Veliona stood alone before something that did not belong to the Waking World. The air was thick, damp with the scent of earth and decay, and the faint drip of water from unseen cracks in the ceiling created an irregular rhythm that only emphasized the unnatural stillness surrounding her. Roots and moss clung to the stone overhead, their pale tendrils weaving through fractures where thin strands of light filtered down, suggesting that somewhere far above, a forest still existed, unaware of the horrors festering below.
Her gaze, however, was not drawn upward.
It lingered instead on the rift.
It was a wound in reality, jagged and incomplete, stretching downward into a depth that seemed to swallow perception itself. There was no visible bottom, no clear shape beyond the initial tear, only an oppressive sensation that seeped into her senses the longer she looked at it. If she had to describe it, there was only one word that came close to capturing its nature.
Death.
Not metaphorical, not symbolic, but absolute. A place where endings gathered and refused to disperse, where something vast and incomprehensible lingered beyond the edge of existence. It was not calling to her, nor did it actively threaten her, but its presence alone carried a weight that would have crushed a lesser mind.
Veliona studied it for a moment longer, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly as if attempting to measure something that could not be measured. Then, with a quiet exhale, she dismissed it entirely.
Whatever that rift was, it was not her concern.
Not yet.
Her attention shifted to the Nightmare Seed before her.
Unlike the rift, this was something familiar, even if its current state was far from ordinary. The Seed was wrapped in a dense cocoon of Corruption, layers of writhing darkness encasing what appeared to be hollow stone armor at its core. The armor stood motionless, empty and yet not empty, as if something had once occupied it and left behind a lingering imprint that refused to fade.
Veliona tilted her head slightly, observing it with a detached curiosity.
Then her gaze sharpened.
There was only one line.
Death.
And in this case, there was only one way to reach it.
She stepped forward without hesitation, her movements smooth and deliberate as she closed the distance between herself and the Seed. The oppressive aura surrounding it pressed against her, attempting to draw her in, to pull her into the Nightmare contained within.
She stopped just short of crossing that threshold.
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Nice try."
Stepping back, she raised her hands.
Chains manifested from nothing, coiling around her arms before extending outward into a pair of wicked claws. The weapons were not solid in the traditional sense, their forms shifting slightly as if they were composed of something fluid and alive. The edges gleamed faintly, carrying a presence that felt far more dangerous than their appearance suggested.
Veliona did not hesitate.
She swung.
The claw lashed forward, cutting through the air with a sharp, precise motion as it connected with the line of Death she had identified.
The moment it made contact, everything changed.
Images flooded her mind.
Not a trickle, not a slow influx, but an overwhelming torrent that crashed into her consciousness without restraint. Memories that were not hers, emotions that did not belong to her, fragments of lives lived and ended in ways both mundane and horrific all forced their way into her awareness at once.
Her body trembled.
Blood began to seep from her eyes, her nose, her mouth, every orifice leaking crimson as the sheer volume of information threatened to tear her apart from the inside. Her breathing hitched, then fractured entirely as her lungs struggled to keep up with the sudden strain.
She hunched forward, one hand clutching at her chest as if trying to physically contain the madness clawing its way through her.
Laughter bubbled up from her throat.
It was raw, broken, laced with something that bordered on hysteria.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
The words spilled out between ragged breaths, overlapping with one another as if she could not decide which apology mattered most. Her voice trembled, then rose, then fractured into something unrecognizable as the pressure continued to build.
Her body began to change.
Flesh tore.
From her back, two wings burst forth in a grotesque eruption of gore, their structure resembling that of a moth but twisted, malformed, and drenched in blood. The sudden growth forced her upright, her posture shifting as something deeper than pain took hold.
Her laughter sharpened.
Her apologies did not stop.
And without hesitation, without even the faintest trace of doubt remaining in her expression, Veliona stepped forward, consumed by madness.
Into the Nightmare.
***
Seele stared at the stone gate in front of her, her expression flat as she processed the situation with a growing sense of irritation. The room she had been sealed in was unremarkable, its walls smooth and unyielding, the air still and devoid of anything that could be used to break free through conventional means.
