I LIIIIIIIIIVE!
Sweet late Christmas present, ladies and gents, it is good to be back.
Laptop broke and after getting a new one, I decided to take a step back from writing anything because I SERIOUSLY lost my sauce for a bit there. I'm pretty sure I kinda lost a bit of interest after reaching my goal of 1K follows and favs.
But after taking a break, reading the story from chapter one and falling in love with things again (And also mentally kicking myself for how I left things) , I got all giddy with creativity and just hopped back to writing. Hopefully one or two of you dear readers out there stuck around to see how the story turns out. XD
Now after the monumental wait, here is the new and improved chapter, ladies and gents!
ENJOY THE READ!
There was something to be said about a man who could stand unflinching between gods and their champions.
Solaire stood firm, his radiant presence a solitary barrier, a beacon of unwavering resolve that held both sides in check. His armor caught what little light remained, reflecting it in fleeting glimmers, a quiet reminder of the sun he so devoutly worshipped.
"If anyone wishes to continue fighting…" Solaire's voice rang out, bright and steady, yet carrying an unmistakable weight. "…then I am afraid I will have to be your opponent."
The words hung in the air like a drawn blade, their cheerful delivery doing nothing to soften their gravity.
Oscar froze mid-step, his eyes never leaving Kaylen. His pacing halted, replaced by a tense stillness as if weighing his next move. His teeth were bared, lips curled in a silent snarl, each breath escaping him in a steady stream of smoke.
The ground beneath him sizzled and cracked as waves of heat radiated from his draconic form, melting the frost that clung stubbornly to the stone. Muscles rippled beneath hardened scales, every fiber of his being coiled with tension, ready to snap. Smoke drifted lazily from his nostrils with each exhale, curling in the cold air like a serpent.
The devastation surrounding them—the blood, the ruin, the weight of lives lost—fueled the fire smoldering in his chest. It was a fury forged by despair and betrayal, a relentless demand for justice that clawed at his mind. His anger became a living thing, pressing outward, seeking someone to bear its weight. Someone to answer for the chaos.
And his gaze never wavered from Kaylen.
Solaire did not move. He didn't need to. His very presence was a wall between war and reason. A sun that refused to set.
Behind Oscar, Quelaan loomed with an unsettling grace. Her pale spider legs gleamed faintly in the dim light, each movement precise and eerily silent. Her human half sat poised and statuesque, a stark contrast to the thin veil of chaotic flames that lazily rippled across her form—flickers of restrained destruction that hinted at the inferno she could unleash at a moment's notice.
Her sharp, calculating gaze swept over the opposing group, dissecting them piece by piece with a cold, analytical mind.
Pathetic, she mused silently.
Her limbs felt stronger than they had in centuries, the chaotic flame pulsing beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. She could level this entire courtyard in a single, sweeping tide of fire if she desired. Quelaag, ever the blunt instrument, lacked the precision to replicate such devastation, but Oscar? Oh, Oscar could bring ruin in his own way. She knew that much.
But what did this so-called Prophet have at his side?
Her eyes slid to the blonde girl first. Fragile. Frozen in place, her hands trembling around that pitiful little talisman. The stench of fear clung to her like a second skin. Useless.
The next drew a faint smirk to Quelaan's lips. The woman in the red robe—snarling, practically foaming at the mouth in blind rage. She gripped a knife with white-knuckled intensity as if it could stand against gods and monsters alike. A rabid dog, Quelaan thought, dangerous only to herself.
And then her gaze fell upon the Prophet.
Disappointing.
Kaylen slumped weakly in the arms of the beast that carried him, a bruise already darkening along his jaw. Oscar sent him flying with a single punch. Hardly the figure of knowledge and power she had expected. If this was all he had to offer, she couldn't imagine him surviving long, let alone posing any threat. Ending him would be effortless.
But the last two…
Velka.
The goddess of sin stood unnervingly still, her black wings partially unfurled, each feather glinting with a quiet menace. Quelaan could feel the razor-sharp mind behind those dark eyes, calculating every angle, every weakness. Velka's aura wasn't loud, but it pressed on the senses like a knife against the throat—silent, patient, and utterly lethal.
And the creature holding Kaylen…
That towering white-furred beast, clutching the Prophet with a protective grip, was something else entirely. There was something wrong about her—something deeper than her monstrous form. Her aura was volatile, her body coiled with tension as frost slowly formed beneath her feet.
That one… would be troublesome.
Quelaan's expression didn't shift, but a subtle flicker of wariness sparked behind her eyes beneath the casual smile she wore..
If it comes to battle, those two will demand more than fire and force. That's what her instincts told her.
Beside Quelaan, Quelaag seethed like a living furnace. Her molten-red spider form radiated waves of heat that shimmered in the cold air, distorting the space around her in a haze of rising steam. Where Quelaan exuded cold, composed menace, Quelaag was fire made flesh—unapologetic, fierce, and ready to burn.
Her human half leaned forward, sharp eyes narrowing as they traced over Kaylen's group. Her gaze lingered on Kaylen's and the way Priscilla cradled him protectively. She scoffed at the sight- mild irritation, maybe, or just as disappointed at the unimpressive sight of the prophet just as much as her sister was.
Her sharp eyes flicked to the others, measuring them with little more than mild annoyance. "There's no need for this to go any further. Lay down your weapons and surrender, and we'll refrain from further conflict."
Her demand, though harsh, was not without reason. There was no mockery in it—only cold certainty.
But Yuria was already moving, her rage burning hotter than any flame. She stepped forward, trembling with fury, her knife glinting in the dim light. "You want my weapon?" she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "Come and take it, you wretch!"
Quelaag's head tilted, sharp eyes honing in on the furious woman like a predator spotting weakness. A flicker of recognition darkened her expression.
"Wait..." Quelaag's tone sharpened, venom creeping into her voice. "I know you. You're that half-mad Darkwraith who invaded our home."
The words struck like a whip. Yuria recoiled as if slapped, the fury in her face faltering for just a heartbeat. Her eyes darted briefly to Kaylen, not wanting him to be reminded of such things about who she used to be, before returning a heated glare towards the Quelaag.
Her face twisted again, the sting of recognition fueling her anger. "Former Darkwraith!" she snapped, her voice shrill with wounded pride. "And if it weren't for me, your pathetic sister would be dead! Oscar saved her because I guided him there! You should be on your knees thanking me for carrying out my lord's will!"
