Klaus sat atop Hemera's back, eyes half-lidded in concentration as he circulated essence through his battered body, urging his cells to knit themselves back together. Bathed in the gentle balm of Hemera's radiant light, he felt his vision slowly sharpening—but time was not his ally. The storm of war was ever-unpredictable, its tides capable of shifting without warning. Rest was a luxury he could not yet afford.
Far above, the battlefield was gripped by eerie stillness. Warriors stood frozen, their eyes transfixed on the ruin unfolding below them—on the sundered island, plummeting like a fallen star, and the solitary golden light gliding across the heavens.
Who could blame them for their horror?
An entire stronghold, sent into the abyss of the sky below. A battalion of legions led into a trap. Reinforcements lured in with the scent of desperation. And then—obliteration. The detonation of Vex-12, carefully planted months ago. The collapse of the island's core, its chains severed, its foundations shattered.
The handiwork of the Oldest Dream.
Coldly calculated. Impossibly ruthless. Striking in its brilliance.
This was war. And Klaus—indifferent to the cries of the dying, untouched by the weight of their lives—was perhaps the most merciless soul upon that field.
War was not won with brute force alone, after all. It was claimed by those who planned in silence, who set the board and moved unseen until it was too late. Klaus was the architect of this ruin. And in his silence, he had spoken the language of war more fluently than any general.
But his reprieve was brief.
Ten minutes passed, and with a faint rush of gratitude, Klaus felt the return of his sight. The Divine Eyes still lay dormant, sealed. but mundane vision was enough to see the looming threat.
A colossus of a javelin—luminous and deadly—cut through the air, arcing toward one of the airborne ships.
The one carrying Sunless.
Cursing under his breath, Klaus immediately extended his will, trying to manipulate its path—bend the javelin's flight off-course. But it was too distant. Too vast. His influence couldn't breach its sheer mass and momentum. The trajectory slowed slightly, but it remained a spear of doom, hurtling toward its mark.
Just as he abandoned hope—
Hassan vanished.
One moment, the silent juggernaut stood beside him. The next, he was soaring, using the ships themselves as stepping stones, vaulting skyward with impossible grace. Dark staff in hand, he struck the javelin with thunderous force. It buckled, the blow altering its arc just enough to save the targeted vessel.
The ship Sunless had occupied barely survived the impact. A nearby vessel was not so fortunate—it disintegrated in a bloom of splinters and flame.
And then—he appeared.
The Sun Prince.
A being that should have lumbered like a mountain, yet dashed forward with uncanny speed. He leapt from the Ivory City to the fragmented battlefield below the ships, snatching the vessel Sunless stood on with a titan's grip and crushing it in his palm.
But Sunless lived.
Hassan intercepted him in the nick of time, seizing the young warrior and flinging him away like a ragdoll—toward safety, toward Kai.
As Sunless hurtled through the air, Kai leapt and caught him mid-descent.
Meanwhile, Hassan twisted midair, shifting his weight with feline precision. Darkness coalesced beneath his feet, forming stepping stones and a winding path. He loosed a volley of dark bolts, the projectiles crashing into the Sun Prince in explosive bursts of gloom. The metal of the titan's body hissed and sizzled beneath the true darkness… but the damage was minimal. The Sun Prince remained a towering titan of war, unmarred and unbroken.
After a heartbeat of quiet study, Hassan pivoted. He descended in a spiraling dive, manipulating the dark beneath him like a slide of liquid night. The darkness embraced him, cushioning his fall in a graceful arc before he landed soundlessly on solid ground.
Hemera followed, her wings folding as she landed beside the others. Klaus, now reunited with Sunless, Kai, and Effie, stood with one arm braced on Satan's hilt.
His expression was unreadable.
Above them, the moon burned with silver fire, empowering mad sorcerer.
But the battle between Noctis and Solvane still raged on. While Lord Of East was powerful, his aspect was not crafted for the brutality of open warfare. Solvane, on the other hand, was born for it. The clash between them shattered the terrain, sending quakes rippling across the sundered island. Entire sections of land crumbled into the abyss of sky below.
Klaus's mind raced.
Think. Think. THINK!
Each scenario he envisioned ended in failure. Every strategy seemed insufficient against the overwhelming might of the Sun Prince, who still stood tall, hungering for their annihilation.
And then—
A sound.
Faint, haunting.
Klaus lifted his gaze, eyes narrowing at the heavens.
There—framed by the moon's brilliance—a silhouette.
A ship.
