The heavens were no longer heavens—they were a shattered reflection of war, soaked in gold and red, veined with wild streaks of black fire and astral shrapnel. The three figures fought among the torn sky like gods who had forgotten mercy. Kaelis shot upward, body twisting like a rabid beast reborn, leaping from the very fabric of the air, each bound launching him like a missile made of sinew and carnage. His elongated chaos-arms dragged behind him, catching in the light as they burned with writhing flame-sinew, his grin stretching wide, teeth glinting, body twitching violently as if barely holding himself in one piece. Mid-air, he dove downward, sinking both arms into invisible space, tearing open a rift of screaming chaos effigies that birthed a second throne of flaming chains. He spun, reversed, and dragged the throne upward instead, slamming it into Jethro's back from beneath in a concussive blast that shattered layers of judgmental scripture suspended midair.
Vaerlin flew beside him like a phantom wind reaper, his umbrella catching currents of arcane breath. With each rotation of his wrist, dozens of shimmering astral stars bloomed in concentric orbits—irregular, unstable, and vibrating like collapsing dimensions. They exploded outward, every star fragment screaming like stars being born, and Vaerlin twisted through the gaps, scything with blades of wind-glass formed from condensed gusts. He spiraled forward, umbrella folding into a lance shape, and hurled himself like a streak of cosmic wind, piercing through one of Jethro's defensive glyphs before unfurling again in reverse, slinging the burst of starlight into the resulting wound. The detonation cracked the sky with light that bled, casting the clouds in ultraviolet and violet-green. Jethro roared, turning toward Vaerlin with a command: "Judgment Rite: Inherited Flame of Silence.." A halo of golden script rotated above him, and from its center, a pillar of silent, soundless annihilation fell, like a divine guillotine meant for all who defied.
But Kaelis had already torn into his own halo, chewing the fiery sigil with crackling teeth, his mouth warping into a gnashing furnace of gnawed pact. He dashed on all fours, chasing the edge of the silence, his limbs flickering into blackened streaks as he moved faster than the execution-light could descend. He slammed into Jethro's flank, gnawing directly into his ribs, biting through fabric, gold, and prayer alike, and then spinning with him in a flailing spiral, flipping backward, hurling the archangel into Vaerlin's starlight like a sacrificial lamb.
Vaerlin caught the opportunity—planted his umbrella in open air, turned it once, and triggered an eruption of inverted wind gravity, pulling Jethro inward and slamming him against a lattice of crisscrossing astral star sigils—a trap made not of force, but of erased momentum.
Jethro's wings unfurled, glowing with new judgment, six in total, each inscribed with living verses from the holy tome now clutched tight to his chest. "I am the will of divine ending. The god of chaos will be undone by decree!" His tome opened wide, and pages fluttered into the storm, each one becoming a mask of burning decree, hovering and launching forward in complex formations, tracing lines of truth that shattered falsehood and rewrote the air itself into judgment zones. Kaelis grinned wider. "Rewrite this." He ripped his leg off at the knee with a howl of defiance, the fire bursting upward, and hurled the burning limb downward—an effigy formed midair, leaping like a rabid hound toward Jethro, snapping glyphs with its fangs. As it connected, Kaelis was already airborne again, twisting mid-vault and slamming his knees into Jethro's temple, spinning over him and driving his claws into his spine, before slamming him down into the remnants of his own collapsing judgment script.
Down below, the sky had turned into an unholy war painting, and the people of the kingdom watched in breathless awe. "They're fighting in another realm," one knight whispered. Alistair nodded, bleeding from the shoulder. "No—they're dragging our realm into theirs." Arinelle stepped forward, eyes wild, voice rising.
Silas stood amidst them, her lips parted. She clutched her arm, but her eyes never wavered. That was no longer a boy. That was something primal, ancient, and free. "He's strong…" she whispered, not in awe—but something more painful. Pride. Fear. Need.
Back in the air, Jethro had had enough. His voice shattered the sky: "Final Edict: Divine Rebirth of a World Without You." A vast crest of judgment spun behind him, forming a burning gateway as an ocean of golden light poured down, casting long shadows across the broken land below. He rose higher, wings unfurling in command of judgment itself. Kaelis and Vaerlin stood in tandem, both panting, both bloodied. Kaelis spit out ash. "You smell like burnt paper." Vaerlin smirked, blood running from his brow. "Let's see how many stars we need to tear that rulebook apart."
In the next instant, they vanished, movement so fast it twisted the sky. Kaelis reappeared mid-lunge, limbs flickering in and out of his own flesh as he transitioned into feral savagery, arms growing and shrinking as his chaos pulsed through him. He slammed Jethro from behind, grabbing the bastard by the neck and flipping him, only for Vaerlin to shoot through like a violet comet, umbrella rotating, unleashing a blackhole starburst of astral wind, slicing clean through Jethro's chestplate. Judgment screamed. Golden light broke. Divine blood rained. But still Jethro fought, roaring with madness.
