astonished, almost lit by a revelation.
“Of course! I’m stupid! We had the solution from the start!”
Fenja, panting, looked at her without understanding.
“The energy source? What is it?!”
“Sacrifice! It’s always sacrifice!”
Idris blanched.
“You’re not going to die again, are you?!”
“Not me!” she shouted, covering the surrounding din. “An infinity of souls!”
“Ah yes, of course, nothing less! And where do we find that, exactly?!”
Aisling turned to her, eyes sparkling, almost laughing despite the fury of the battlefield.
“You don’t understand, Fenja?! The amulet! Fury’s amulet!”
“Oh… OH! We have to get back to her!”
But when they turned their eyes toward the battlefield, all hope seemed to waver. Everywhere, demons howled, angels dove in a dive, and flames consumed the rare areas still intact. Aisling’s presence and the Nephilims’ revealed presence seemed to have triggered a new frenzy: angels and demons alike fought with redoubled rage, as if the universe itself screamed that this aberration born between Heaven and Hell had to be eradicated.
Idris clenched his fists, his face covered in soot and blood.
“We’ll never make it to her!” he shouted to cover the din. “We’d need a diversion! A huge distraction, otherwise we’ll be cut to pieces before we’ve gone ten meters!”
“A very big distraction, yes,” Fenja added, half ironic, half desperate.
But before a plan could be born, the ground began to vibrate. First a slight shiver under their feet, like the growl of a sleeping beast. Then the vibration became a tremor, and the tremor a convulsion. Stones burst, trenches collapsed, columns of air began to thrum. The roar of the Earth itself silenced the battle.
“What is…?” Idris did not have time to finish.
The ground exploded under the violence of the quake. Angel, demon, and human soldiers alike were thrown to the ground, their ears buzzing. The sky suddenly darkened at a terrifying speed: clouds of abyssal black piled up, streaked with scarlet and golden lightning. A storm wind rose, bearing sand, ashes, and shards of pure energy.
Then came the roar. A roar so deep it made their bones vibrate.
On the horizon, a colossal mass emerged. A quadruped creature, as high as mountains, covered with a carapace of stone and metal, advanced with a step that made the entire planet tremble. Its eyes, two suns of amber, burned with a primordial anger.
Then a blaze split the sky. A shadow of unimaginable wingspan cleaved the clouds. A gigantic bird, with feathers made of lightning and light, beat its wings in a deafening thunder. Each beat seemed to shatter the clouds themselves.
And, farther still, the oceans opened: a serpentine creature, with black and luminescent scales, rose in a liquid roar, its coils stretching to the horizon.
Muria, pale, watched the scene, breathless.
“Behemoth, Leviathan… and Ziz…”
Fenja gripped her weapon, eyes wide with dread.
“The Lords of the Void.”
“The what?!” Idris choked.
“The Lords of the Void!” Fenja screamed. “That means…”
A new rift opened in the ground, a crack so deep it covered even the roars of the titans. Columns of flame sprang up, licking the reddened sky, and in that colossal fracture a familiar silhouette rose.
Samael.
The three friends froze in dread, but the demon lord did not attack them. Nor did his troops. On the contrary, they had fallen upon Lucifer’s infernal legions, cutting into their ranks with unheard-of violence. A clamor rose from the human troops and the rebels: a cry of incredulity, soon relayed by a war howl. Even Fenja could not believe it. Aisling gave an exhausted but relieved smile.
“No idea what made him change his mind… but we’ll take it!”
“That’s what I call a large-scale distraction!” Idris shouted, half hysterical.
“Then let’s go find Fury before that distraction destroys the whole planet!”
“Go,” Aisling ordered, turning away. “I have to speak to Samael. If his demons and those… mountains on legs start ravaging everything, we’ll have nothing left to save!”
She left without waiting, forcing her way through the tumult, while Idris and Fenja sprinted in the opposite direction, hearts pounding.
They crossed hell on earth. Around them, the battlefield was nothing but incandescent chaos: smoking craters, bodies mingled with metal and flesh, swarms of angels and demons falling from the sky like comets. Their unit no longer truly existed, scarcely a handful of humans, haggard, trying to follow before disappearing in turn into the melee.
At last, they saw the Four, still alive, but visibly at their limits.
