The portal screamed.
Its edges cracked with unstable light.
Fragments of the collapsing dimension spilled out like shards of broken stars.
The ruined street around it trembled.
Stone rose.
Then fell.
Even the air recoiled from what was coming through.
Sora stood before it.
Barely.
One hand pressed against his ribs.
The other gripping his sword so tightly his knuckles had gone pale.
His breathing came rough.
His vision swam.
But he was smiling.
Because Johan was coming back.
"…Took you long enough."
The portal widened.
A figure stepped through.
Slim frame.
Torn coat.
Blood across the chest.
Bruised face.
Unsteady breathing.
Johan.
Relief hit Sora so hard his knees almost gave out.
He laughed once through the pain.
"You beat the hell out of that crap, huh."
No answer.
The figure stopped three paces away.
Head lowered.
Shoulders trembling.
Sora blinked.
"…Johan?"
The trembling became shaking.
Then sound.
A low chuckle.
Wet.
Broken.
Growing louder.
Laughter.
Not Johan's laugh.
The head lifted slowly.
Eyes met his.
The same eyes.
But wrong.
Too bright.
Too empty.
Too delighted.
The smile stretched wider than Johan had ever smiled in his life.
"…Your faith in him is touching."
Sora froze.
That voice came from Johan's mouth.
But it was not Johan.
Riguta laughed harder.
The sound echoed across the ruined district.
Across burning streets.
Across the kneeling city.
"…Magnificent vessel."
Space folded.
Sora barely raised his sword before the strike landed.
A warped impact hit his side like a collapsing tower.
The street vanished beneath him.
He was thrown through walls, pillars, and shattered stone before crashing into the remains of a plaza.
His sword spun away.
Blood sprayed across the rubble.
For several seconds—
he could not hear anything.
Only ringing.
Only white light in his eyes.
Only pain.
Then sound returned.
Distant fire.
Distant screams.
Riguta's laughter.
Sora coughed and tried to rise.
One arm failed.
He planted the other.
Forced one knee under himself.
The world tilted.
His vision blurred in and out.
But through the haze—
he could still see Johan standing in the street.
No—
Riguta wearing Johan.
"…Give…"
His voice cracked.
"…him… back…"
(ABOVE THE PALACE)
Queen Vaeloria turned sharply.
She felt it instantly.
The aether below had changed.
Johan's signature remained—
but twisted.
Occupied.
Defiled.
Kael's expression darkened.
Even while holding back waves of ruin with gravity, he understood.
Something had escaped.
Something worse than before.
The First Sovereign looked down toward the district and spoke with ancient calm.
"…A thief wearing inheritance."
Azhyros smiled wider.
Its body shifted again.
Adapting to this new presence.
The battlefield had gained another monster.
(WESTERN DISTRICT)
Myra Solenne stopped mid-step.
The memory traces around her flickered and broke.
Her eyes widened.
"…No…"
She had escorted them.
Watched them argue.
Watched Sora rush ahead and Johan think too much.
Watched two outsiders walk into the kingdom alive.
Now only one body had returned.
And even that was wrong.
(THE RUINED PLAZA)
Riguta flexed Johan's fingers slowly.
Testing tendons.
Breathing.
Balance.
Aether circulation.
Golden-blue currents moved beneath the skin in elegant streams.
Far cleaner than the vessel he had abandoned.
Far stronger.
Far younger.
He laughed once more.
This time softer.
Satisfied.
"…Much better."
Flames bent around him.
Broken stones rose in the warped pressure of his presence.
He turned his gaze toward the palace.
Toward the Queen.
Toward the First Sovereign.
Toward every power still standing.
And smiled.
Behind the smile—
for the briefest instant—
Johan's left hand twitched.
Only once.
Small.
Violent.
Like a body refusing a foreign soul.
Riguta's expression paused for half a breath.
Then returned to calm amusement.
"…How rude."
He clenched the hand shut.
The twitch stopped.
Across the plaza, Sora dragged himself forward through blood and rubble.
An inch at a time.
Vision fading.
Consciousness slipping.
Still reaching.
"…Johan…"
Riguta did not look back.
The sky above Varkhast darkened further.
And the kingdom understood—
the war had just become hopeless.