The sky did not look like the sky anymore.
The sky was no longer air, but a vortex of shrieking color and heat, filled with the scent of blood, fire, and judgment. The clouds had been carved apart into violent spirals, spun open by chaos and celestial wrath. Kaelis rocketed forward, flames snarling across his back, his laughter spiraling louder with each passing second.
He drove his claw into his own chest mid-flight, flesh hissing, burning away the ribs until a second, smaller halo revealed itself inside his heart like a cursed sun. He slammed his fists together, and beneath them—far, far below in the ruins of the throne plains—a Gorebloom tore open the ground. Limbs, chains, and chaos-root thorns spiraled upward in a grotesque blooming lotus, impaling the air behind Jethro as if the gods themselves had sprouted a flower of agony in his name.
But Kaelis wasn't done. He snarled like an animal, ripping his own spine out in a spray of black fire. The vertebrae twisted midair into a burning effigy, a silhouette of molten bone chained to him by sinew and shrieking will. With a guttural laugh, Kaelis lunged forward again, and the effigy behind him mirrored every motion—a ghost made of gore and flame. He smashed his elbow into Jethro's jaw—twice. Once from his own arm, and again from the effigy's mirrored assault. He brought his heel down—twice. He bit into Jethro's collarbone, and the effigy slammed its claw into his gut at the same moment. Each motion, each strike, came from two angles at once, like a symphony of destruction sung by chaos incarnate.
'He's ripping about his own body parts..and they regenerate…?' Vaerlin thought.
Vaerlin, spiraling upward beside him, flung his umbrella wide, unleashing a shattering gale of starlight, carving a momentary path through the thick blood-rain. As he twirled in midair, Kaelis—without warning—grabbed him by the waist and hurled him toward the earth, bellowing, "Out of my way!"
Vaerlin barely had time to react before Arinelle swept through a gale of bone petals and caught him in midair, wings snapping outward like a divine tapestry. "Gotcha, old man," she growled.
"I knew you were coming."
"Eh. Liar liar."
Above them, Kaelis and Jethro collided like twin suns. The air around them didn't hold—it shattered. Jethro's blade struck Kaelis's side, carving deep—but Kaelis only laughed, spitting a mouthful of his own blood directly into Jethro's face before headbutting him, then kneeing him in the spine, then biting into his face and tearing away part of the cheek. Jethro roared, wings flaring wide, body covered in chains, glyphs, and gaping wounds. He tried to cast—tried to speak another Judgment Rite—but Kaelis wouldn't let him breathe. The crowd below could barely follow the movements—explosions of red and gold light burst through the sky, flashing across the entire capital. Castle staff ran to balconies, commoners spilled into streets. The knights gathered around Silas and Arinelle, eyes wide, many cheering with fists raised.
"DESTROY HIM!" A knight exclaimed.
"MAKE HIM BLEED!" one knight screamed.
"FOR THE CROWN!" another.
Alistair could only stare upward, breathing heavy. "He better win. Or I'll kill him myself."
Kaelis gripped Jethro by the throat midair, both of them hovering like dying comets suspended by wrath and will. Blood trailed in streams. Jethro gasped, broken and twitching. "You think this ends with me? Deities far stronger than I will come. Gods and goddesses will come left and right. You'll beg for judgment."
Kaelis's grin only widened. His eyes glowed with a crimson wildness that felt more ancient than time itself. "Then let them crawl to me. One by one." His muscles tensed.
And then the combo began.
He kneed Jethro in the stomach so hard his spine arched. Elbowed his face, cracking the helm of scripture. Bit into his shoulder, snapping bone. The effigy behind him mirrored each strike, claws digging in from opposite sides. He vaulted above Jethro, twisted upside down, and heel-kicked him in the throat, then spun back and slammed both fists downward like falling towers. The effigy wrapped its arms around Jethro's waist and smashed him upward into Kaelis's next punch. Then Kaelis grabbed both of Jethro's wrists, forced him open, and drove his skull into Jethro's ribs repeatedly, howling, drooling, laughing. Finally, Kaelis slammed a foot against Jethro's gut, braced both hands, and ripped the archangel in half, laughing as viscera and golden light bled into the heavens.
The pieces weren't allowed to fall alone.
Kaelis dove with them, one half in each clawed hand, screaming as he descended like a fallen meteor, red flame trailing behind him like a comet. He slammed both halves into the ground with a god-breaking impact that tore open the earth, flattening trees, shattering nearby stone walls, and causing a shockwave that knocked dozens off their feet.