War stood in the middle of a field of ruins, his great sword planted in the ground, panting like a wounded bull. Fury, her whip still burning, barely staggered, her eyes mad with rage. Strife, a bloodied leg, reloaded his weapons with difficulty. Death, for his part, stood motionless, a spectral silhouette, observing the storm.
“You’re still alive,” Idris threw, out of breath.
“Half,” Strife grunted. “I’m too old for this crap.”
Fenja did not waste time:
“Aisling found the solution. It’s Fury’s amulet. It holds enough spiritual energy to activate the Seed. We have to take it back to Muria, now.”
Fury gripped the pendant, her gaze blazing.
“The amulet… of course. The souls it contains…” She nodded, gritting her teeth. “Then let’s go.”
Death, however, did not seem to share their relief.
“Where is Aisling?”
“With Samael,” Idris replied. “She is trying to channel his power to hold back the Lords of the Void.”
Death said nothing. He merely closed his hand around his scythe and summoned his spectral steed. The others followed at once, loading the two humans with them.
The climb back up the battlefield was hell. Literally. Lightning streaked the sky, the Lords of the Void howled in the distance, and the earth collapsed beneath their hooves. But they had no choice.
But between them and Muria, a silhouette stood out in the reddish glow of the flames. Tall, straight, motionless, almost elegant. Lucifer. His angel’s wings spread framed his perfect figure, haloed in a deceptive light. His eyes, two golden abysses, gleamed with venomous amusement.
“How touching,” he said, in a soft voice full of contempt. “The Council’s last toys still struggling in the dust. The Horsemen, reduced to bodyguards for a handful of humans and a dead seed.”
War growled, gripping his sword until the metal groaned.
“Keep talking and I’ll tear out your tongue and make you swallow it.”
Lucifer flashed a wolfish smile.
“Oh, War. Always the primitive brute. But tell me, do you really think your actions still have meaning? You are nothing but relics. Relics of a world that is collapsing.”
He took a step forward. The air began to vibrate, and his skin, smooth and pale, slowly cracked like a shell. A purple light seeped out. The ground trembled as his form transformed. His face lengthened, his features distorted, and immense horns burst from his skull. Only a titanic demon with angel’s wings remained. Lucifer, in his monstrous glory.
“Damn, he had cosmic surgery,” Strife breathed, stepping back.
Without losing a second, Fury tore off her talisman and threw it to Idris.
“Catch! And go!”
He caught it just in time. Then, without further warning, Lucifer struck. The impact was titanic. His fist fell like a meteor, hurling the Four into the air. War got back up with a roar, planting his sword in the ground to cushion the shock, while Fury unfurled her flaming whip, winding it around one of the demon’s blackened wings to draw him toward her. Strife opened fire, his pistols pouring out blessed rounds, while Death leapt, his scythe tracing an arc of green light.
Idris yanked Fenja by the arm.
“It’s now or never!”
They ran flat out toward Muria. She raised to them a pale but determined face. Idris held out the amulet. Muria seized it, set it in the palm of her hands, and closed her eyes. Filaments of energy immediately escaped, linking it to the Seed that floated before her.
“I’m going to need time!” she warned. “Time and concentration!”
Outside, Lucifer’s roar was heard, followed by a scream from Fury. The ground vibrated with each blow. Then a shadow loomed in the dust, a feminine silhouette, sensual and murderous, walking toward them with a slow and graceful step. Lilith. Her skin shone with a scarlet sheen, her eyes two liquid fires.
“What a touching little reunion,” she breathed. “So Samael finally betrayed, and you think your pitiful efforts will change anything? I will finish you myself. And then… I will hunt your kind down one by one.”
Idris drew. Fenja bent her bow. They knew they had no chance. So finish with panache. Lilith attacked first. Her speed defied all logic: a crimson blur, a whip of energy that split the air, slicing the ground. Idris parried just in time, thrown backward. Fenja loosed her arrow which lodged in her thigh, tearing from her a furious cry. But she came back, more enraged still, brushing aside their attacks with a flick of her hand.
“Pathetic. You are wasting my time.”
They fought inch by inch, dodging, rolling, shooting, striking blind. Fenja planted her knife in her flank, but Lilith pulled it out with a scornful laugh. But suddenly, a strange rumble was heard around them. The ground vibrated, then, all at once, a guttural cry tore the air, a monstrous, inhuman howl that had nothing to do with the usual sounds of battle. Idris turned his head.
