The atmosphere in the courtyard thickened, tasting of ozone and ancient blood. Azret's physical form began to shudder and warp, his muscles tearing and reforming into his third and most terrible state: the Thanguard Form. He grew larger and more jagged, while dozens of lidless eyes erupted across his torso like weeping sores, each one tracking a different point in the shifting shadows.
With a speed that defied his hulking mass, the demon lunged for John and General Leah. Yet, before his claws could find their mark, the Knight plummeted from the battlements. He landed with a bone-jarring thud upon Azret's back, driving his rusty blade deep into the demon's neck.
Azret roared, a sound of pure, distorted agony. He thrashed his massive arms, flinging the Knight across the stone floor like a discarded doll. The warrior hit the ground face-first, his ancient armor skidding through the grit. In a flicker of red light, Azret was already standing over him, claws poised for the final, killing blow.
But then, the demon froze.
Azret stared into the depths of the Knight's soul, searching for the one thing that fueled a demon of his lineage: Wrath. He found nothing. Where there should have been a fire of hatred, there was only a pool of absolute, terrifying calmness—a silence deeper than the grave.
Slowly, the demon lowered his claws, his voice a low, demonic rumble. "No wrath? Heh..."
The realization of the distraction came too late. Azret spun around, his many eyes scanning the courtyard, but the mortals were gone. He tilted his head, spotting them in the far distance, sprinting toward the gateway with the Tunic Artifact clutched in their arms.
"No!" Azret bellowed. He began to sprint, his massive hands gouging deep trenches into the earth, but the distance was too great. He came to a halt, his shoulders slumping with a strange, heavy weight. "The Tunic Artifact! It holds the very foundation of the history of the Tunic War!"
The Knight rose slowly, his movements methodical and ghost-like. He walked toward the monster, standing side-by-side with the Embodiment of Wrath. "Don't worry," the Knight said, his voice echoing from his hollow helm. "They will learn the real world."
Azret looked down at the smaller, armored figure. "The Tunic War is the only power surge keeping the... Void dimension contained."
The Knight looked toward the horizon where the mortals had vanished. "I hope they won't destroy it."
"Neither I," Azret rasped, his rage replaced by a dark, cold premonition. "I hope they won't destroy it as well. Humanity is a broken thing."
John and Leah tumbled through the portal, hitting the floor of the GDA base with a heavy thud. They immediately doubled over, their bodies rejecting the violent, sick-inducing pressure of the Sub-Calamatic atmosphere. Once the world stopped spinning, they looked at their prize.
The Tunic Artifact was a jagged, dark red stone, unnaturally cold to the touch. Carved into its surface was a symbol that seemed to pulse with a hidden, rhythmic heat: Ira Historiae.
"Our mission is done, right?" John asked, wiping his mouth as he looked at Leah.
The General gulped, her eyes fixed on the stone. "I don't think so..."
The reality of the ongoing war returned to John, a weight more crushing than the demon's claws. "Oh yeah. The Awakened Army." He tsked, forcing his aching body to its feet.
They secured the relics inside a high-security vault. There, behind reinforced glass, sat the two keys to their survival—or perhaps their ultimate doom: The Frost Shard and The Tunic Artifact. Exhausted beyond measure, John collapsed onto his bunk. Sleep took him instantly, but it offered no refuge.
In the depths of his mind, the world became a landscape of endless, biting snow. John stood alone amidst the drifts as a mountain in front of him began to move. It was not stone, but a Frosted Titan, its body encased in layers of eternal ice, its face a mask of primordial rage.
The Titan leaned down, its voice a booming crack of glaciers that shook the dream to its core.
"WHERE IS MY MASTER!"
John snapped awake, his breath hitching and his pupils dilated with terror. He sat up, shivering despite the warmth of the barracks. He let out a shaky, hollow scoff, trying to steady his trembling hands.
"Maybe just a nightmare..."