Quelaag's nostrils flared, but before she could retort, Quelaan let out a soft, amused hum.
"He sent a Darkwraith… to heal another?" Quelaan's delicate brow arched, her tone laced with disbelief and dark humor. A slow, sardonic smile crept onto her lips. "Heh. Okay, that is worth a bit of a laugh, I must say.""
"Ugh… Oscar, you cheap-shotting son of a bitch," Kaylen groaned, slumped in Priscilla's arms, still reeling from the force that had sent him flying. His head lolled back against the soft fur, the pounding in his skull making every thought sluggish. "God, the hurt."
"Well, maybe you should learn to actually defend yourself." Velka's voice cut through, sharp as ever. She didn't even glance at him, her eyes still locked on Oscar with icy precision. "What the hell even was that? He was standing right in front of you, and you still let him land a strike?"
Kaylen winced, reaching up to rub his sore jaw. "I was kinda caught off guard by the whole dragon-demon hybrid thing he's got going on now," he muttered. "Chaos and Dragon combined into one person? That's definitely never happened before. Past or future."
Velka's head tilted slightly, her wings twitching in irritation. "Oh, so you nearly got yourself killed because you were too busy admiring the view?"
Kaylen threw his hand up weakly. "I wasn't admiring it, I was processing it! And he's faster than he looks!"
Anastacia's soft voice cut in, her eyes filled with quiet worry. "Please be more careful, Prophet. That…That was careless."
Kaylen let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Could I maybe get a little more concern and a little less sass? I just knocked on my ass." His hand absentmindedly stroked Priscilla's soft, furred shoulder, grounding himself in the moment.
"We'll kiss your boo-boo's when we're alone, but right now the concern is you being an idiot and nearly getting yourself killed." Velka explained sternly.
"Great. Sass and threats of affection. You must think you're the whole package, don't you?"
Velka's eyes narrowed, but a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "Oh, it sounds affectionate now. Wait 'til you hear the scolding that comes after."
"Well, it seems you're keeping your spirits high amidst all this chaos, eh, Velka?" Quelaan's voice slipped smoothly into the tension, polite and pleasant, but edged with something more.
Velka's wings twitched slightly as her sharp eyes slid toward the pale spider-witch. Her gaze lingered on the gleaming white limbs beneath Quelaan's human form before rising to meet her eyes.
"Ugh. Of course. Quelaan." Velka's tone was dry, unimpressed. "I thought you and your kin had finally burned away when Izalith crumbled. Yet here you are." Her eyes flicked deliberately to Quelaan's imposing spider form. "Though it seems you've… put on a bit of weight."
The slight smirk on Velka's lips was thin and sharp, cutting without needing to raise her voice.
"You little—!" Quelaag's growl rumbled in her throat, molten fury flashing in her eyes as her claws flexed, ready to strike.
"Now, now, sister." Quelaan's voice was soft but firm, a hand lightly raised to stay Quelaag's temper. She didn't look away from Velka. "Let's not let Velka of all people get under our skin. She does so love to remind everyone how clever she is."
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she smiled, a polished, knowing expression.
"It's good to see you too, Velka. Truly, it has been some time. And speaking of change…" Quelaan's gaze slowly, purposefully traced the scales creeping along Velka's face. "You're looking a bit worse for wear. The scales suit you though—very fitting for the company you keep."
Her smirk deepened as her eyes slid to the prone form of Gwyndolin, piecing things together with practiced ease.
"…And it seems you've gone and turned traitor. Heh. Hard to believe. You, once so proud of your loyalty to crown and country."
Velka's smirk sharpened but didn't reach her eyes. "Yes, well… I suppose we've both fallen from high places."
A statement so deceptively simple, yet heavy with the weight of centuries of strife and ruin.
Quelaan's smile faltered for a breath, a flicker of something genuine breaking through. A quiet, knowing hum escaped her lips. "Heh. Indeed." Her voice softened, the edge of her smirk blunting just a little. "Still… it's good to know some of us from the old days are still standing."
For a fleeting moment, Velka's hard gaze softened in turn, the weight of their shared past settling between them. "...Likewise."
But the moment passed as quickly as it came. Velka's attention snapped back to Oscar, her eyes narrowing once more. Quelaan simply smiled, the smallest flicker of satisfaction curling at the edge of her lips.
"Holy shit, you guys know each other?" Kaylen drawled, raising a brow. He let his head rest back against Priscilla's fur, reclining as comfortably as someone with a throbbing jaw could manage. "Man, that's a story I'd love to hear... after I finish kicking Oscar and Gwyndolin's asses in about two minutes."
His tone was smooth, laid-back, but the pointed glance he flicked toward Oscar carried just enough edge to betray his irritation. The metallic taste of blood still coated his tongue, but he masked the discomfort with an easy grin.
Across from him, Quelaan chuckled, light and mocking. "Heh. Confident, aren't we?" Her sharp eyes gleamed with amusement. "If I were you, I'd be a bit more careful about making threats."
Quelaag's tone cut through, firmer, colder. "What my sister means to say is this—you are outmatched, 'Prophet.' Surrender now, and in respect for your kinship with Oscar—and for the boon of saving my sister's life—we will spare you."
The words were delivered with regal authority, though the mercy in her tone felt more like condescension.
Kaylen let out a quiet, amused snort. "Wow. Such generosity. Really pulling out all the stops here."
"Oh, Quelaag," Quelaan cooed, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Diplomacy suits you. Firm, but fair. Truly, I'm impressed."
Quelaag didn't even glance at her sister, her focus steady on Kaylen.
Kaylen, meanwhile, leaned further back into Priscilla's arms, lazily draping one arm over his stomach. "You forgot to add 'completely wrong' to that little speech, but hey—honest mistake." He lifted his hand, pretending to check an invisible watch. "Like I said—two minutes. Well..." He paused and mused for a moment. "One minute forty seconds now."
His casual bravado dripped off every word, but the slight tension in his jaw hinted at his lingering annoyance.
Seriously, though. Where the hell does Oscar get off punching me like that?
Kaylen let his hand drift lazily along the plush, dense fur of Priscilla's arm, tracing the steady warmth that pulsed beneath her silken frost. Her fur was cool to the touch, yet alive with a deep, calming heat—a quiet comfort that settled into his bones. He inhaled slowly, letting the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath ease the irritation still simmering in his chest.