Silas stood frozen. The wind whipped around her, and her cloak billowed like a war banner. Blood rain from the heavens dripped into the courtyard, hissing where it touched Kaelis's flame.
Everyone stood on edge.
Kaelis looked up from the crater, shoulders heaving.
His smile never faded.
….
Silence.
The air was still vibrating with the aftershock of Kaelis's final blow. Flames flickered across the ruined landscape, casting long, dancing shadows. Black blood smoked from craters, and the earth split open in jagged scars beneath the ruined courtyard. The skies above were torn, stained with celestial residue—flickers of astral fire and red chaos drifting like falling stars.
And from the heart of that silence…
Kaelis slowly turned.
His body was trembling, scorched, muscles twitching with every motion. His hair whipped gently in the ghost-wind, and his smile—still feral—faded just slightly into something unreadable.
The captains stood in a loose half-circle, their stances instinctively protective around Queen Silas.
Thrain stepped forward first, his massive arms crossed over his chest, tattoos glowing faintly beneath his armor. "Gods… he tore that bastard in half."
Alistair leaned against his blade like he was resting after a light jog, grinning with that infuriating ease of his. "Well, that was unnecessarily hot. I might actually like this one." He glanced at Silas with a smirk. "Is this what you meant by 'summon a protector'? Should've done this sooner."
Arinelle gave a small sideways nod, her wings folding behind her. "Ohohoho...He's naked."
The others blinked.
There was a pause. Silas raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
Arinelle shrugged coolly. "Just pointing it out. He's very… free."
Alistair commented, "He did get summoned like that."
Kaelis took another step forward, almost reaching them—
And then his knees buckled.
He fell like a puppet with its strings cut. His eyes rolled back, the twin halos dimming. The effigy behind him cracked apart into cinders, and the last chains around his limbs clattered to the ground like broken teeth.
But before his body could hit the scorched stone—
Vaerlin was already there. A blur of dark robes and wind magic. He caught Kaelis in one arm, slowly easing him down with surprising gentleness. The chaos form bled away like steam, revealing the bruised, battered boy beneath, breathing shallow, skin burning hot.
Everyone stared in silence.
Queen Silas finally took a breath, brushing dust from her royal cloak. Her eyes scanned the devastation around them—the ruins of marble towers, shattered wards, burning trees, the people watching from the rooftops in silent awe. Her throat tightened.
"This…" she said quietly, "…is supposed to be the kingdom of tranquility."
No one had the heart to argue. How could they? Silas looked at Kaelis's unconscious face—half-wild, half-peaceful. The image of him reaching for her in the safe room, only for her to stab him, flickered across her mind like a curse she couldn't unsay.
She wanted to apologize. She really did. But… not yet.
"Jethro's dead," Thrain said flatly, breaking the silence.
"Good," Arinelle replied without a hint of remorse.
"But Ys'Viruna escaped," Alistair added, his smile fading. "That fucking witch is going to be a problem."
"At least the crown wasn't taken," Vaerlin murmured, examining Kaelis's faint pulse. "But the aftermath… it'll take days for the divine architects to undo this."
Silas crossed her arms, brow tight.
'What would mother and father say to me if they saw the castle in this state?'
Vaerlin looked up at her, quiet for a beat, then asked softly, "And what do you want me to do with the boy?"
Everyone turned to her.
Silas didn't answer. Not with words.
Days later
There was no warmth. No fire. No cheering.
Just stone. Wet and echoing.
Kaelis's eyes opened.
His vision swam. His throat was dry. His limbs were heavy. Chains rattled as he tried to move—black metal etched with faintly glowing green runes, binding his neck and wrists. His body ached, dressed in a dirty white prison gown, his back pressed to cold wall brick.
He blinked slowly, breathing shallowly.
He was alone. A small dungeon cell, tucked somewhere in the underbelly of Thalairis. The torchlight outside his cell flickered. No sound. No footsteps.
'Where am I…?'
Only the cold whisper of stone. And the memory of fire.
The dungeon cell was tight and damp, carved into black stone that looked older than the castle itself—like something dug up from the belly of the world. The walls were slick with condensation, weeping droplets that echoed when they fell. Faint etchings of divine warding magic lined the corners, smoldering with soft green light, the same hue that pulsed across the chains shackled to Kaelis's wrists and throat. No bed. No comforts. Just a cold slab built into the wall and a tiny drain in the corner.
Kaelis paced.
Bare feet dragging across the chilled floor, his breath low and controlled. He wasn't panicking—but the silence carved into him like a blade. His hands flexed. Wrists burned.
He was alive.
He remembered the Gorebloom, blooming like a corpse-flower from the earth. He remembered the effigy, the mirrored chaos strikes, the halos burning above and within him. He remembered the feeling of power, of unchained violence, the thrill of landing every blow against a foe who deserved worse. He won.
