No noise. No light. Only movement. Only pain. Only war. Oliver opened his eyes, or thought he did; nothing felt different in that place whether he kept them shut or not: no light change, no shapes, no borders, no floor, no sky, nothing but an endless void, pressing in from all sides with pressure like the deepest ocean. But he moved, so something must still exist.Smoke entered his lungs. Ice left his mouth. Every thud of pain in his ribs, pain that etched itself into his bones as fatigue, and yet he managed to keep going. Something else moved, too- around him, behind him, inside him. The monsters had come without the luxury of a warning, without the snarl of rage, or the cry of rage. They had come with silence.The first was but a shadow of a hand--a hand that pulled back from the dark and closed around his throat, its grip a grasp of memory, regret, and betrayal he had never healed from; as he shoved it away with his bare fingers, its form twisted, arms growing long, then thick, onl

Oliver was trudging up the stone stairs with the realization that he was moving painfully slow. The air weighed heavy, and each step felt more strenuous than the previous one. His hands were trembling. His chest felt tight. For no apparent reason. Just a feeling—a gut instinct of bad omen.And then it happened.The Rift didn’t just open within himself. It tore apart.An invisible stroke ran through his chest, like a lightning bolt striking it, but there came no sound. Only the pain: the marvelous, jagged, cutting right through him. He fell on one knee and gasped. The cracked stone of the stair came alive. Then the bubbling began—like wax being melted at the flame's edge.Heat erupted from inside him. First it was orange; then it turned white; now it was blue. The fire pouring from his chest was a tempest: rushing up, a whirl, furious, flashing. It burned quietly, but its heat howled. The sword slipped from Oliver’s grip, falling to the ground with a clang.For something too blinding,

The air smelled of orange blossoms and honey. For a long time, Oliver didn’t move. The sun warmed his face, and the wind was soft—like breath against his skin. A tree above him rustled gently, its leaves whispering secrets he couldn’t quite hear.He was lying in the grass. Real grass. Not cracked stone or ash-covered ground. Grass that tickled his arms. The sky was impossibly blue, like an ocean flipped upside down, and the clouds were like boats drifting with nowhere to go. No fire. No screaming metal. No sword in his hand.Only peace.He sat up slowly. His ribs didn’t hurt. His hands were whole. Even the scar across his chest, the one he’d earned in the fourth siege of Halron Keep, was gone. He touched his face, then his chest. Nothing. Clean.“Oliver,” a voice called.He turned.Azrael was walking toward him—alive. Smiling. That smile, that impossible, heart-breaking grin. His long black coat danced in the breeze. His boots didn’t crunch against the ground because there was no war

Oliver stood on weak legs. The air was thick with dust. It floated all around him, making it hard to breathe. Each breath hurt. His lungs burned. His skin was scratched and bleeding. His arm had a deep cut. Blood ran down it, warm and sticky. He had lost a lot of blood. Too much. But still, his mind was clear. Very clear.In front of him, the Heart was gone. It had exploded into light and smoke. The tall spire that held it had fallen. Now it was only black rubble. It smoked like something dead. Something very old. And something very wrong had been inside it. Now that thing was free.Oliver could feel it. Watching him.The air around him felt heavy. Something was hiding in the smoke. It had no face. But its gaze was sharp. Sharp like a knife. It touched the edges of Oliver's thoughts. It crawled through his mind. Cold. Silent. Hungry.Then—A sound. Not a normal sound. Not the wind. Not rocks falling. It was like a breath. A long, deep breath.The stone under Oliver’s feet shook. Then l

Azrael slowly stepped forward, his brows raised till they could raise the throne up to itself. It was huge, black too, right in the heart of the once vibrant battlefield. He squinted and whispered, "That’s not just a throne..."Out of nowhere, a jingle of light flashed in Oliver's vision. Suddenly, something new dropped on his HUD:[IDENTITY CONFIRMED: OMEGA CROWN.][FORCE IMPRINT: CLASSIFICATION—REALITY BREACHER.][SEQUENCE STABILITY: COLLAPSING.][INITIATING EMERGENCY FRAME REINFORCEMENT.]Slowly at first, the black throne began twisting upside down, and then like a falling star it slammed onto the ground with a force that sounded like any sound in a vacuum. The shockwave that followed erased it as if sound itself was being swallowed. A bright red glow spread out from the base of the throne, a ring of light shooting across the battlefield like fire racing along a wire.Azrael acted without hesitation. He raised his massive black wings and extended one outward. Dark fire erupted from