Graceful, yet battered. Plummeting from the heavens with blistering speed. The air itself screamed as its hull cut through the wind like a scythe. Klaus could almost make out a figure at the stern, hands clutching the steering oars with poised determination.
His breath hitched.
"Cas...?"
Joy bloomed in his chest like a wildfire. His grim expression twisted into something manic, a laugh escaping his lips—ragged, wild, and exhilarating.
He turned toward Hassan, their eyes meeting in silent understanding.
Hassan planted his staff, angled it like a catapult, and as Klaus leapt, the staff bent—then snapped forward with a crack, hurling him into the air like a bullet from a cannon.
Klaus didn't waste essence on teleportation. Not yet. He let the trajectory carry him, climbing higher, closer. And just as the pull of gravity began to claim him…
He vanished.
Klaus materialized beside Cassie without a word, grabbed her by the arm, and—without so much as a warning—hurled her into the air like a sack of turnips.
The girl gasped, flailing in disbelief, but Klaus only smirked, his grin stretched in a wicked arc as gravitational pressure surged from his body. The ship beneath them groaned under the weight of his essence, the air thickening like syrup as power radiated from him in waves.
The battered vessel—its hull fractured, its oars shattered—shifted its trajectory ever so slightly…
And then, like a falling star, it plummeted downward, accelerating with ungodly speed before slamming into the steel colossus below.
The impact was apocalyptic.
The armored beak of the ship's ram struck the giant's chest with such force that the heavens themselves seemed to recoil. A blinding explosion bloomed outward, followed by a tsunami of sound—a shockwave that tore across the battlefield, flattening banners and buckling stone.
Klaus, of course, was long gone—already having blinked away with a flash of essence. He reappeared mid-air beside Cassie and grabbed her with zero ceremony. Princess carry? Please. She was slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Without further explanation, he chucked her into the sky again—this time straight into Hemera's waiting talons. The phoenix caught her gracefully and soared away, trailing golden embers.
Klaus remained suspended in the air, balancing himself with casual grace. His eyes, cold and calculating, observed the steel giant below. His fingers wrapped tightly around Satan, which pulsed in his grip with crimson light, almost eager.
Below, the wreckage of the sorcerer's ship sprawled across the ground like the corpse of a fallen titan. Its once-graceful hull was now torn and splintered, the bow reduced to shattered ruin. The ancient tree that curled protectively around its mast had vanished...
At the edge of the crumbling island, the Sun Prince knelt. The colossus of steel swayed, one hand clutching his face, molten metal gushing from the caved-in cavity of his chest. The ram of the ship had hit like the wrath of gods, cracking his armor and peeling it apart like foil.
And within the wound… something moved.
There, beneath the layers of shattered alloy and incandescent heat, a cage in the shape of a human being lay exposed. The prison of flesh and metal groaned as a charred hand reached up, clawing desperately at the edges. The fingers tore through the molten steel as if it were fabric—slowly, inevitably.
Klaus grinned, eyes glinting with wicked anticipation.
Then, without ceremony, he raised Satan. The spear trembled violently, its form pulsating with crimson fury.
Enchantment: Striker of Heavens — A spear that splits the sky.
And Klaus… let go.
The air cracked open with a shriek as Satan soared, a blazing line of red light streaking through the night sky. It raced toward the exposed cage—toward the Sun Prince's true body—and then struck.
The world convulsed.
A deafening roar erupted as shockwaves rippled outward, splitting clouds and shaking the remnants of the island. The colossus was thrown backward like a broken puppet. Half of his body had been torn away, molten guts trailing behind like streamers.
But the Sun Prince was not dead.
Not yet.
Clinging to the edge of a cliff with one remaining steel hand, the immortal saint glared upward, silent and stubborn. His face twisted in pain, defiance, rage.
But his defience and rage was answered by single arrow that flew from above, swift and silent.
From atop the ruined ship, Hassan stood unmoving, staff bent like a longbow. The arrow he had released split the wind with perfect elegance. Its tip shimmered red.
The arrow struck clean through the Sun Prince's head, punching a neat hole through his skull. For a brief moment, molten metal hissed around the wound…
No scream. No last words. No defiant monologue. Just silence, and the slow unclenching of fingers.
The Steel Colossus fell, swallowed by the abyss.
At last.
The Sun Prince was eliminated.
There was no glory. No celebration.
Just silence and Smiling Man with darkest knight behind him.
And in that silence, the cruel efficiency of war lingered like smoke.