Breathing became a genuine challenge for Aisling. The air was not scarce, but its stifling heat seemed to draw every ounce of moisture from her body with each inhale. It felt as though she were walking inside a massive sweat lodge, like the ones used for purification rituals on Nimrach at the start of the year. But here, the suffocating heat stretched endlessly in every direction—a blazing furnace where even the faintest breeze seemed laden with an invisible weight. Sweat poured in streams down her skin, and she feared she would end up desiccated, shriveled like a fruit left too long under the scorching sun.

She glanced at War and Uriel, hoping to find some comfort in their supernatural endurance. But even they seemed affected. The Horseman moved with an unusual heaviness, his steps deliberate to conserve energy. Uriel, meanwhile, labored to keep her wings aloft above them. The searing air robbed her feathers of their usual efficiency in creating a refreshing current.

Around them, the landscape appeared to have been consumed by a ravenous fire, leaving only ash and charred rock in its wake. The ground was loose and treacherous, crumbling beneath their steps and slowing their progress. It felt as if she were walking on a shifting carpet of gray dust, every step a struggle against the fine material that seeped into everything—clinging to her boots, her clothes, and filling her lungs with every movement.

Jagged rock formations jutted from the ground like claws reaching for the sky. Their dark surfaces glimmered with an eerie sheen, as if they still retained the heat of the inferno that had forged them. Some were so sharp that they had to constantly divert their path to avoid injury.

In the distance, wild and menacing cries echoed, their source unseen but their presence oppressive. War, leading the group, was as tense as a drawn bowstring. Uriel, soaring above, appeared no less alert. She flew lower than usual, her wings beating slowly to avoid drawing too much attention, never straying far and ready to dive at the slightest sign of danger.

At last, they emerged from the chaos of ash and charred stone to confront a landscape both surreal and terrifying. Before them stretched the edge of a colossal crater, a gaping chasm so vast it defied comprehension. The crater's edges appeared to have been violently torn from the earth, as if an unimaginably powerful force had smashed into the ground, reshaping it entirely. Heat radiated from the abyss, wrapping everything in a suffocating haze, while thin wisps of smoke lazily drifted from the fissures.

The crater's floor presented a vision both mesmerizing and nightmarish. Pools of glowing lava, a brilliant molten red, dotted the darkness like luminescent stains. Each varied in size—some no larger than ponds, while others sprawled as massive as entire lakes. Between these fiery expanses lay barren fields of blackened ash, making it seem as though the ground itself was perpetually ablaze. No sign of life stirred in this place. Only the grotesquely twisted, charred remains of demons littered the ground. Amid the desolation, enormous claw marks gouged deep into the molten rock told of the past presence of a monstrous and colossal creature.

Above this infernal scene loomed a citadel. Constructed from dark stone, it seemed to float, suspended by massive bridges that connected it to the edges of the crater. A colossal golden chain descended from the main building. Massive and imposing, it gleamed amidst the fiery hellscape, its golden glow starkly contrasting with the surrounding darkness. The chain plunged directly into one of the largest lava lakes, disappearing into its blistering depths.

From where they stood, Aisling could make out silhouettes stationed on the bridges and at the citadel's entrances. Winged sentinels, heavily armed, patrolled with a vigilance that left no room for doubt.

"Angels," War observed, turning toward Uriel. "Why are they here?"

Uriel did not respond immediately. The angelic warrior stared at the citadel with an expression Aisling had never seen on her before: anxiety, almost fear. Her usually steadfast posture faltered slightly, and she averted her gaze, as though unable to bear the sight any longer.

"I... I don't know," she finally murmured, but her voice betrayed her discomfort.

Her wings folded tightly against her back, as if trying to shield herself.

"This was a mistake," she suddenly continued, breaking the silence, her voice carried an urgent, almost desperate tone. "I shouldn't have brought you here."

"I understand this is difficult for you, Uriel, but—" War began, frowning, his warrior instincts sensing an unspoken truth.