God, this is everything I wanted it to be. His thoughts purred with approval. And she's built like a brick shithouse now. You could grind meat on these muscles.
But where Kaylen was grounding himself, Priscilla was anything but calm.
She loomed protectively over him, her towering form coiled with quiet menace. Her arms cradled him close, but her icy glare was locked onto Oscar, sharp and unrelenting. Her grip tightened ever so slightly, and the air around them began to chill, frost creeping along the ground beneath her feet. A thin veil of snow-dust swirled faintly in the air, unnoticed by her.
Kaylen felt it—the subtle tremor in her muscles, the way her claws had unconsciously sharpened, the faint crackle of cold threading through the air. Her control was slipping, her instincts clawing closer to the surface.
He sighed.
Without a word, his fingers trailed more firmly through the soft fur of her stomach. Then, with slow, deliberate boldness, he reached up and cupped her breast.
Priscilla jolted, a soft, breathy gasp tearing from her lips as her entire body tensed. Her head snapped down to him, eyes wide in disbelief, her cheeks blooming with a flush that seemed almost impossible against her pale fur. The softness beneath his palm was warm, yielding and impossibly soft despite her imposing strength.
"W-What are you doing?!" she hissed, her voice cracking with flustered indignation.
Kaylen didn't even blink. "Keeping a level head. And making sure you do the same." His hand giving her breast a subtle squeeze in a manner that was as casual as it was deliberate. "Last thing we need is you turning this place into another snowstorm 'cause you're a little worked up."
Priscilla's mouth opened… then closed again, her words fumbling somewhere between outrage and disbelief. Priscilla stared at him, aghast, the red on her cheeks deepening. She darted a quick, horrified glance around, suddenly hyper-aware of the others nearby.
"Th-This is—Kaylen! This is hardly necessary!" Her voice dropped to a frantic whisper, cheeks burning as she tried to recoil without letting him fall. "Th-There are people here, you pervert!"
Kaylen's smirk only widened. "End of the world rules, Cil. I've got zero time to be embarrassed about wanting to snuggle my dragon wife."
Priscilla's breath hitched again, her face practically glowing with embarrassment. "Dragon wi-? What art thou even saying right now?! Cease this—this… degeneracy! And stop just saying whatever thou wishes!"
Kaylen merely laughed, a low, satisfied chuckle as he let his hand finally drop away. "See? You're calmer already. And people say Dragon taming is hard."
Priscilla's tail thumped the ground behind her, snow puffing up around them as she glared down at him, torn between mortification and the urge to throttle him.
"I really need you to understand there are going to be consequences for that, Prophet." Velka's voice was cold and clipped, her golden eyes narrowing dangerously. "No, really. Lock this moment away. We will revisit it."
Kaylen smirked lazily, unconcerned. "Is that a promise or a threat?"
"Yes." Velka's eyes narrowed, deadly and unamused.
Anastacia, though visibly tense, stiffened her posture and nodded in agreement, her hands tightening around her talisman. "It is no laughing matter, and we will most assuredly have a discussion on it." Her tone was softer but firm, the words edged with disapproval. "And when we do, you're going to get a thorough tongue-lashing, Prophet."
"Tongue lashing?" Kaylen questioned with a raised eyebrow. "You're usually a lot nicer than that. Since when do you do tongue lashings?"
"Since you started making me worry and when you started shamelessly grabbing other-"
"IS THIS A JOKE TO ALL OF YOU?!"
Oscar's roar ripped through the air like a shockwave, silencing the room in an instant.
All heads snapped toward him. His hulking form loomed, molten cracks of chaos energy snaking beneath his skin, casting a dull glow through the cracks in his flesh. His chest heaved with each breath, steam curling from his lips as his furious gaze burned into Kaylen and Priscilla.
His eyes burned with molten fury as they shifted between Kaylen and Priscilla, his mind piecing together the evidence in front of him. The frost on the ground was spreading beneath Priscilla's feet, its icy fingers creeping out in a jagged web. The air around her was unnaturally frigid, each exhale twisting into a foggy mist that mingled with the acrid scent of decay. The sharp, unmistakable chill stirred memories of the devastation he'd seen—the frozen wastelands, ruined cities buried before icy blizzards, and brutal deaths of countless peopl—all tied back to this creature's chilling aura.
It didn't take much for him to put the pieces together.
The creature before him, this towering white imitation of a woman, was the epicenter of it all. The world had fallen apart in the wake of her presence. And there, nestled comfortably within her powerful grasp, was Kaylen, his hand casually stroking her fur, as if none of this devastation mattered. Without question, he was involved.
No… more than involved. He had to be responsible.
"Well, I guess we can't all find a way to keep calm," Kaylen muttered with a lazy sigh, leaning his head back against Priscilla's shoulder. His tone was casual, though a flicker of annoyance crossed his features. "Go ahead, get it all out."
Oscar's molten gaze didn't waver, his fists clenching tighter as heat rippled off his scaled skin in slow, undulating waves. His breath came hard and ragged, seething with restrained fury.
"You make light of this, even now?" Oscar's voice was low, barely more than a growl. His glare sharpened, drilling into Kaylen. "Tell me you didn't know. Tell me you didn't know what this thing could do."
Kaylen's eyes narrowed slightly, his grip on his irritation slipping just a little. "Her name is Priscilla," he corrected coldly, but his tone still held control. "And what she's capable of and what actually happened are two different things. But that's not what you want to hear, is it?"
Oscar's expression twisted, the thin line of his lips curling into a snarl.
"Answer the damn question!" he barked, stepping forward, the ground cracking beneath his feet. "Tell me! Tell me you didn't knowingly unleash something capable of wiping out everything and everyone!"
Kaylen's brow creased, irritation darkening into something heavier. His hand paused in Priscilla's fur. Oscar's voice rose, ragged and laced with venom.
"Oh, don't you fucking dare say it was pity or sympathy or, gods forbid, some deluded thought of crawling into bed with this creature that led to all this ruin!" His sneer deepened.
The heat rising off Oscar seemed to burn hotter, steam curling from his breath as his molten eyes bore into him.
"Was it worth it, Kaylen?!" Oscar roared. "All this death, this ruin—was it worth it for a creature you couldn't bring yourself to kill?!"
The words hit hard.
