CRACK.
Her shoulder collided with his shield, the impact so violent it caved part of it inward. The force sent him flying like a ragdoll into Eurydice and Darj, bones cracking against stone with a sickening crunch. His shield flew from his grasp. Boo darted right, twin sabbers singing in the air—but Miri was faster. She moved like something reborn in flame and rot, a blur of bone and blood, raking a deep gouge through Boo's thigh with the serrated claws of her transformed hand.
Miri's thoughts were not her own.
"They want to bind you. Break you. Cage you. Drain you. Bury you. KILL THEM FIRST."
Nyxia didn't move—couldn't move—as Miri bore down, tail slicing the air with an eerie, serpentine grace.
Then—
She shrieked.
A feral, ear-splitting cry ripped from her throat, so sharp and violent it felt like rusted blades dragging down every spine in the coliseum.
In his private viewing box, the master of this horror watched with narrowed, void-red eyes. Arioch's smile faded into a sharp, flat line.
"She wasn't meant to turn on them."
He flicked his fingers.
And the sky split.
Reality cracked. A jagged, screaming tear opened above the pit, splitting the sky like parchment set aflame. From its gaping mouth poured nightmares too grotesque for imagination.
The stench hit first—sulfur, iron, rotting flesh, and something older, something primal. People in the upper stands vomited. Nobles, drenched in perfume, soiled themselves. Mercenaries dropped their weapons and screamed.
A Felguard dropped into the sand. Eight feet of stitched rage, metal fused with rotted muscle, jaw unhinged and slack. Its axe dragged behind it, streaking blood as if hungry.
Then the swarm:
Felhunters—blind, slick things with eyeballs in their chests and tongues like leeches.
Imps—twisted inside out, bones where skin should be, intestines trailing behind like ribbons. Some floated, combusted mid-air, and rained down in boiling pus.
A Succubus—her lips torn open to her jaw, crawling sensually across corpses, her whip dragging the tongues from dying men.
A Voidwalker, bloated and dripping thick, black tar from orifices that defied anatomy.
The Blasphemy—an abomination stitched into the shape of a church, its back ringing with bell-hymns sung backward by a thousand voices. Its stomach opened and clawing hands emerged, wailing like stillborn children.
And overhead, a Darkglare—its eye the size of the coliseum itself. It blinked.
A man in the stands exploded, bone and bile spraying across those around him.
—
A war had come.
No one was ready.
Nyxia's breath stuttered in her chest.
She gagged, her body folding over her polearm as her knees collapsed. Her eyes locked on the tear in the sky. The void.
She had tasted it before—dreams, whispers. But this wasn't gentle seduction.
This was the scream of lost gods.
She trembled.
A memory rose unbidden—her mother's voice, a lullaby in Sholazar. Her first hunt with Loque. Perseus laughing at a dumb joke she made, firelight flickering in his eyes.
All of it felt fragile now.
Boo staggered, hands tight on her weapons, face pale. "What the fuck—"
The screams from the crowd swallowed her words. Blood splattered the pit walls. Flames erupted from broken lanterns. Shadows coiled around ankles.
Perseus turned slowly.
He saw the creatures. The void. The end.
And then he saw Miri.
Still. Shaking.
Her muscles twitched beneath blood-streaked skin. Her fingers gouged into the sand, nails peeling back from force. Her lips peeled into a snarl too wide, too animal.
He stepped forward.
"Miri—"
The first claw raked his chestplate—sparks and blood. The second aimed for his throat—he blocked it, barely. Her claws shredded his cheek, slicing clean through to bone.
She bit him.
Her teeth sank into the meat between his collar and shoulder. Blood bubbled between her lips.
He screamed—and she purred.
Slash. Slash.
Blood sprayed. Her thighs pinned him down. Her breath came hot and fast, her entire body a furnace of rage.
She wasn't Miri anymore.
She was a storm.
His vision blurred.
He saw her eyes—wild, unseeing, void-touched.
The claw lifted again.
And then—
"Nyxia—!"
His voice cracked, not a battle cry.
A prayer.
She heard it.
Not Miri.
Nyxia.
Her head snapped up.
Perseus.
Pale. Blood-soaked. Under Miri.
NO.
Void surged through her body. Her blood screamed.
And she ran.
—
Nyxia became shadow incarnate.
Loque screamed behind her, ghostfire fangs bared, spectral tail lashing like a comet. His presence was thunder. Fury. Divine wrath on four paws.
Spectral paws pounded beside her—always near, never faltering. Her bondmate. Her soul.
Nyxia was faster.
The void gripped her teeth, her claws, her soul. Her tail shimmered with spectral fire. Her ears elongated, feline and crackling with violet arcs.
She leapt.
And crashed into Miri's back like a meteor.
They went flying.
Perseus gasped, collapsing beneath them as Miri's claws sliced the air an inch from his face.
Nyxia didn't wait.
She sank her fangs into Miri's neck. Flesh split. Blood burst onto her tongue—salty, void-tainted, repulsive.
Miri shrieked.
Nyxia growled louder.
Claws plunged into Miri's ribs.
Tearing.
Breaking.
Blood soaked the sand. Bones cracked. Still—Miri fought. Twisting, clawing. Her limbs flailed with primal strength. But Nyxia had become something else:
An avenging storm wrapped in snow-leopard fury.
"You don't get to take him from me!"
Nyxia's voice was layered. Hers—and something deeper. Voided. Divine.
Loque lunged past, snapping at Miri's face. The beast stumbled, circling them both, glowing like a wrathful god, snarling and snapping with ghost-light fangs. For a second, just one, Miri faltered.
Perseus groaned, taking advantage of her weakness
Through blood and agony, he slammed his hoof into Miri's gut with everything he had.
The impact knocked the wind from her. Blood geysered from her mouth.
Nyxia and Miri flew.
They smashed into the wall, stone cracking, sand exploding around them.
Miri landed atop Nyxia.
Screams filled the pit.
And then—
Silence.