The Rephaims and the Anakims, who until then had obeyed blindly, seemed… to waver. Their eyes took on shifting colors, their bodies twisted, fractured from within. Some struck their heads against the ground, others howled with rage or pain, as if an invisible voice ordered them to destroy themselves.
Lilith froze for an instant, destabilized.
“What is…?! No! Obey! OBEY ME!”
But nothing. The colossi no longer responded.
Idris, panting, stepped back, his eyes going from Lilith to a nearby Rephaim who seemed seized by a desire to tear his own flesh.
“I’ve already seen one blow himself up…” he breathed.
He dodged a strike from the demoness by a hair then, in a desperate surge, turned toward the monster.
“Hey! You!” he shouted. “You feel that, don’t you? You understand what she did to you?!”
The Rephaim hesitated. His gaze, usually empty, settled on Lilith, and something shone there. A glimmer of understanding. Of rage. Lilith stepped back.
“No… no, do not come near me!”
But it was too late. The Rephaim roared, a guttural cry of agony and anger mingled, and hurled himself at her. Another followed. Then another still.
“No! Obey! I AM YOUR MOTHER!” bellowed Lilith, struggling to push them back.
But they seized her, held her, wrapped her in their colossal arms. Idris, breathless, remained frozen, his sword raised.
“Damn… it works…”
Fenja straightened, incredulous.
“What did you tell them?!”
“The truth.”
Lilith screamed again, her cries mingling with the monstrous din of the Rephaims. They dragged her away from the center of the fight, toward the shadows of a gaping chasm. Her roars became supplications, then howls of rage, before blending with the rest of the din. Outside, Lucifer’s roar sounded again, followed by a tearing cry from War. The light of the Seed finally began to shine, radiating from Muria’s palm a glow so pure it made the world tremble.
Idris and Fenja watched her, covered in sweat and blood. The shaman straightened slowly.
“The ritual is complete. The Seed is ready to be planted. And believe me… it’s better not to be around when it happens.”
She stepped back a few paces, wavering, while a dull rumble rose from the ground. The air grew heavy, charged with electricity and a scent of burnt sap. A firm hand settled on Idris’s shoulder. Fury, her face bloodied, her eyes reddened by dust and fatigue, was already pulling them back.
“Come on. You’ve done your part… Get out of here.”
“But the others…?” Fenja tried.
Fury sketched a tired smile, almost tender, despite the carnage around them.
“The others and I will take care of Lucifer. It’s our turn now.”
She tightened her whip, then added in a lower voice:
“Don’t ruin this exit for me, kids. Run.”
Idris wanted to protest, but Fenja grabbed his arm, and both stepped back, hearts clenched, before darting through the debris. They ran to the other side of the battlefield, where Aisling arrived, followed by Samael and a battalion of demons. The young woman seemed to burn with worry. Seeing them, she rushed toward them.
“Is it done?!”
“Yes. The Seed is ready to be planted… but the Four are too close! They’re going to…”
“I think that’s precisely the idea,” Samael murmured, his gaze fixed on the distant silhouettes of the Four facing Lucifer.
Aisling wheeled toward him, pale.
“No… no, no, no, that’s not possible…”
But the demon lord set a heavy hand on her shoulder.
“Too late, little Nephilim. Sometimes, heroes die at the end. And the number of Riders will always remain four.”
Then, a rumble deeper than anything the Earth had ever known rose. The ground split, light burst from the bowels of the world. A white wave, blinding, spread, engulfing everything, the heavens, the cries, the crash of arms. The air tore in a silent explosion. Then nothing more.
When the light finally faded, there were no more screams, no more flames. Only an unreal, pure silence. The dust slowly fell again, like silver ashes.
Aisling, lost, staggered and fell to her knees. Idris and Fenja, stunned, still blinked, their pupils drowned in light. And there, at the center of the devastated battlefield, where moments earlier the greatest war Creation had ever known had been waged… stood a Tree.
A colossal Tree, with roots plunging into the earth and branches rising to the heavens, shining with a glow both golden and silver. The Tree of Life and Death.
And at its base… there was nothing else anymore.