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Baelkor stood at the base of the central cower, black blood still dripping from the wound the dragon rider’s arrow left behind. His roots surrounded him, swallowing the dead and growing taller as his army gathered around him. The battle raged on as Marcela and the rest of the Army of Alveron tried to reach the giant, when everything stopped.
Marcela felt a shift in essence. Nearby, the Chosen of Kelisia led by Bud’s cousin, Henrietta of Blackthorne, all collapsed to the ground at once, horror on their faces. Others fell too, just like the Chosen of Ordana had done only minutes before.
Baelkor’s expression twisted. His fury exploded over the battlefield, essence streaming from him like noxious fumes, powerful enough to flatten nearby soldiers and demons alike. Trees of Damnation writhed violently through the city, their roots tearing deeper into the fragment.
The earth split beneath him as a colossal tree erupted, its trunk wider than a street. Roots tore through towers and walls as its trunk and branches twisted toward the rift in the sky, carrying Baelkor upward with it.
“Advance!” General Korteg roared.
Marcela took a step forward, when she sensed something very wrong. At once, her connection to Sumi vanished. She dropped to her knees. The battle fell away. The screams, the clash of steal, the roar of dragons overhead—all of it faded beneath the sudden, horrifying emptiness inside her soul.
Sumi was gone.
When she had first entered the abyss, the connection to her goddess had weakened until it was barely perceptible, yet the bond remained. A faint thread stretched between them even if Sumi’s presence couldn’t reach her. Enough to know she was still out there.
This was different. There was nothing. No warmth. No tug. The bond had been severed so completely it felt like a part of her had been ripped away.
Marcela gasped, clutching her chest. Around her, Chosen throughout the battlefield staggered or collapsed outright. Some dropped their weapons. Others screamed in terror or heartbreak. Blessings flared chaotically through the army as panic spread like wildfire. There seemed to be no logic to it. Chosen of every god lost themselves to grief.
“The gods have abandoned us!” someone cried.
Another Chosen stumbled backward—a towering man decked out in armour—his eyes were wide with terror. “It’s over! Flee! Back to the capital.”
Others still charged the demons in uncontrolled rage, tearing into their ranks before they were swarmed.
“No…” Marcela whispered.
All around her, the line began to collapse. Demons fell on their weakness in an instance. They surged against the faltering line with feverous excitement, crashing into the broken formation. Clawed horrors sent men and women flying—her people.
Panic exploded through the army.
“Fall back!”
“Run!”
“Back to the portal!”
As the Chosen buckled, so too did the rest of the army. Soldiers turned and ran.
Marcela forced herself upright, trembling. She could still feel her blessings. The power remained.
So why does it feel like the world has ended? she thought. A trick? Did Baelkor do this somehow?
General Korteg’s blessings erupted from the front in a blaze of blood red light. It formed like a prism in the air, encompassing the army, empowering them.
“Steel yourselves, Chosen of Alveron!” His voice shook the battlefield itself. Red essence burst outward from him in waves, cutting through the panic for a moment. “Stand! And hold the line! A foul magic has afflicted us, but it changes nothing. Your blessings remain. Your strength remains! Do not allow fear to poison your heart!”
He pointed his giant sword toward the rift in the sky, the great palace looming over them, gold and glorious.
“Heaven itself is watching!” he thundered. “Fear not this evil, for you are the Chosen of the gods! The soldiers of Alveron! Stand, brothers and sisters, and fight!”
Marcela felt her own fear ease slightly, reason returning. Something was happening above—something catastrophic. That dragon rider had vanished into the palace, and now this. The gods needed them.
Another explosion rocked the battlefield nearby as demons chased pursuing soldiers straight toward them. Above, the demon lord battled her father, the White Fists of Avaroth holding back the demon for now. General Korteg was already back in battle, nearing the tower when where Baelkor’s towering tree stretched to the sky, carrying the giant upward.
Marcela turned sharply toward the rest of her party. Len still knelt in shock, staring blankly at his trembling hands. Tamsin was breathing hard, fury and doubt battling across her face.
“All of you, on your feet,” Marcela snapped.
Len looked at her with desperate eyes. “Do you not feel it?”
“Of course I do!” The words came out harsher than Marcela intended, but she didn’t stop. “It feels like someone carved a hole through my soul, but standing here crying about it isn’t going to do anything.”
“Yes!” Tamsin roared at her side. “Blood is blood, whether the gods witness it or not.” She jabbed her axe toward the advancing demons. “Come on, mage boy! There are demons to kill!”
“Mage boy?” Len protested, rising shakily to his feet.
Faelkor, Harris, and Teff readied themselves too. Other Chosen returned to the fight around them, a broken line forming, and the battle cloud of blessings returning overhead. Soldiers plugged the gaps.
Marcela turned from her party, facing the incoming demons. She roared, charging, calling upon her blessings without Sumi’s aid for the first time. They came to her naturally, water coating her blade. The deep power of the ocean gathering around her like a tidal wave.
***
Celaine lifted an arm to shield her face from the blazing white fire flooding the chamber, only to realise there was no need. The heat didn’t burn. If anything, it felt comforting. Warmth rolled across her skin in steady waves while lava flowed between her feet and spread through the chamber in glowing cracks. White fire drifted through the air like embers, illuminating countless spell formations hanging overhead.
Hump stood at the centre of it all, cloak billowing around him. His staff in one hand, the phylactery in the other, and the Book of Infinite Pages floating before him, radiating essence.
The entire chamber seemed to bend around him. Celaine felt the weight of his soul pressing on the world, yet she felt no discomfort at all. Despite that, there was a sense of absolution to it. a certainty that left no room for hesitation. Essence moved differently within his domain. It flowed to his will, shining to her eyes. Obeyed him. Even breathing felt easier, the essence laced with Hump’s intent.