And yet—
A dry laugh slipped from his lips as he dragged a hand down his face.
"You stupid bastard," he muttered to himself. "You didn't win shit."
It wasn't control. It just felt like it. That thing inside him—whatever it was—was smiling too, and Kaelis could feel it grinning through his hands when he crushed Jethro's throat. He'd burned his own chest. Ripped out his spine, and regenerated. And he liked it.
He stopped pacing, jaw tight.
Then, faint footsteps.
Kaelis turned—and standing in front of the cell door, silent as statues, were the three captains.
Alistair leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes sharp and amused.
Thrain stood like a monolith, face unreadable, his arms folded.
And Arinelle… was chewing on something. Possibly candy. Possibly a blade. Hard to say.
Kaelis darted to the gate, chains clinking. "What the hell am I doing in here?" he demanded, voice hoarse. "And how long've I been out? I'm tired of being stolen and dragged all over the place. It's annoying."
Alistair was the first to answer, smirking. "About three days. We took turns watching your face drool in your sleep. It was funny."
Kaelis blinked. "Three days?!" He grabbed the bars, panic flashing in his eyes. "I need to get out of here…"
"Can't," Thrain said bluntly.
"Not yet, anyway," Alistair added with a shrug. "We've got rules. Even for chaos-slinging summon freaks."
"And I've got the key!" Arinelle grinned, suddenly holding up… a spoon. "But you have to earn it."
Kaelis squinted. "That's not a key."
"It's the key to your freedom," she declared. "But you have to speak in fluent Orcish. And you have to say…" she made her voice deep and guttural, "'Me big idiot baby boy who loves kissing dragons.'"
Kaelis glared. "Tch. You're out of your mind."
"Say it or rot in here," she said sweetly.
Alistair laughed. Even Thrain cracked a smirk.
Kaelis grumbled and finally muttered, "Me big idiot baby boy who loves—" He cut himself off. "You know what? No. Screw that. Can't believe I even started it."
"Suit yourself," Arinelle chirped, tossing the spoon behind her.
Then, Alistair leaned forward, grin wide. "What's your name, anyway?"
"…Kaelis," he muttered.
"Where are you from?"
Kaelis was silent. He blinked. His mind tried to reach back across worlds, across memories of streets, divorce papers, cold mornings, neon lights, and a world that felt like a bad dream.
"…A world called Earth," he said finally.
"You have a mom?"
"No idea."
"A dad?"
"Probably."
"A lover?"
Kaelis's eye twitched. "No."
"A dog?"
"…I ate a hotdog once."
Arinelle beamed. "Well, it's official. You're my little brother now."
"No," Kaelis said immediately. "Not happening."
"Our magic is similar, super primal like a beast. We're practically related because of it!"
Kaelis growled under his breath, backing up. "N—."
"I'm not taking any no's for an answer."
Then Alistair chuckled, looking at the others. "Well, let's not forget. He was summoned. Guess that means he's technically gonna become betrothed to the Queen, right?"
Kaelis froze.
"What?" he said flatly.
"You didn't know?" Arinelle teased. "She was gonna marry whoever got summoned. It was part of the crown's contract magic stuff."
"She probably forgot to tell you," Alistair added, mock-sincerely. "Or maybe she just wanted to see if you were her type."
And then—
SLAM.
The door burst open as Queen Silas stormed in, face flushed red, holding a wicker basket full of something. She shoved past Alistair and almost tripped over Arinelle, who yelped and moved.
"You are ALL talking way too much," she snapped, eyes blazing. "Don't you people have training drills or something?"
"We're off the clock," Arinelle said with a shrug.
"Well, I'm not." Silas shot her a look, then addressed the group, voice tight. "I've already spoken with Vaerlin and the council. We're going to talk later about the Jethro situation, the witch queen's escape, and what this means for the crown."
Alistair raised an eyebrow. "You sure you wanna be alone with him?"
Silas rolled her eyes. "I'm fine."
"She wants some super alone time with her demon boy," Arinelle whispered loudly.
Silas turned red. "Outtttt."
The knight captains laughed as they walked off, Arinelle blowing Kaelis a kiss, and Alistair whistling something inappropriate.
When the door finally shut behind them—
Silas turned to Kaelis. Quiet. Her brows furrowed as she looked at him—exhausted, bruised, still shackled, still glaring like he was ready to tear the world apart.
Kaelis tensed when she reached into her basket.
"Relax," she muttered, looking away. "It's not a weapon."
She pulled out a wrapped bundle of food, still warm, something spiced and flaky.
"…You better eat it," she said without looking at him. "Or I'll throw it at your face."