"No, you don't understand!" she snapped, cutting him off sharply. Her plea, almost imploring, was a stark contrast to her usual confident demeanor. "We shouldn't stay here. We have to leave. Now."

As War and Uriel became increasingly engrossed in their heated argument, Aisling remained silent, captivated by what she was seeing. Her eyes were fixed on the golden chain. Something about its movement drew her attention. At first, she thought it was an illusion, the heat's distortion tricking her eyes. But no. At regular intervals, the chain seemed to tremble, as though something deep within the lava lake was weakly pulling at it.

She frowned, narrowing her eyes to focus more intently. No, it wasn't an illusion. It looked like… breathing.

"Guys…" she murmured hesitantly.

Neither War nor Uriel paid her any attention, too absorbed in their argument. She raised her voice slightly, urgency creeping into her tone.

"Guys! I think—"

She stopped mid-sentence, her breath catching in her throat. Beneath her feet, she felt a faint, almost imperceptible vibration. The chain had just trembled more violently. Something beneath the surface had awakened.

Without warning, the ashen ground beneath her gave way. She let out a muffled cry as she slid down a steep incline, her body carried by gravity. Her hands scrambled desperately for something to hold onto, but the ash and charred rock slipped through her fingers like water. Her heart pounded wildly as the bottom of the crater loomed closer, where molten lava shimmered in a blazing, fiery red.

The searing heat rising from the lakes hit her full force. Waves of distortion rippled through the air, amplifying the sensation of being trapped in a waking nightmare. She was falling, inexorably, the terrible heat of the lava already seeming to reach for her. Her throat tightened as vertigo consumed her. She wanted to scream, but terror stole her voice.

A sudden, violent pressure gripped her wrists. Before she could comprehend what was happening, a force yanked her backward. The impact was jarring: her back hit the ground with a dull thud, but she welcomed the pain with immense relief. She was no longer falling.

Panting heavily, she looked up and saw a familiar figure above her. Nimue. Having emerged from her ring, the ethereal Watcher hovered lightly, her usually serene face marked by an uncharacteristic intensity.

"Thank you," Aisling whispered, her voice trembling.

The two exchanged a glance heavy with emotion: the relief of narrowly escaping death mingled with a lingering, unspoken dread. Nimue seemed tense, as though bracing for another imminent disaster.

And she was right.

"What is that doing here?"

War's voice shattered the silence—low, deliberate, and laced with an icy hatred. Every word carried the weight of a latent threat, dripping with contempt. Aisling turned to see the Horseman, his dark red armor glinting faintly in the lava's glow. His gaze was fixed on Nimue, his eyes burning with barely contained fury. Uriel had stepped closer as well, her expression rife with suspicion that rivaled War's.

Aisling pushed herself to her feet with difficulty, her heart still pounding in her chest. She stepped between Nimue and the Horseman, acutely aware of the tension crackling in the air.

"She's my friend," she declared, her voice steady despite her ragged breathing. "She's saved my life more than once."

But War seemed in no mood to listen. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his massive sword, as if preparing to deliver immediate judgment. Nimue remained still, not seeming to know how to react. The Horseman growled, his clenched teeth distorting his words into raw fury.
"That thing has no place here. Her kind are nothing but spies for the Council—sadistic, cowardly creatures."

Aisling stepped forward at once, hands raised in a mix of anger and panic surging through her veins.

"Not her! She's different, she's with me, she—no!"

She didn't have time to finish. War moved with brutal speed, grabbing Nimue by the head with a mechanical gesture of his blackened gauntlet. The small ethereal being didn't even have a chance to react, so overwhelming was the Horseman's strength. Suspended in the air like a ragdoll, she seemed impossibly small in his grasp.

"War, let her go!" Aisling screamed, her heart threatening to burst from her chest, her voice breaking with panic.

The Rider's massive fingers began to tighten, a terrifying creak emanating from his gauntlet as he prepared to crush Nimue entirely.

