The Shattered Realm trembled beneath him. The floating ruins quaked, rivers of light twisted violently, and stars bent toward him as if afraid to shine. Jhonathan's chest burned with the ember's fury, but now it was different — it was not just rage, it was wrath perfected into power beyond reckoning.
Phase Three.
Phase Two had been devastating: the contract had amplified his body, sharpened Brunhilde, and allowed him to manipulate elements like a weapon. But Phase Three… Phase Three was apocalypse incarnate. The forces of the Four Horsemen flowed through him, intertwined in perfect harmony with Brunhilde and the God of Benevolence's blessing:
Conquest: Every strike could dominate, break defenses, and bend wills; enemies felt their movements betray them before they acted.
War: Every motion radiated violence; battlefield chaos became his ally, and even the air became weaponized with destructive shockwaves.
Famine: The power to drain vitality, consume energy, and leave nothing but despair in his wake; the stronger the enemy, the hungrier the void became.
Death: A silent, inevitable inevitability; every strike carried a whisper of mortality, a finality that no skill or magic could evade.
Jhonathan stood atop a shattered spire. Brunhilde coiled around him, golden eyes glowing brighter than ever, claws dripping shadow and light. With a roar that split the heavens, he extended his hands, and the forces responded:
Rivers of black and violet fire erupted. Shadows grew teeth. Winds howled like armies at war. The ground beneath shattered into jagged shards that floated like gravestones in a battlefield of stars. And all around him, a sense of impending doom filled the air — because the Four Horsemen were no longer distant concepts. They were inside him, and they had awakened.
He clenched his fists, and the first manifestation appeared: a spectral rider on a golden steed, charging from his shoulder. It struck an invisible enemy, and the impact shattered the stones below. That was Conquest. Then, waves of flame and blood-colored lightning burst outward: War. Shadows twisted into emaciated forms, sucking strength from everything near him: Famine. And finally, a silent black cloak of inevitability spread around him, every living creature sensing Death itself brushing against their bones.
The Shattered Realm itself bent in acknowledgment — floating mountains buckled, rivers reversed, and the star above trembled, as if aware that this mortal had become the embodiment of apocalypse.
Jhonathan's eyes blazed gold and violet. His voice carried like thunder:
"I am beyond betrayal. I am beyond pain. I am the wrath of every soul that has wronged me… and the reckoning of every world that dares oppose me!"
He lifted Brunhilde high, and the Valkyrie roared. Shadow and light intertwined, forming an unstoppable lance, a weapon worthy of the Four Horsemen themselves. Then, with a single strike toward the sky, he shattered the void itself, sending a pulse of apocalyptic energy rippling across the Shattered Realm.
Floating isles crumbled. Stars blinked out. Shadows screamed. Time itself stuttered under the weight of his mastery.
And yet, even in the chaos, a whisper lingered:
"You have become the vessel of apocalypse… but beware, Jhonathan. The horsemen obey, but they do not forgive. They demand a world to burn, and if your will falters… you may be the first to fall."
He smiled, cold and unyielding. "Then I will decide who falls. Not them. Me."
Above him, the Star of Death flickered in acknowledgment, sensing that a new predator had arrived in the Shattered Realm — one whose power could challenge gods and rewrite the fate of worlds.
Phase Three was complete. The Apocalypse Knight had risen.