Kaylen's expression froze, his breath tightening.
Priscilla shifted, sensing the sudden change in him, and her hold around him instinctively tightened.
Kaylen slowly sat forward in her arms, his casual posture unraveling. His eyes were dark now, locked on Oscar with a chilling focus. The air around him pulsed once with heat as a faint flicker of dark pyromancy shimmered along his fingertips.
"Watch your mouth." His words cut through the air, low and sharp.
But Oscar wasn't finished. His fury only burned hotter.
"You don't get to warn me!" Oscar's voice cracked with rage. "Not after what you've done! You sit there, like none of this is your fault, and let that thing curl around you while the world rots—"
Priscilla's body tensed, feeling Kaylen esscene warping and changing as if preemptively preparing his body
Kaylen's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening hard enough to ache. The flame at his fingertips sparked to life.
"Say one more word, Oscar."
The words were soft, but the threat behind them was unmistakable.
Velka's wings slowly began to spread. Yuria shifted forward, the madness in her eyes saying she was just waiting for the go ahead to mutilate someone. Quelaag's molten body tensed, and even Quelaan's composed gaze sharpened.
The tension cracked in the air like a drawn bowstring.
And then—
"Her name is Priscilla!"
The sudden outburst sliced through the suffocating silence.
All eyes snapped toward the voice.
Anastacia stood there, small and trembling, her eyes wide with the shock of her own outburst. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, though they shook.
The world seemed to hold for a breath.
But then, Anastacia swallowed hard and forced herself to step forward, her movements stiff but determined. She moved until she stood just ahead of Kaylen's group, the smallest figure among them.
Her voice was quieter now but resolute.
"This… You are wrong to speak such things." Her words wavered slightly but held. "If you would stop for a moment and think, you'd understand this isn't as simple as pity or affection."
Her eyes darted between the furious Oscar and the simmering Kaylen.
"All of this could never be that simple."
A ragged breath broke through the tense confrontation.
"I'm going…to kill you, human…"
The voice was hoarse, dripping with venom.
All eyes turned as Gwyndolin slowly rose from the ground, his movements stiff and pained. His once-elegant form was now a shadow of its former self—eyes marred with dried streaks of blood, silk robes torn and darkened by grime. Every motion seemed to pull at muscles barely able to stand him upright, yet his burning gaze never wavered from Kaylen.
He staggered forward, gripping his serpent-twisted catalyst like a lifeline, knuckles pale beneath the grime. His hatred was palpable, coiling around him as tightly as his battered robes.
"You…" Gwyndolin hissed, each word soaked in loathing, "You will not leave here alive."
But before the weight of his words could settle, another voice cut through the tension.
"Stop! Just… stop this!"
Her small frame shifted forward, standing between Gwyndolin and Kaylen, her hands raised in a shaky plea. Though her limbs quivered, her eyes held steady as they met Gwyndolin's with quiet defiance.
"Do you all plan to just tear each other apart while the world dies around us?!"
Her voice cracked, but she didn't falter. She turned, looking at all of them—gods, warriors, monsters—and despite how small she was, her words seemed to momentarily still the chaos.
"All this power gathered here, all this knowledge, and the only thing anyone can think of figuring is who dies next? Why can't we stop this? Why not fight together and fix what's left before it's too late?"
For a heartbeat, the air seemed to still.
But Oscar's voice cut through, low and bitter.
"You have no idea what you're talking about." His tone was harsh, though not nearly as venomous as before. "No idea what he's done. The lives he's cost—"
"And where were YOU during all of this?" Anastacia snapped back without thinking, her voice unexpectedly sharp. She took a bold step forward, startling even herself. "The help would have been more than welcomed to prevent this madness, so where were you when it all started falling apart and the world was brought to the brink?! What were you doing?!"
Oscar's mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Anastacia didn't let up.
"Because I can tell you exactly where the Prophet was. He was fighting. He was doing everything in his power to stop it!" Her breath trembled, but she pushed on. "You stand there and place blame, but you're the one who doesn't know anything! All you've done is lash out and point fingers—who does that help, Oscar? How many more will die while we waste time here fighting each other?"
Oscar stiffened, the heat radiating off him seeming to cool just slightly. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words died on his tongue.
"Hell yeah! Put him in his place, Anna!" Yuria's voice rang out smugly from behind.
Anastacia's head snapped around.
"Yuria, STOP! IT!" she barked, surprising everyone—including herself.
Yuria blinked, then chuckled under her breath, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Damn."
Anastacia's breath was shaky as she turned back, but before she could continue, Gwyndolin lurched forward.
"Get out of my way…" Gwyndolin's words were a rasping snarl. His grip on his catalyst tightened, his body trembling from exhaustion, but the fury in his eyes didn't waver.
Unfortunately, his body gave out for the briefest of moments and his vision went black, before he stumbled forward and was about to fall. Without thinking, Anastacia lunged forward, catching him before he could collapse. His frail weight sagged against her, yet he still tried to shove her away.
"Stop. You can barely stand; Let alone try and fight the Prophet, or Velka or anyone else right now." Anastacia exclaimed with concern, retaining her nerve despite the look of bloody murder in the gods eyes.
"I said MOVE!" Gwyndolin snarled, his free hand shoving at her shoulder.
"Hey!" Kaylen exclaimed as he quickly stood up fully, close enough to send a blade through Gwyndolin's skull before he even knew what hit him.
And he wasn't the only one. Velka, without a word, flexed her fingers, her sorcery weaving unseen along the ground—ready to strike. A network of unseen blades waited for her command.
"Anna…" Velka's voice was low, carrying a cold warning. It wasn't a plea. It was a command veiled in concern, her sharp eyes fixed on the fragile figure standing too close to danger.
But Anastacia didn't flinch.
"Velka, please." Her voice trembled, but the resolve in it was unshakable. "Let me try."
Velka's eyes narrowed further, her silence lingering like a blade poised to strike. Yet, she didn't move. The smallest hesitation, the slightest flicker in her sharp gaze, was the only permission Anastacia would get.
And it was enough.
Drawing a steady breath, Anastacia returned her focus to the weakened god sagging against her. She moved slowly, carefully—not as someone pitying a broken man, but as someone who refused to let anger dictate what happened next.
"Just… hold still for a moment."
Her voice was soft, steady.