The fear and exhaustion clawing at her for days of empowering gateways and fighting demons eased slightly. Her own essence responded eagerly, steadier and stronger than before. It was intoxicating.
At the centre of the chamber, Hump raised his staff toward the vast formation overhead. Thousands upon thousands of glowing runes hung suspended above the Divine Sparks like a second sky, channels of essence weaving patterns that looked as alien to her as another language.
The pages of his spellbook turned rapidly as formations inscribed themselves upon its pages in brilliant blue light. Every spell, every rune, every strand of intent. All of it revealed itself before him.
Then Hump reached toward the next of the sparks, his white fire gathering.
Celaine braced instinctively. The pressure from the formation grew stronger in response. Enough to make her feel small, yet Hump calmly threaded his will through the structure, picking apart the bindings that held the spark in place with a brilliantly bright concentration of white fire.
The moment the Divine Spark was free, power pulsed through the chamber. Celaine braced instinvely, just as divine essence roared outward like a storm. The spark trembled violently for only a moment before Hump seized control, warping to his will as he absorbed it and fed it to the phylactery in his hand.
He was so calm as he moved onto the next. Focused. It was had to believe that the goofy boy from Bledsbury was handling powers of such magnitude with such ease, yet here he stood before her.
“He’s come even further than I thought,” Dylan said softly beside her.
She glanced at him and saw sheer disbelief in his eyes as he took in the formations.
“He’s surpassed Master Vivienne,” Dylan murmured. “That much is certain. Perhaps all but the wizards of the Three Eyes.”
Celaine’s thoughts immediately went to Wizard Aldric. She had seen the old wizard battle Karlac. She remembered the crushing pressure of Silver Rain and the way reality itself had seemed to bend around him.
But this felt different.
There was something deeper in Hump’s domain. That overwhelming certainty. And a terrifying sense that the space and everything in it belonged to him. A will so absolute that conflict felt meaningless within its reach.
More than anything, it reminded her of Owalyn.
“I’m not so sure,” Celaine said quietly. “I think he may have surpassed even the likes of the Three Eyes.”
Divine Spark after Divine Spark disappeared into the phylactery.
Again and again, Hump carved them free from the grand formation imprisoning the old gods, wrestling with powers that would have annihilated Celaine instantly. Yet under his domain, the process looked effortless.
White flames coiled around him as essence surged through the chamber in tidal waves. The spell formations overhead shifted and unfolded continuously while his book devoured every detail.
And still Hump hardly seemed strained.
“He’s taken another step ahead of us, hasn’t he?” Emilia said softly.
“Yes,” Bud murmured. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Hump once. There was a frown on his face.
“Worried you can’t keep up?” Emilia asked.
Bud shook his head slowly. “It’s not that.” His gaze remained fixed on Hump. “Hump has always hated people having power over him. Chosen, nobles, gods—he’s scorned all of them.”
Another spark vanished into the phylactery.
“But looking at him now…” Bud hesitated. “I think something’s changed.”
Emilia frowned. “You think he’s becoming a god?”
“That’s not what I mean,” Bud said. “Power corrupts. Hump has always believed that and now look at him.” He gestured toward the chamber. “He’s deciding the fate of gods and worlds by releasing the old gods.” Bud exhaled slowly. “I’m afraid he may already be walking the wrong path.”
Celaine gazed at Hump. At the white fire illuminating the chamber and shining upon his face. Toward the steady calmness in his eyes as he continued what had been impossible only minutes before.
“Power won’t corrupt Hump,” she said quietly. “He already gained power. Wealth, fame, influence. Everything he had once desired was his, yet he is still himself. This will be no different either.”
She closed her eyes briefly and breathed deeply. Essence flowed into her lungs, warm with Hump’s intent. It settled into her bones like courage itself, burning away fear and doubt.
She felt the intent in his domain. The warmth. The kindness.
“Do you not feel it?” she asked. “There’s no greed in his domain, Bud. No desire to dominate or rule.” She smiled faintly as she watched Hump amidst the power of the gods. “He’s fighting for us. For your people. Mine. And everyone else.”
“You sound rather certain,” a woman’s voice said.
Celaine turned to the source of the voice, to find Owalyn standing in the doorway, as tall as Bud, antlers protruding from her head. The shadows clung to her, but Celaine saw through them easily. Hey hair draped down past her hips in silver waves. She saw the narrowing of her golden eyes as she looked upward at the formations suspended in the air over the chamber, then toward Hump as he absorbed the last of the Divine Sparks.
And in those eyes, she saw genuine surprise.
Bud’s sword was out of its sheath in a moment. Emilia flanked to the side, ready to protect Hump, while Dylan moved to stand in front of him.
“Lady Owalyn,” Celaine said quickly, bowing deeply despite the pressure filling the room. Her heart pounded in her chest.
Her friends glanced at her, confusion on their faces, but they relaxed a little.
Bud bowed his head. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady.”
Dylan and Emilia followed his lead.
The white fire bent subtly around Owalyn without touching her as she entered the chamber. Even the drifting spell formations seemed to move aside for her passage.
“It is no small surprise to see you all alive and well,” Owalyn said. Her voice bounced between warm and deadly, as if Celaine could be embraced or killed at any moment. Never had that been directed at her. “You’ve found yourself in quite the mess of things, little huntress.”
Celaine straightened her back. “A good huntress targets strong prey.”
A faint smile touched Owalyn’s lips. “So she does.”
Her attention returned fully to Hump.
The last Divine Spark broke free from the grand formation and flowed into the phylactery in his hand.
“You are too late,” Hump said, turning to her. “The formation is broken. The old gods will be free.”