"A valiant effort, Damon, but you’re using a bucket to fight a forest fire." Damon knew that voice. Loki Vance was leaning against the shattered torii gate, looking like he had just stepped out of a lounge. He was holding a small, glowing crystal, a Divine Core from the God of Magic’s fleet. "The Apostles were just a test, you know," Loki said, tossing the crystal into the air and catching it. "The Committee wanted to see if you could still fight without your scythe, and you can. But you’re dying, Damon. Every time you use your 'martial arts', you’re stretching your soul to its breaking point." Damon stood up, his gaze cold. "Why are you here, Loki? To finish what the Apostles started?" "I&rs

Damon looked at the Archangel. He looked at the golden fleet, and then he reached into his coat and pulled out the wooden spoon. He held it up for the angel to see. "Do you know what this is?" Damon asked. Michael paused, his shimmering eyes skimming the object. "A piece of dead wood. A tool for a primate." "It’s a spoon," Damon said. "It took me three days to carve it. It doesn't have mana. It doesn't follow the law. It just exists because I wanted it to exist." Damon stepped forward, his boots crunching on the iron dust."Your 'Light' can't make this spoon," Damon said. "Your 'Logic' can't understand why a man would sit in the cold for three days just to make it,

She walked down the steps, the crowd parting for her as if she were a Sovereign. She reached Damon and knelt in the ground, pulling his head into her lap. "Look at him," Isolde said, her voice echoing across the courtyard. "Look at my brother." She looked up at the mob, her eyes fierce. "He didn't bring the fire. He’s the one who’s been standing in it so it wouldn't reach you. He burned his arm to save my life. He broke his soul to keep your children breathing, and this is how you pay him?" The merchant with the iron pipe looked at the sick girl, then at the broken man in her lap. The purple tint in his eyes, the Fool's influence began to fade, replaced by a crushing weight of realization. "We... we were

The silence was the first thing Damon noticed. It wasn't the heavy, artificial silence of a Divine Domain, nor the terrifying quiet that precedes a Sovereign’s strike. It was just the silence of a mountain at dawn. A bird chirped somewhere in the distance. The wind rustled the charred leaves of the pine trees.Damon opened his eyes. The ceiling of the shrine’s infirmary was made of dark, aged cedar. For the first time in years, the edges of his vision weren't pulsing with status windows or flickering with the Goddess of Fate’s crimson text. He tried to sit up, and a bolt of hot agony shot through his right side."Ugh..." A small, warm hand pressed against his chest, gently pushing him back down."Don't move, Niisan. Please."Damon blinked, his vision clearing. Isolde was sitting by his bed. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, but she was smiling. The sapphire glow that had once pulsed beneath her skin during the Reset was dim now, dormant, but her eyes were brigh

The peace of Okutama was a fragile thing, and by the end of the first week of the Grey Horizon, that peace shattered under the weight of thousands of feet. Damon Silverstar stood on the lookout point, his left hand gripping the wooden staff that had become his third leg. Below him, the winding mountain road was no longer a path of asphalt and pine needles. It was a river of humanity. A line of refugees stretched as far as the eye could see, a crawling snake of grey rags and desperate faces. They weren't just the survivors of Shinjuku anymore. They were coming from Saitama, from Kawasaki, and from the coastal ruins. Word had traveled through the broken radio waves and the whispers of the Grey Zones: ‘The Executioner lives. The Mountain is safe.’"How many, Tanaka?" Damon asked, his voice low.Tanaka stood beside him, holding a clipboard that looked useless. "Over four thousand since sunrise. The lower pilgrim huts are overflowing. We’ve had to start pitching tents in the old parking l