Gently, she lifted her talisman between them, its faint glow flickering like a fragile flame in the dark. Soft, warm light bled from it, flowing over Gwyndolin's battered form. The magic was weak, barely a ripple of healing energy, but it was enough to soothe the sharpest edges of his pain, to clear the fog clouding his mind and steady his breath.
The god's body relaxed by a fraction, but his pride bristled against the comfort.
"This means nothing, woman." His voice was sharper than before, anger lacing every word. But it was thinner now—strained.
Anastacia's eyes softened, but she didn't recoil.
"I don't want to believe that," she said softly, her voice as steady as the light between them. "Maybe it could mean everything right now. The difference between saving what's left of this world… or watching it all die for nothing."
Gwyndolin's breath caught—a faltering, brittle thing. The weight of Anastacia's words hung in the frozen air, heavier than any weapon raised against him.
His grip on his catalyst loosened, just barely, the knuckles whitening less beneath his pale skin.
"Nothing?"
The word tumbled from his lips, barely more than a breath, but sharp and raw. His eyes, cold and clouded with fury, flicked toward Kaylen, burning with accusation.
"My home is gone. My people… slaughtered, scattered to the winds. The flame is all but dead, icy death claims what little remains, and this…monster is responsible for it all."
His voice trembled, thin and brittle, as though speaking it aloud only deepened the cut.
"And you speak to me of ceasing? Of praising him?"
The bitterness in his voice coiled tightly, threatening to snap. The hatred clawed its way back to the surface, gnawing at his restraint, pulling him toward the easy comfort of blame. Toward the violence that felt like justice.
But Anastacia moved before the fury could consume him. Slowly, gently, she lifted a hand and placed it against his cheek.
The contact was feather-light, impossibly soft. Gwyndolin's entire body stiffened at the unexpected tough—shocked, confused. No blow came, no command, no venomous words. Just warmth.
Her thumb brushed along the edge of his jaw, guiding his gaze back to hers.
Her eyes met his, earnest and unwavering.
"I'm sorry." The words were so quiet, yet they struck like a hammer to glass. There was no condescension, no pity. Only truth. "I can't imagine the pain you carry, or suffering you feel…" she whispered, her voice barely above the wind. "But you're not the only one who's lost everything."
The silence that followed was suffocating; wordlessly conveying to Gwyndolin that she knew more than enough about loss and pain.
"When does it stop?" she asked softly. "The endless cycle of killing… the anger… the suffering. When will it finally come to an end?"
Gwyndolin didn't answer. His breath was shallow and the anger still remained, but for the first time, the storm behind his eyes didn't seem so boundless. Her hand never left his cheek, warm and steady against the biting cold of his skin.
"Tell me," she whispered, and her voice cracked slightly—not from fear, but from the sheer weight of the truth. "Will shedding more blood soothe your pain? Will taking more lives mend the damage done? Will it even provide a brief respite from the pain you're feeling? Or will it simple leave you standing in the ashes…alone?"
The words dug deep, cutting past armor and fury, slipping like knives beneath the skin. His grip on the catalyst wavered. The weight of it suddenly felt heavier, almost alien in his grasp.
Anastacia's hand didn't move. It stayed warm and steady against his chilled skin, a stark contrast to the cold fury within him.
"It's not too late," she said softly, each word deliberate, steady. "We can still make this right. All this death, all this suffering…this doesn't have to be the way it continues. But first…someone has to say "enough". To stop feeding all this hate."
Anastacia lowers her hand and locks eyes with Gwyndolin with a look of pleading.
"What do you say? Can we let it all stop here?"
For a heartbeat, Gwyndolin didn't move.
The storm in his eyes slowed, the cold fury flickering as if something deep inside strained to reach for the light Anastacia offered.
But then, like a shutter closing, it was gone.
His breath left him in a slow, ragged sigh, and the weight of centuries seemed to settle back onto his shoulders. His grip tightened on his catalyst—not with fury now, but with resignation.
"I'm sorry…" Gwyndolin murmured, his voice hollow.
With a gesture of his catalyst, the ground beneath Anastacia's feet shifted and moved, a gentle but unyielding force guiding her aside. No violence. No aggression. Just getting her out of the way.
His eyes, once burning with anger, now seemed tired—haunted—but unwavering as they locked onto Kaylen.
"…But this is all I have left."
The Dark Sun forced himself forward, his minorly healed body barley sliding forward with a faint semblance of nobility and dignity. His robes, once pristine and regal, were torn and stained, and his proud bearing had been stripped down to a frail, hollow echo of what it once was.
He locked his gaze on Kaylen, dismissing everyone else as if they were irrelevant dust. The air around him seemed to drop in temperature as he took a step closer, his focus so absolute that it seemed to cut through the atmosphere like a blade.
Kaylen's face remained unreadable as he stepped forward as well. He met Gwyndolin's icy stare with a steady gaze, unflinching, his expression shadowed with a faint hint of apology as he took in the weakened god before him.
Soon enough, both man and god stood face to face with one another.
Gwyndolin's voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it carried with it a hate sharp enough to cut through stone. "…You destroyed my home," he said, his tone as frigid as the desolate landscape around them, each word laced with a depth of bitterness that made even the air around them feel heavy.
At Gwyndolin's words, a heavy, simmering tension fell over the group, each person reacting to the broken god's seething presence in their own way. Priscilla's eyes softened with sorrow as she took in the state of Gwyndolin. Anastacia bit her lip, torn between pity and a gnawing discomfort at the venom she felt radiating from him.
Solaire's steady gaze, hidden beneath his helmet, gave no clue as to his feelings, though his posture stiffened subtly, a silent readiness settling in his frame. Quelaan's shrewd eyes narrowed as she weighed whether intervening would be beneficial or a detriment to side, while Quelaag merely stood and witnessed with a sense of investment of how things would transpire between Gwyndolin. Oscar, too, held his silence, and watched with just as much wary investment to the gods actions.
Velka exhaled slowly, her dark eyes shadowed with a glimmer of something old—regret, perhaps, or memory. She had known Gwyndolin in a time before all of this, when dignity wasn't an illusion. Now, she saw only a fractured remnant, and though she felt no pity, there was a somber weight in her stare.
But Yuria—Yuria only smiled.
A cruel, curling grin twisted her lips as she leaned forward, her eyes glinting with dark amusement. She drank in Gwyndolin's broken state, savoring his bitterness as though it were a fine wine.