"We can't take the risk…" he growled, his voice low and cold.

Uriel stepped forward to pull Aisling back, but the young woman shrugged off the angel's grip. Without thinking, she lunged forward, grabbing War's powerful arm in a desperate attempt to make him release his hold.

"WAR, STOP!"

With an impatient and brusque motion, War shoved her aside, but he had underestimated his own strength. His gauntleted hand struck Aisling's face violently, the heat from it searing her skin. Once again, an urgent presentiment of what was to come did not allow the young woman to avoid the blow. She hit the ground hard, her cheek ablaze with pain, her senses reeling. The agony was sharp and scorching, but it was nothing compared to what she saw next.

War changed.

In a whirlwind of blinding flames, his form gave way to a monstrous, titanic abomination. His flesh transformed into a horrifying blend of burning scales and black armor. A reptilian tail lashed the air with brutal force, while two massive wings unfurled behind him. His incandescent eyes burned with pure rage, and his maw, bristling with jagged fangs, opened in a roar that made the surrounding rocks tremble. Nimue, still clutched in his clawed hand, looked like a fragile, flickering flame. Finally, he released her, letting her fall to the ground like a discarded object, devoid of worth.

Then he slowly turned toward Aisling, his monstrous figure towering over her. His voice erupted in a roar that shook the very air around them. Aisling froze, paralyzed. For the first time, the crushing weight of the idea struck her: War had the power to obliterate all of humanity if he chose to. She was nothing compared to him. Absolutely nothing.

Uriel stepped in, placing herself between them with a desperate swiftness. Her hands raised, she tried to calm the monstrous Horseman.

"War! Please, calm yourself! You'll draw attention!"

War's fiery eyes locked onto the angel, and for a moment, he seemed to hesitate. His ragged breathing slowed slightly, and the blazing fury in his eyes dimmed. But Aisling didn't wait to see if the storm would subside. A surge of adrenaline propelled her to her feet. Her survival instinct took over, and she bolted, weaving between jagged rocks and shifting ash in a desperate escape.

Nimue, flickering weakly, materialized beside her, hovering unsteadily, her glow dimmed by a visible burn on her face. Neither of them knew how long they ran, driven by sheer panic, until Aisling stumbled into the ash and collapsed to the ground.

She lay there, curled up, her uncontrollable sobs mingling with her ragged breaths. Her entire body shook, her eyes stung, and she realized she was crying. Nimue landed gently beside her, placing a light, comforting hand on her arm.

"Shh… It's okay… It's going to be okay," she murmured with infinite tenderness.

Aisling looked up at her through tear-filled eyes.

"What… what was that?" she stammered.

Nimue hesitated, her hand continuing to gently pat Aisling's arm as she searched for the right words. Then, noticing the burn on Aisling's cheek, she knelt to examine it carefully.

"He didn't mean to hurt you… You weren't the target of his wrath," she said softly.

But Aisling broke down again, her exhaustion, fury and terror spilling over in an uncontrollable wave.

"I can't do this… I don't know what they expect from me, but I just can't do it," she cried.

"Don't say that," Nimue replied, her voice laced with sorrow and kindness. "Look how far you've already come!"

Aisling shook her head, her hands clutching at her temples.

"It's pointless. Nothing has changed. Earth is still uninhabitable, the other humans are still in hiding, and they're still in danger. And children are still born without souls! I feel… useless."

Nimue let out a sigh, placing a reassuring hand on Aisling's shoulder.

"You're tired... Your mission is hard, but you're the only one who can accomplish it."

"Anyone would do better than me," Aisling muttered. "Idris, Fenja, or any warrior from Nimrach... I'm too weak. I'm... not enough."

Nimue tilted her head, her voice gentle yet firm:

"I've been with you since the beginning. You can succeed. Breathe… War will calm down too. We'll go back there, and we'll explain why I came with you. He'll be hard to convince—he definitely holds a deep grudge against anyone of my kind—but we'll get through this. And I'm sure he'll be sorry for… Aisling!"

