The air screamed.
Not with sound—but with pressure, with meaning tearing itself apart.
Malithra rose above the fractured battlefield, her body convulsing as layers of her existence peeled away like burning skin. What remained no longer resembled flesh. No longer resembled hatred alone.
She was becoming something else.
Netoshka staggered back, boots grinding against cracked ground as gravity fluctuated in violent pulses. Every instinct in her body screamed move, yet her muscles refused to obey for a heartbeat too long.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Malithra laughed—not mockingly, not cruelly, but with reverence, as if she were shedding a prison she had worn for millennia.
"Do you feel it?" Malithra said, voice overlapping itself in harmonics that didn't belong to this universe.
"This is what they denied me. What you deny for yourself."
Her form broke open.
Light erupted outward—luminous, blinding, holy in shape but utterly wrong in intent. Wings of radiant geometry unfolded behind her, composed not of feathers but of interlocking sigils and burning equations. Her body became a silhouette of brilliance, edges flickering between angelic perfection and eldritch impossibility.
A false divinity.
A weaponized miracle.
Netoshka forced herself upright, distortion bleeding from her veins like static lightning. Her Glitching aura expanded instinctively, a barrier of corrupted causality forming around her as reality bent inward to obey her will.
"You're not a god," Netoshka said, voice hoarse but steady.
"You're just Demonic Entity."
Malithra raised her hands.
From nothingness, spears of light formed—dozens, then hundreds—each one humming with annihilation. They weren't weapons meant to pierce flesh.
They were meant to erase.
Malithra's eyes burned pink-white.
"Let me show you the difference between anomaly and inevitability."
The spears launched.
The sky fractured.
Netoshka screamed as she poured everything she had into her barrier. The Glitching field ballooned outward, layers upon layers of distorted space folding over one another, turning straight lines into spirals, cause into consequence reversed.
The first spear struck.
Reality shattered like glass.
The impact sent shockwaves rippling across dimensions. Netoshka was driven to her knees, teeth clenched as blood ran from her nose and ears. Her barrier held—but barely—fractures crawling across it like cracks in ice.
Another spear.
Then another.
"MOVE, NETO!" Lyra shouted from somewhere distant, her voice warped by the collapsing laws of physics.
But Netoshka couldn't retreat.
She planted her feet and pushed.
Her Glitching surged, bleeding into the space between worlds. Colors inverted. Time staggered. The spears slowed—not stopping, but hesitating, confused by causality unraveling around them.
For a moment—
Just a moment—
Netoshka thought she could win.
Then the sky split open.
Not clouds.
Not atmosphere.
The firmament itself tore apart, revealing a void beyond voids—an ocean of impossible depth where stars drowned instead of shone. Massive fractures spread across the heavens like veins in dying marble.
And they noticed.
The Eldritch Gods.
Not one.
Not two.
A chorus.
Eyes the size of continents opened within the cracks, each one reflecting a different version of reality. Shapes without geometry pressed against the tear, their presence collapsing probability simply by existing.
Time slowed to a crawl.
Malithra froze mid-strike, her luminous form flickering as if suddenly aware she was no longer alone.
"…No, They're HERE !!!" she whispered in a Malevolent grin.
The gods did not speak.
They observed.
Netoshka felt it then—the weight of attention so vast it made Malithra's hatred feel small. Her Glitching went haywire, reacting instinctively to entities older than causality itself. Symbols burned into her vision. Her bones vibrated as if being tuned to an alien frequency.
She dropped to one knee, gasping.
This wasn't her battlefield anymore.
A presence pressed down on both of them—cold, infinite, curious.
Malithra snarled, wings flaring as she turned toward the Gods in the sky.
"You Filthy low inferior being who sealed me," she hissed.
"You watched humanity rot. You abandoned this world, and yet, i take pleasure at the delight of destroying your Creation who refuse to Bow to my Glory"
One of the eyes shifted.
And reality answered.
Not in words—but in permission.
The space between Netoshka and Malithra collapsed inward, folding like paper drawn toward a singularity. The ground disintegrated beneath them as gravity inverted, pulling them upward toward the fracture in the sky.
Netoshka screamed as her body lifted off the ground, her barrier tearing apart under forces beyond comprehension.
This wasn't death.
This was transition.
The Eldritch Gods had intervened.
Not to save.
Not to destroy.
But to move the game to another board.
As the world around them dissolved into blinding distortion, Netoshka locked eyes with Malithra—both of them dragged screaming into the rift between realities.
And somewhere beyond the tear, something ancient smiled.
The breakthrough had begun.