"Wow~. Leave it to a god to be handed a clear way out, only to turn away from it and keep going down a path of self destruction. Classic." Yuria mocked with clear amusement. "Congrats, Gwyndolin, you were officially too weak of mind to see past your own emotions and failings. Heh, oh well. Can't say we didn't try. But hey, you can still die impressively. You've got the spotlight, you've got my lords attention. Now…try and do something halfway interesting."
Gwyndolin's gaze didn't so much as flicker to Yuria, dismissing her with words chilling indifference. His cold, hard eyes stayed locked onto to Kaylen, his attention narrowing to a singular focus.
"...I challenge you, human." he said, his voice steady, the calm finality of his tone laced with an ancient fury that sent a chill through the air. "One man to another…and may only the stronger of us walk away."
The words hung in the frozen air, a dark charge filling the silence as Gwyndolin's gaze bore into Kaylen, the chill around them thickening. With Kaylen himself never once turning away; His own gaze steely and collected.
It was only when he heard a barley contained snickering that his attention shifted.
"Pffft, HAHAHA, oh! Oh, goodness, that is halfway interesting. Heh, heh, I mean look at you. Standing there with all the dignity of a glorified worm trying to challenge my lord. HA! It's adorable." Yuria laughed mockingly. "Well, little prince, take pride in at least getting to go on out a high note with dignity. Unlike your all your friends and your useless, burned to a crisp fath-."
WHIPSS
Before she could finish her sentence, a deafening crack reverberated through the air, cutting her off like a clap of thunder. A gleaming spear of sorcery materialized behind Yuria. With a flick of Kaylen's wrist and a mental command, it snapped forward and lashed across her backside in one clean, brutal stroke.
The force of it cracked like lightning, lifting Yuria clear off her feet for a fleeting second. A strangled gasp tore from her throat, sharp and breathless, as she crumpled forward, catching herself on trembling hands.
Silence followed, hanging heavy in the wake of the strike. The sharp sound echoed through the air, with the suddenness of it startling even the onlookers.
Kaylen's voice broke the stillness, calm but razor-edged. "You're getting a little to comfortable running your mouth without thinking. I might have decided not to just kill you, but there are things that are in bad taste to say even when you're halfway insane. Step out of line with talk like that again and you'll get worse than that, Yuria."
Yuria remained frozen where she'd fallen, her breath coming in shaky, shallow bursts. The sting of the sorcery carved hot pain across her skin—but the pain soon rippled into something else upon realizing it was her lords who'd done it.
Her fingers twitched against the ground.
The pain spread like fire, and then melted into a shivering, warped pleasure.
Her head dipped lower, trembling, lips parting in a breathless, broken sigh. A soft, almost giddy sound escaped her throat. Then, slowly—deliberately—she pushed herself upright onto her knees.
A visible shiver rolled through her frame.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wild and dilated with a crazed pleasure. Her breath was ragged, but her lips stretched into a slow, fervent smile.
"My lord," she breathed, voice dripping with reverence and something far more unhinged. "Forgive me. Thank you for correcting me." Her words trembled, thick with delirious gratitude. "Please… punish me again if I fail you. I-I will be silent now. I will obey."
Kaylen cast a judgmental look at Yuria's groveling form as he let the sorcery staff dissolve back into the air and turned his attention back to Gwyndolin.
"Sorry about her. She's a little off her rocker." His tone was casual, dismissive, as if apologizing for an overeager dog barking at a passerby.
"Spare me your drivel." Gwyndolin responded in a none perturbed manner. "I lay claim to your life before creation. Will you prove yourself a coward, hide behind your numbers…or will accept my challenge?"
For a long moment, Kaylen said nothing. He simply met Gwyndolin's glare head-on.
Then—he chuckled.
It was low at first, almost under his breath, but it grew, a wry, amused grin spreading across his face.
"Heh. You're serious." Kaylen tilted his head, lips curling with genuine amusement. "Damn. Gotta admit, that's kinda badass."
For a brief moment, his body flickered, shrouded in curling black flames that licked at his form. Like a ghost slipping through the cracks of reality, Kaylen seemed to dissolve, reappearing in a wisp of dark fire behind Gwyndolin. Then, again, to his side. Then the other. Each movement was smooth, deliberate, a slow circling of a predator sizing up its prey.
"Heh, yeah…" Kaylen mused, circling. "Crazy or now, Yuria's got a point. This is halfway interesting." He stopped directly in front of Gwyndolin again, meeting his cold stare without hesitation. His smirk widened. "We got a phrase for this kind of thing where I'm from; It's called a "One V One". A dual between two warrior that is respected and honored; No interference from others. And those who cheat the duel or get help are seen as the lowest of the low; Less than nothing."
"We could just walk away, Prophet…" With a tinge of disgrace in her voice, Velka spoke up. Kaylen shifted his gaze to see her looking at him with shame evident in her eyes. "The point of it all was for you to get back to us and we're together now. You, me and Anastacia have each other again. Struggling against him now serves no purpose."
"Heh, heh…There is no world where turning away from him here wouldn't weigh on your heart, Velka." Kaylen said replied.
"…What's one more regret amongst countless others?" Velka questioned simply, her shame mingling with a bit of frustration, unwilling to look up Gwyndolin as she spoke.
"…No. I have to face him. After everything, he's owed this and we both know it." Kaylen said with a sigh as he turned back towards Gwyndolin. "Besides, world would be a lot darker of a place if Gwyndolin went and died, or spent all his time seeking vengeance on me. Better that I just kick his ass and bring him back after. We'll talk then."
At Kaylen's casual challenge, Gwyndolin's thin frame seemed to straighten, the quiet rage simmering beneath his hollowed eyes surging to the surface. His grip on his catalyst tightened, knuckles white with strain.
"So assured of your victory…" Gwyndolin's voice was a low hiss, sharpened by fury. "But I am still here, and this is far from over." His breath came in ragged, bitter pulls. "I don't care if this body tears itself apart. I swear, I will see you dead."
Kaylen's smirk sharpened into something colder, more deliberate. He took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them, and jabbed a finger hard against Gwyndolin's chest, the contact deliberate and defiant.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll try." His voice dropped lower, heat simmering beneath the words. "But here's the thing—you and I are both needed for what's coming. So, go ahead and give it everything you've got."