The young woman looked down. In her frantic escape, she had stumbled onto what appeared to be a stone platform. Her fall had swept away the thick layer of ash covering it, revealing intricate patterns carved directly into the black, smooth surface.

An iridescent blue glow began to emerge from the grooves of the carvings. The light grew rapidly, pulsing like a beating heart, flooding the surroundings with an otherworldly brightness. The entire ground vibrated beneath her, a low rumble resonating from the depths of the platform.

Frozen in place, Aisling felt her breath catch. Her instincts screamed at her to run. But before she could move, a blinding flash—a brilliant burst of blue and white—erupted from the carvings. The light was so intense she had to close her eyes, raising her arms reflexively to shield her face.

A profound silence followed, as heavy as the flash had been bright. Aisling, eyes still shut, remained motionless, her senses overwhelmed. When she finally dared to reopen them, the world had changed.

"Oh no…"

Idris scanned his surroundings: collapsed walls, twisted metal beams, and chunks of blackened stone scattered as if after an explosion. Cracks snaking through the ground seemed ready to swallow anyone who stepped too heavily.

"This place would make a terrible battlefield!" he finally declared, his tone a mix of apprehension and disapproval.

A few meters to his right, Strife was moving at his own pace, his weapons familiarly strapped to his hips, his sharp gaze relaxed as if the ruins around them were of no consequence. Without breaking stride, he shot back with a hint of amusement:

"Naaaah… that's because you humans fight in big ol' blocks." He made a vague hand gesture, mimicking the rigid formation of a line of soldiers. "The thing about demons is, most of them have egos bigger than their ugly mugs."

He leaped nimbly over a fallen beam, continuing in the same nonchalant tone.

"The trick is to corner 'em somewhere they don't have the upper hand. But careful, yeah? Don't mistake them for total idiots. Well, okay, some of 'em are total idiots… Buuuut… you don't wanna copy them and walk in with an ego the size of a mountain, know what I mean?"

Idris couldn't help but smile at both the lesson and Strife's casual delivery. He nodded while adjusting his gear.

"Yes, sir. Keep a small ego and a good mug."

Strife burst into laughter, genuinely amused.

"Now that's the spirit!"

Despite the harshness of their surroundings and the ever-present danger, Idris found himself appreciating Strife's company. The Horseman's sharp humor and relaxed approach to deadly serious situations had a strange but effective way of soothing frayed nerves. Strife made the hostility of the environment… almost manageable.

Strife, for his part, seemed at ease around Idris, as if they'd been sharing missions and patrols for years. Their improvised camaraderie had developed quickly—so much so that the Horseman had even let Idris take the reins of Mayhem, his fierce and untamed mount. That experience, however, had been far from smooth: the beast, a mix of raw energy and muscle, hadn't taken kindly to a change in riders. Idris's thighs and hands still bore the painful marks of a hard-fought battle to avoid being tossed aside like a twig.

Strife appeared to enjoy the display of persistence, his amusement obvious but never stepping in to help.

"Don't sweat it, kid. Mayhem's just testing if you're worth it. Good news is, he'll only dump you if he thinks you're useless. Bad news? Well… hold on tight."

Idris had also noticed that, among the Horsemen, Strife was the most natural around humans, with Fury a close second. It made sense: according to the stories, both had spent a lot of time among humanity's survivors, developing a kind of pragmatic empathy.

They had been patrolling together for several days, on the lookout for any sign of an Element. Strife, however, seemed unconcerned. He moved with his signature air of confidence, almost nonchalant, his weapons always at the ready.

"Back in the day, you just had to follow the trail of chaos they left behind… Well, the biggest trail of chaos in the middle of all the other crap this hellhole of a planet spits out."

"What did the Lords of Hell want with them?" Idris asked, scanning the horizon.

"To reshape Earth. What's your little dove told you about demons?"

