The Fracture

The sky roared—but it wasn't the sky.

It was her.

Myrrhex-Vaal descended in a spiral, leaving a vortex of void in her wake. Every beat of her wings warped space, every soundless scream slithered into minds like sonic blades.

Below, Zark'Ul-Murr charged with blind fury. The earth split beneath its hooves, spewing thermal gases and bone shrapnel. Its bellows were shockwaves, its steps craters.

And between them—the humans ran for the rift.

The Last Defense

The surviving squad members fought like cornered beasts, buying Kira seconds with their lives.

—"Now, Kira! DO IT NOW!" Rugal bellowed, his armor shattered, blood streaking his face.

Kira screamed—not in fear, but in pure strain. Her tattoos burned like brands, her staff trembling on the brink of collapse.

The rift split open fully—a gash of golden light throbbing in the air like a living wound.

Two hunters, lost in the meadow for months, lunged forward.

One made it.

The other—didn't.

The rift sliced him apart. His body fractured along lines of light… then dissolved.

—"One at a time! Hold it open!" Yorven roared.

Auren shoved a third survivor through—success.

Then came Leras, the young trapper. He ran—

—and Myrrhex-Vaal fell upon him.

No scream. Just collapse.

His body crumpled like wet paper, vanishing into a subsonic hum that made Kira's ears bleed.

—"NO!" Elion's rune-spear flared, fire exploding mid-air to deflect the beast's song—for a second.

—"Auren! With me! Keep Zark'Ul off Kira!" Rugal's sonic hammer cratered the ground as he leapt like a mortal against a god.

They fell. One by one.

The old man—crushed.

The surviving hunters—torn apart.

Desperate screams filled the air, but still they fought.

This was their last hope.

And the Abyss would not let them keep it.

Twelve had entered the meadow.

Now, only six remained.

This damned place—this beautiful, hungry hell—had taken the rest.

Kira wept. Rugal cursed. But there was no time for grief.

Zark'Ul-Murr charged again.

Auren triggered a thermal trap at the last second—a pressure explosion that barely deflected the beast's path.

But it wasn't enough.

Jalen, one of the last standing, was caught in the blast. His body slammed into a bone-white tree—

—and his skull shattered like glass.

Another gone. Just like that.

Kira stood before the rift, her light flickering, her soul unraveling. Every second cost her life.

—"RUN! NOW!" she screamed, voice raw.

Rugal shoved two more survivors through.

Yorven didn't move.

—"You first," he said, eyes locked on the captain.

—"No," Rugal growled. "I won't repeat your story."

A shove—

—and Rugal fell into the light.

Kira swayed, barely standing. Elion caught her from behind, blood on his lips.

—"Kira... I can't leave you," he whispered, tears cutting through the grime on his face.

—"I'm sorry... you know if I move, the rift closes..." Blood trickled from her eyes, but she smiled.

—"Elion, COME ON! Or her sacrifice is for nothing!" Auren grabbed him, dragging him toward the rift.

Elion fought.

He loved her.

He'd never said it.

For one reckless moment, he tried to run back—to dive through the rift and pull her out—

—but Auren wrenched him away just as the edges of the tear began to collapse.

—"NO! LOOK AT HER!!"

Kira couldn't speak anymore.

Blood filled her mouth.

Her eyes wept crimson.

Yorven was the last to cross, his gaze locked on hers—apologizing, promising. He nodded.

She met his stare.

Smiled.

—"Don't worry about me... I know you'll come back. You and my father..."

Her voice was barely a whisper.

But it was enough.

They watched as the rift collapsed—as Kira stood alone, her silhouette framed against the false sky.

"Kira! RUN! Hide—stay alive!" Rugal's voice was raw, desperate.

But this was no fairy tale.

The Abyss was not a place of heroes, or rescues, or happy endings.

It was a graveyard of the damned.

And it always collected its due.

She looked at them.

Laughed.

Wept.

And in her broken smile, she thanked them.

Then—

The shadow fell.

Myrrhex-Vaal descended like divine punishment, one of her scythe-like wings slicing through Kira's abdomen with a wet crunch.

She didn't scream.

She just laughed through the tears, her eyes already glazing over, the cerulean light of her Grace fading in one final pulse.

"Thank you…"

No one heard her.

The rift sealed with a flash.

Silence

Rugal collapsed to his knees.

Elion cursed the gods.

Auren wept silently, as if the wound in his chest meant nothing compared to the void in his throat.

On the other side, the world reassembled.

The air grew thinner, cleaner.

The colors softer.

Stratum 1.

They were home.

But at what cost?

Only seven had made it through.

Of the original twelve, nine were dead.

Only three of Rugal's squad remained—himself, Elion, Auren—along with a handful of Lunaris's broken survivors.

And Yorven, who lay on the ground, wordless, hollow.

No one spoke for hours.

They only knew one thing:

Kira had done what Kelen could not.

And they…

They were alive.

And as they breathed, as they grieved, as they vowed—

—on the other side of a rift that no longer existed, a white-haired girl laughed softly, impaled on the wing of a fallen god.

Until her body dissolved like light in the dark.

From the heights of the living wall, amidst the ruins of false huts and sleeping roots, the Vraalmur did not move.

The rift was gone—but the air still remembered being torn.

The Kharis Larva trembled on his back, her glow flickering, uneven. Not fear. Something new.

Pain.

Loss.

Memory of what was no longer there.

The Vraalmur did not understand what he had witnessed.

Only that the white-haired human did not flee.

That she sang with light, and that light split the world open.

And then—

She fell.

The Vraalmur had seen many deaths.

Some loud. Some slow. Some fed him.

But this one…

Was not for eating.

The body lay still in the center of the meadow. Blood no longer flowed. Myrrhex-Vaal circled above, her song a distorted shriek of frustration. Zark'Ul-Murr stamped the earth but did not approach.

The beasts would not touch what they did not understand.

The Vraalmur climbed down.

Slow. Silent. As if the grass itself did not dare disturb him.

The Larva slithered from his spine, creeping across the stone toward the girl's body.

She paused before her face.

And for a moment—

Pulsed gold.

The Vraalmur knelt beside the corpse.

His claws—black as obsidian, sharp enough to rend steel—hovered.

Then, with a care he had never known, he lifted her.

Not to tear.

To carry.

Her robes still shimmered with fading Grace. Her tattoos were dull but not gone. Her eyes were closed.

Her lips—

Curved in a smile.

The Vraalmur did not know smiles.

But he knew this was not pain.

And so, as the Lords of the Meadow roared in the shadows, unwilling to claim her—

The monster took the light-bearer away.

They walked through the purple-colored grass, the Larva trailing behind, leaving a path of warm bioluminescence in their wake.

There were no tombs in this place.

No markers for the fallen.

No memory of those devoured.

But they would not leave her alone.