Kaylen leaned in just slightly, his eyes narrowing.
"We both have a lot to answer for. And I've still got a bone to pick with you about a few things."
The tension between them crackled like a live wire, the air thick with the promise of violence.
Before the moment could ignite, Quelaan's voice sliced through the air—silken, amused, and unmistakably dangerous.
"Well, if the matter's settled, it would be terribly unfair for you two to fight all beaten and battered, wouldn't it?" Quelaan's smirk was sharp, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
She stepped forward with a languid grace, raising her pale hands slowly. Flame flickered to life between her palms—a small, coiling ember that grew into a roiling sphere of molten heat, pulsing with chaotic energy.
"Let make it a fair fight." She leaned in slightly, her breath curling with heat as she playfully blew on the sphere.
The sphere surged forward, expanding as it drifted lazily between Kaylen and Gwyndolin. The warmth of it rolled outward like a wave, suffusing the air with thick, cloying heat. It wasn't scorching—no, this fire was different. It was alive, coiling through the air with purpose.
Both men felt it seep into their battered bodies. Gwyndolin's breath hitched as the agonizing weight of his wounds lightened, the fractures and searing pain dulling as the flame knit his broken body back together. Yet his expression didn't soften—his glare remained locked on Kaylen, cold and merciless.
Kaylen rolled his shoulders with a satisfying crack, flexing his hands as the stiffness bled away. His joints moved easier, the burning pain in his limbs dulling to a faint ache. He tilted his head back slightly, letting out a slow breath.
"Healing Pyromancy. Heh, I thought this kind of thing wasn't supposed to be around until a few cycles of reigniting the flame had passed. What was it called…Oh! Right! Its as in Dranglaic. The "Warmth" Pyromancy." Kaylen mused aloud.
But the moment of relief soured as a sharp, familiar pain pulsed in his chest.
The wound on his chest— the one from Priscilla jamming her claws into his body.
Instead of easing, the pain sharpened, a slow, throbbing burn that curled beneath his ribs. He grimaced, subtly shifting his stance as if to shake it off, but the dull ache gnawed persistently at him.
"Can a real strike from Anti-Life not be healed then? That sucks."
"Right then. Yuria!" Kaylen's voice rang out, sharp and commanding.
"My lord?" Yuria straightened immediately, her eyes alight with unwavering attention.
Kaylen didn't glance at her, his focus locked on Gwyndolin. "Look alive. You've got my memories, my know-how. That means I expect you to use it."
The words carried weight, a rare edge that made Yuria stiffen.
"I'm on the clock here," Kaylen continued, voice steady but underscored by urgency. "Lifehunt is already gnawing at my soul, and unless we find a way to stop it, I'm the main course. Now tell me, where's the best place to find knowledge that might actually help with that?"
"What?! Lifehunt is killing y-?!" Before she could finish her sentence, her own hand snapped across her face in a brutal, reflexive strike, leaving a red imprint on her cheek. Her body trembled for a heartbeat, then stilled. The eerie calm that followed was unsettling. Her voice dropped to a reverent, icy tone. "The Duke's Archives. With Seath, my lord."
"Father…" Priscilla's voice barely rose above a whisper, but the tremor of fear in it cut through the noise.
Kaylen caught it. He didn't turn, but his expression tightened.
"Yeah… I know, Cil. I get it." His voice softened for a fleeting moment. "But if anyone's got the knowledge to help me stand a chance against you, it's Seath. I know what he's done to you and I won't tell you to face him. But I'm not just going to lay down and let you…well, eat me." His words hung in the cold air, blunt and honest. "I hope you to find the courage to face him though. Not for me…For us."
Priscilla's breath hitched, but no answer came. Her silence spoke louder than any words.
Kaylen didn't wait. His attention snapped back to Yuria.
"Yuria. Consider this your first official order: Take everyone with you and find something I can use. Anything. Bring them up to speed, answer every question, and for fuck's sake, don't let anyone lose their minds reading some cursed book or something."
Yuria beamed a happiness that could scarcely be put into words, before she bowed her head deeply. "As you command, my lord! I won't let you down!"
"Enough." Gwyndolin's voice was barely above a whisper, but it struck the air like a hammer, final and absolute. The ground beneath them quaked, brittle ice cracking as the frozen earth began to pulse unnaturally.
With a surge of sheer will, Gwyndolin's illusionary magic tore through the ground like a storm unleashed. Massive, jagged pillars of obsidian stone erupted violently beneath both him and Kaylen. They didn't rise—they exploded, obliterating the ground in a shockwave of foce that sent both of them rocketing skyward.
Kaylen barely had a second to register the sudden weightlessness before the wind screamed in his ears. The world spun wildly, the towering parapets of Anor Londo falling away beneath him, shrinking as he soared past them.
Then, gravity reclaimed him.
The sky twisted, and Kaylen plummeted, the ruined cityscape of Anor Londo yawning open below—a graveyard of splintered stone and ice, dark and sprawling like a frozen corpse.
Too fast.
The wind tore at him, ice biting at his skin. The stone structure that made up the cathedral above seemed to stretch impossibly far down beside him. Instinct surged. A pulse of sorcery ignited in his core, vine-like tendrils of magic laced through his limbs and coated his surroundings. With a snap of focus, he twisted midair, arms out, feet beneath him—stable.
His senses sharpened, and that was when he saw him.
Gwyndolin.
Falling parallel, a short distance away, robes billowing like wings of shadow. The god's pallid face was calm, undisturbed by the freefall. His cold, merciless gaze locked onto Kaylen.
Kaylen's lips curled into a grin, though the adrenaline thumped wildly in his chest.
"Places to be and shit to do," he called over the rushing wind, voice sharp and cocky. "So let's make this good, Gwyndolin!"
The god didn't blink. Didn't sneer. His hand merely rose, catalyst glinting in the dim light.
"As you wish."
The air ripped as Gwyndolin raised his catalyst and the stone rushing beside Kaylen faltered for a fraction of a second.
Then it screamed.
A monstrous stone serpent, its body carved from obsidian and frost, lunged toward Kaylen. Its massive fangs, like jagged blades, glinted as its maw stretched wide to consume him whole.
"Shit!" Kaylen hissed, arms snapping up reflexively.
He moved.
