The moon all crimson had split right open and it came on like a shattering glass, Elias staggered backward, letting his his hands shield his eyes from the light that tore through the night. The whole air just hummed with some unbearable tension—and each of the vibration was a note of something that was so ancient breaking free. When all the brialliance dimmed in, a long fissure remained up in the sky all glowing like a sound that had refused s closure. Right from within it, the shadows and the light all spilled up in an equal measure swirling in the storm.He still could hear Aria’s voice still, faint and echoing through his mind, "The Remainder isn’t gone.” as he heard those words he held his sword firmly, “Then I think I am not done either.” All the waves from far beneath that had a fractured sky just glowed red, and then became black all the shapes began to rise from them and the silhouettes formed through the fractured light just like memories that were half-remembered. Each one

Marcus had let out a struck that with its fierce force tore the sky. His blade — was a forged from all the celestial iron — that had clashed against Kael’s twin scythes, and the world beneath them really shuddered. Waves had erupted like mountains, all swallowing the cliffs where they all fought. Every strike had tore light and darkness apart, each crash louder than even the thunder.Kael let out a huge laugh through the chaos, his cloak now billowing like shadowfire. “Still fighting with all the mercy, brother? I thought the God of War would have forgotten the restraint by now.”Marcus pushed even forward, his eyes burning silver-red. “Mercy isn’t weakness,” he said, swinging again, faster this time. “It is control.”Kael quickly deflected the blow with a snarl. “Control?” He twisted his weapon, knocking Marcus back. “You chained your own power, and now you call it control.”It rained of fighting light around them. Marcus had slid across the wet rock, his boots all carving deep scar

Marcus opened his eyes slowly as the darkness was pulsing for harvest. The air around him was heavy and cold, thick with whispers that slithered along the stone walls. He tried to move, but his body felt as though it were submerged in ash. The last thing he remembered was the battlefield—the storm, the Shattered, the explosion of black flame, and then there was nothing.Right now, just somewhere far far below the surface of any known worldThe walls all glowed faintly with ancient sigils, veins of crimson light pulsing in rhythm with his heart. He pushed himself to his knees, the armor was scraping the black stone. His sword was all gone, and so was the warmth of his flame.A shadow had detached itself from the wall and had stepped forward.“Welcome home, Warbringer.”The voice was deep, layered—like a thousand whispers speaking as one. The figure before him was draped in fragments of broken armor, its face hidden behind a cracked mask. Its eyes glowed faintly purple, the same color as

The morning after the battle dawned gray and trembling, the smoke hung so low over the ruined fields, and the wind carried the faint scent of blood and iron. Marcus stood on the shattered ridge overlooking the plain below. Where armies had clashed the night before, only silence now ruled. The dead lay in neat rows—soldiers, demons, and celestial beasts alike — all swallowed by the same dust.Diana approached from behind, her armor all cracked and her blade nicked from the night’s violence. She stopped beside him, eyes now scanning the same horizon he watched so still. “It’s over,” she murmured, her voice hoarse. “At least for now.”Marcus didn’t answer her at first, he was thinking throughout what she had just said, the wind tugged at his dark hair, streaked faintly with the gold shimmer that came whenever the god inside him stirred. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, Oathrend, still faintly glowing with divine heat. “No,” he said quietly. “It’s not even over. This was only jus

The night was heavy with mist when Marcus arrived at the old Sterling estate. The wrought-iron gates loomed tall, carved with the family’s crest—a phoenix encircled by a crown of thorns. It was a symbol that once stood for renewal, but now, under the cold light of the moon, it looked like an omen.He hadn’t set foot here in over a decade.Not since Catherine had looked him in the eye and told him, “Your war ends here, Marcus.”The wind cut through his coat as he walked the marble path. His senses were sharp—every shift in the air, every flicker of power beneath the ground. This place wasn’t just a home. It was alive—watching, listening. The Sterlings had always been like that: too clever, too calculating, and too intertwined with things mortals weren’t supposed to touch.And yet, one of them had stolen his heart.“Marcus.”Her voice—soft, restrained, but trembling—reached him from the entrance. Diana stood by the door, her black hair falling over her face, the faint shimmer of moonlig