The storm hadn’t stopped since Ethan fell into the Sea of Memory.Now, Jasmine ran—blood on her cheek, fire in her lungs, and a soul-flame cradled in her trembling hands.The child’s soul.It pulsed like a heartbeat. Not loud, not bright—but persistent. Alive.Behind her, the High Ascendants pursued. These weren’t enemies she could fight. They weren’t made of flesh or thought, but law. They enforced the original script of reality—the one even gods feared.And Jasmine had just broken it.“You were warned,” one of them boomed, a massive entity of woven sigils and collapsing time.She spun, raised her hand, and the ground obeyed. Stone surged upward into a wall. The blast slowed the Ascendants for a second—no more.Jasmine turned and vanished into the void.Every blow Ethan struck shattered a piece of his father.And every counterattack from Lucien broke something inside him.“You never asked why your mother died,” Lucien taunted, blood leaking from his eyes, his voice soaked in venom. “

The cold winds of dawn swept over the Hale ancestral estate—a sprawling fortress of stone, memory, and pain. After years of silence, exile, and betrayal, Ethan Hale stood before its iron gates once more—not as the silent son-in-law, nor the God of War, but as a son, a brother… and a man ready to reclaim what was once lost.The iron gates groaned open, revealing the familiar cobblestone path leading to the grand entrance. Ethan's boots echoed with each step, a rhythmic reminder of his return. The manor loomed ahead, its stone façade weathered but imposing.Inside, servants paused mid-task, their eyes widening in recognition."Master Ethan?" an elderly caretaker whispered, his voice trembling.Ethan nodded, offering a faint smile. The caretaker dropped to his knees, tears welling up."Rise," Ethan said gently. "There's work to be done."The corridors whispered memories—childhood laughter, heated arguments, the cold silence of abandonment. Each step deeper into the manor was a confrontat

The chamber crackled with energy. Dust lifted in slow motion. Magic twisted in the air like snakes preparing to strike. Ethan Hale stood between the past and the future—one arm protectively around Elira, the other clenched at his side.The Warlord’s presence sucked the air from the room.Clad in obsidian armor laced with pulsating gold runes, the man radiated raw, ancient power. His face was carved with deep scars—some from war, others from self-inflicted rituals. His voice rumbled like distant thunder.“So… you inherited her eyes.”Ethan’s blood turned to ice.“You remember my mother?” he growled.The Warlord stepped forward, boots cracking stone.“I buried her under fire and ruin. She defied me. Just like you will.”Jasmine shifted beside Ethan, dual daggers drawn. “You know this guy?”“Not just ‘this guy,’” Ethan muttered, stepping protectively in front of Elira. “This is Veyrion, the Scourge of Vaelmoor. The warlord who led the massacre of the Western Marches. The man responsible f

The first tremor struck just after midnight.It began as a whisper—a tremble beneath the Hale Consortium’s fortified tower that vibrated the reinforced obsidian floors. Then came the second. Stronger. A seismic groan of reality protesting the weight of something… ancient.Ethan Hale, standing at the apex of Phoenix Spire, didn’t flinch as the entire skyline of New York shimmered like heat waves. He felt it in his bones, like something clawing out from under his skin.“Elira,” he said, his voice dark with knowing. “He’s waking.”Across the chamber, Elira, still cloaked in the ceremonial garb of the ancient order, stepped forward from the shadows. Her eyes glowed a steady sapphire blue—she too felt it.“Not just him,” she whispered. “The Eater is stirring as well.”In the deepest levels of the tower, far beneath the city’s concrete veins, an ancient containment chamber cracked open. Within it, suspended in golden stasis, lay Veyrion—the god once bound by Ethan’s mother, Althea Hale, in

The battlefield was still screaming.Flames lit the horizon like dying stars, and the sky remained cracked with unnatural light—veins of violet and black where the Eater’s emissaries had torn through reality. Smoke coiled upward from shattered towers, and blood soaked the stones of Phoenix Manor.Ethan stood amidst the wreckage, his blade slick with ichor, his chest heaving. Around him, members of the Supernatural Oversight Council tended to their wounded. The Ferrymen had arrived under the banner of neutrality, only to strike when the barriers between realms were weakest.A betrayal.And yet… they had not fought to kill. They had fought to test. To send a message.He turned to the scorched ground where one Ferryman’s cloak still fluttered, burning like parchment in a slow fire. A single silver coin—marked with the sigil of the river of souls—lay beside it.A calling card.“The Ferrymen don’t choose sides,” Aria said beside him, her cheeks streaked with blood and sweat. “Why break tra