For most, it would have been an inescapable prison.
For her, it was an inconvenience.
A faint distortion rippled across her body as she stepped forward, her form phasing through the solid stone as if it were nothing more than mist. The sensation was brief, barely noticeable, and a moment later she stood on the other side of the barrier, free.
She glanced back at the gate.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"That bastard…"
She rolled her shoulders lightly before turning away.
There were more important things to deal with.
***
In the Underworld, the tension had reached a breaking point.
Automatons moved in coordinated patterns, their metallic forms weaving through the narrow pathways as they carried out evacuation protocols with mechanical precision. Civilians were being directed away from the Nightmare Gate, their movements hurried but controlled under the watchful oversight of Clara and Svarog.
They stood together before the Nightmare Gate.
It had remained dormant for as long as Aventurine had predicted.
Now, it was beginning to open.
The surface of the Gate pulsed violently, its edges distorting as the barrier between worlds weakened. A low, resonant hum filled the air, growing louder with each passing second as something on the other side pushed against the threshold.
***
Above, the battlefield was once again consumed by violence.
Aventurine moved through it with overwhelming ease, his attacks reducing Nightmare Creatures to shattered remains with each effortless motion. The tune he hummed echoed faintly beneath his mask, carrying an unsettling lightness that clashed with the destruction he unleashed.
Then the sky itself seemed to split.
A black spear descended from above, cutting through the air with immense force before striking an Awakened Devil directly through the neck. The impact drove the creature into the ground, its body convulsing briefly before falling still.
The spear dissolved into shadow.
From that shadow, she emerged.
Her form was defined not by light, but by its absence, appearing as though carved from darkness itself. Her features were visible only in the faintest sense, outlined by subtle contours that gave her the illusion of shape. Her face was smooth and unbroken, yet carried a haunting beauty that felt distant and unreal.
The corpse beneath her reacted.
A translucent wisp of the slain creature rose from its remains, drawn toward her as if compelled by an unseen force. It merged with her form seamlessly, disappearing into the darkness that composed her being.
At her feet, True Darkness spilled outward.
***
High above, Saint stood poised on a rooftop, her bow drawn with practiced precision. The arrow she released cut through the air before striking a cluster of Nightmare Creatures, detonating into a burst of lightning that consumed them instantly.
Second Strike of Thunder. A recreation of the Strike of Thunder Sunny created in order to replace the destroyed Memory.
Without pause, she nocked another arrow, this one formed from shadow itself, and fired again as more enemies emerged.
***
Back on the battlefield, Sunny's clash with Cocolia had escalated to a dangerous level.
The Mantle covering his body was beginning to fracture under the strain, its [Living Stone] cracking and reforming continuously as it struggled to keep up with the relentless assault. Each impact reverberated through him, the accumulated damage pushing even his enhanced defenses toward their limits.
Cocolia, however, remained just as relentless.
Her body bore the marks of repeated strikes, yet each wound closed almost instantly as ice reformed to replace what had been lost. Unlike before, her movements had shifted, becoming more reactive and adaptive as the influence of Hail Sorrow began to take hold.
Her focus was narrowing.
Her intent was sharpening into something more dangerous.
Sunny blocked another strike, his blade meeting her spear—
—and immediately recognized the change.
The weapon she wielded was no longer ordinary ice. It was black, threaded with veins of gold, and carried an oppressive presence that caused cracks to spread along Hail Sorrow the moment they made contact.
A flicker of alarm passed through him.
Without hesitation, he dismissed the blade, allowing it to dissolve before the damage could spread further. The spear passed harmlessly through the space it had occupied, and Sunny moved instantly, weaving beneath her follow-up attack before driving his fist into her face with crushing force.
Her head snapped to the side, ice fracturing before reforming almost immediately.
Sunny stepped back, his expression darkening as she raised her hand once more.
Another spear formed, identical to the first.
Recognition settled in quickly.
"Destruction, huh…"
His voice carried a low, measured edge as he prepared himself for what was to come.
"This is going to be a problem…"