"Dove?" Idris repeated, startled.

"Aisling. We noticed she cleared out half the library in the... Twilight Realm, is that what you call it? It's her job to tell the stories, isn't it?"

"Uh… demon society appears to be a form of feudalism based on violent meritocracy, where everyone's position is determined by their power level. The most powerful demons become Demon Lords and are constantly at war with each other for control of Hell."

"Ooooh, look at you doing your homework!" Strife let out an approving laugh. "Not bad, kid, not bad. That's spot on."

He paused to kick aside a chunk of debris with the toe of his boot before continuing.

"And some demons on Earth saw this delightful mess as a golden opportunity to expand their territory. Unlike Angels, demons aren't exactly picky about how they get what they want. They're better with forbidden magics, partly because their whole setup is a lawless free-for-all. So yeah, messing around with Elementals? For some of them, that was the big idea of the century. Thing is—"

Strife broke off abruptly, his relaxed demeanor shifting to sharp tension. His eyes scanned their surroundings as he drew his dual pistols with a smoothness that spoke of habit and experience. Idris, instantly on edge, didn't ask questions. Following the Horseman's lead, he unsheathed his weapon, straining to hear whatever had put Strife on alert. But all he could hear was the oppressive silence of the ruins around them.

Then, without warning, a deafening crash split the air, and a mangled vehicle was hurled toward them with astonishing force. Idris dove to the ground, rolling to avoid the flying wreckage, while Strife evaded it with a swift and precise leap.

When Idris scrambled to his feet, heart pounding, he expected to see one of the colossal demons Strife had described—a Trauma, perhaps. But what stood before them was unlike anything in the infernal bestiary the Horseman had taught him.

The creature was massive, towering well over three meters tall. Its skin twisted into patches of scales bristling with spikes. Half its face appeared to melt, distorted by grotesque fangs that consumed its features. Two horns struggled to break through the flesh of its forehead, never fully piercing. Its spine arched into a nightmarish curve, and a limp tail composed of exposed vertebrae and ligaments trailed behind it. It was pure horror.

"Well, damn… what the hell are you supposed to be, buddy?" Strife muttered, studying the creature with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

The creature answered with a piercing shriek, a sound so jarring and unsettling that Idris felt his stomach churn. Then it charged toward them, its movements chaotic and grotesque, defying all biological logic.

Strife didn't hesitate. He opened fire with both pistols, the sharp crack of his shots echoing through the ruins. Each bullet found its mark, and the creature collapsed heavily, its dying scream fading into silence. Idris cautiously approached the motionless body, his weapon still raised, fearing it might get back up.

"Not very resistant..." he murmured, almost puzzled.

Strife wasn't taking any chances. He aimed his pistol at the creature's head and fired two more shots, the sickening splatter of flesh and bone scattering with each impact. Straightening up, his expression remained tense, troubled. Shaking his head, he regarded the creature thoughtfully.

"I have no idea what this thing is… Looks like it's... unfinished? Like some kind of draft."

Idris furrowed his brow, studying the creature more closely. Strife nodded, his lips pressed into a grim line.

"Yeah… and that's what stinks. Kid, I've got the feeling we just stumbled on a botched prototype."

His eyes scanned their surroundings, his instincts warning him that this wasn't an isolated incident.

"Something's off... Let me grab a piece or two from our pal here, and we'll head to Ulthane's forge. The others are going to need to see this."

While Strife busied himself severing the creature's head—a grisly task punctuated by the nauseating sounds of tearing flesh and cracking bone—Idris circled the body. His attention was drawn to something peculiar on its back: metallic ports embedded in the flesh, resembling mechanical connectors. They looked as if they were designed for attaching tubes or cables.

"This isn't natural…" Idris murmured, his mind uneasy.

Strife, finally holding the severed head, glanced at the strange connectors and frowned.

"You're right. And that's what bothers me the most. If this thing is a failure… I don't even want to think about what the successful version looks like."