Sorcery flared through his limbs, and with a precise twist, he angled himself perfectly just as the serpent was about to swallow him completely. At the last second, he grabbed hold of its massive fangs, his body swinging as he jammed his foot into its rocky maw, halting himself from being eaten.
Now plummeting that much faster and with a beast made of stone bearing down on him, Kaylen scrambled to think fast and do something about it.
But then-.
From the shadows within the serpent's throat, Gwyndolin stepped forward, emerging as if born from the creature itself. His dark bow already drawn, the arrow of conjured sorcery aimed squarely at Kaylen's head.
"Shit, not bad!" Kaylen said with a dark smirk before Gwyndolin wordlessly relaxed his grip and the arrow was sent flying.
Velka stood still, wings tucked close to her back, her sharp eyes narrowed on the empty sky where Kaylen and Gwyndolin had vanished. The brittle frost underfoot cracked softly as she shifted her weight, arms crossed, dissatisfaction etched into every line of her face.
"Foolish," Velka muttered under her breath, the word barely audible over the wind. "An "honorable" duel... at the end of the world. Ridiculous. You should have just stayed, you idiot."
The bitterness in her tone was sharp, though it masked the gnawing unease curling in her chest. Letting Kaylen go, letting him face Gwyndolin alone, felt like a concession to pride and sentiment in a world where neither had any place left.
A light, lilting voice broke through the stillness.
"Aww, aren't you going to go after him?"
Quelaan's words slipped out with a mocking sweetness, her pale spider limbs elegantly poised as if she were commenting on a passing cloud. A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, her sharp eyes glinting with a kind of playful malice.
Velka didn't turn to face her. Her gaze remained fixed on the horizon, the cold wind tugging at the feathers of her wings.
"I'm not so short sighted as the prophet or everyone else, Quelaan. You supported their conflict to get them out of the way for now so you can get your bearings. I'd place a bet that your aim is probably Anastacia for now." Velka said dryly
"I'm certain I don't know what you mean." Quelaan said with a sly smirk.
"You're little schemes are as plain as day. Besides…I don't need to go." Velka replied flatly, her voice dry and irritated. "Priscilla dove after him the second he was out of sight."
For a brief, suspended moment, silence fell again.
Then, as if Velka's words had lifted a veil, every eye in the group darted around—searching.
The Pale crossbreed was gone.
Not a single trace of her remained. No shift in the snow, no lingering chill in the air beyond the natural cold. It was as if she had melted into the sky itself, chasing after Kaylen without hesitation.
Quelaan raised a pale brow, looking mildly impressed. "Well...You'd think someone of her size would make a little more noise on the way out."
Velka exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation. "She's an idiot just as much as he is. We could use her help, but she'd just as rather throw herself off an edge with no idea what's below than actually think things through."
A tense stillness settled as Velka turned to Quelaan and started to speak —until a voice suddenly spoke up.
"NO! NO, NO, NO!" Yuria's scream cut through the air like a dagger, shrill and panicked.
All eyes snapped to her as she clutched her head with both hands, her body trembling.
"Oh, gods, oh, no, I told Reah and the others to burn the archives! I sent them to burn it all!" She stumbled forward a step, nearly collapsing as she howled in horror. "AAAAAAHHHH!"
Amidst Yuria screaming, a multitude of deep rumbling snarl emanated just beyond the group at the stairway, prompting everyone to turn their attention towards the sight of a large group of horrid demon ascending the stairs.
"Uh, Velka?" Anstacia said with a bit of concern as she quickly retreated behind the Goddess of Sin.
"Wonderful." Velka said with a sigh with mild annoyance.
"Ah, perfect timing." Quelaan commented nonchalantly before turning back towards the group as a whole with a smile on her face. "Okay, so now that big speeches are done and everyone's got their feelings out in the open, I think its about time we had a discussion on terms on our relationship moving forward."
AAAAAAAAHHH! I DID IIIIITT!
Alright, I'm not gonna ramble on for long because I am incredibly eager to get this chapter out, but I made a lot of changes in trying to keep things focused on the main cast instead of introducing Manus and Kalameet here.
There was a lot of interactions I wanted to do, but ultimately, I decided that it would probably be best to trim things down for once and keep it a little simple.
I wanted to try and give the feel of Kaylen being back to his old self. Really explore that chemistry he has with Velka, Anastacia and Priscilla by showing him being a little more casual and cute with how he interacts with them. While also show how protective he is when their threatened by someone like Oscar. The idea was to push that Kaylen has grown beyond the man he was when the journey started out and that this show by how he is willing to fight or threaten Oscar if push comes to shove.
Also, I was kind've in love with the idea of Anastacia stepping forward and, being the weakest out of anyone there, becoming the voice of reason amongst all these gods and monster; Basically telling everyone "Hey! Can any of you stop and think for a second?! We're all going to die!". So I hope her time in the spotlight was an interesting read for you guys.
As well as I really wanted to give Gwyndolin give Gwyndolin more of a feel of just being so tired of all the bullshit and the loss, but I didn't want him to just give in to working alongside the prophet. This is a man who has lost his family, his home, his legacy and has even been betrayed by a woman he considered a friend. I wanted him to feel as if at this point, he just wants to give into to placing blame, while also showing a bit of his nobility and honor.
It was also a ton of fun writing the interaction for everyone else, though, in my effort to keep things a little trimmed down and focused, I kinda had to cut out Oscar and Solaire from the interaction towards the end as I wanted to give the spotlight over to Gwyndolin and Kaylen's conflict. So interested to here you guys opinions on that.
But anyways, that's all I have to say this time around, ladies and gents.
As always, feel free to leave a review and tell me what you guys thought about this chapter of the story. Was Anastacia trying to speak to everyone convincing or just annoying given the circumstances? Was Gwyndolin actions a little too stubborn or nonsensical to make sense? (Challenging Kaylen to a 1v1 in the middle of the apocalypse. XD) Was Kaylen, Velka, Anastacia and priscilla's interaction actually cute as I planned or was it a little immersion breaking?
Honest opinions are always appreciated as I'm always looking to improve my style of writing to make this story a bit more interesting for you guys. so don't be shy in telling me your thoughts about how things are going so far. Outside opinions will have a huge effect on how this story will play out.
This is Supreme Gamer, Signing out.
P.S. I CAN FINALLY WRITE KAYLEN VS GWYNDOLIN, BABYYYY! *Insert Giorno Giovanna theme here*