“Illiawyrin, kill Commander Marlon,” Wyatt commanded, brushing past Cameron. His friend nearly toppled over, making Wyatt hesitate.

  “Oh, that’s a spicy one. What’s the occasion?” She hummed for a second. “Actually, I don’t care. Never really liked the guy anyway. Just be careful. There’s a bunch of Devils in disguise surrounding him.”

  But when he saw Lucifer’s red-rimmed eyes of purest white staring back at him with glee from inside Commander Marlon’s body, any rational thought went out the window. Revenge, justice, vindication. The term didn’t matter to Wyatt as he strode forward, his curved sword whining as he began activating as much of his deck as he possibly could bring to bear.

  “Wyatt, stop!” Cameron called.

  Of course, that simply wouldn’t do.

  “The rest of the Generals are coming as we speak. You don’t have the power you need to win this fight.” The closer Wyatt got to Commander Marlon and his entourage, the more desperate Cameron sounded. “You will die here if you fight now, and everything will be wasted. You can save her. Accept Archangel Gabriel’s soul, and you’ll be able to go back in time and stop this from ever happening. You just have to trust me!”

  That…

  Wyatt stopped in place. Standing stock still, he watched as all of Demiurge began to approach. They all began to laugh at once as if they heard some unspoken joke. Wyatt only briefly glanced towards the shifting forms of the people he previously thought of as friends, guild mates, and even family.

  Horns and leathery wings, flames and scaled skin, sharp teeth and curved claws. Any member of Demiurge who didn’t become a Devil lasted but a few seconds in the face of the overwhelming might and numbers.

  The aches and pains of his heart as each loyal member fell added to the suffering rippling and roiling through his body, unsettling his stomach in a way he hadn’t felt since his first Invasion Gate.

  Here, he was powerless.

  With so many unknown factors slapping him in the face and reality shifting, warping before his very eyes, he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to slay Lucifer where he stood, but any one of the Devils could take him head-on.

  Lucifer wasn’t the Devil King for nothing. Attacking him now would only mean death. And if what Cameron said were true then he could change all of this. He could have the power to make a difference, to save Annabeth, to save those of Demiurge who didn’t join Commander Marlon in his Devilish practices.

  So he planted his feet and clenched his teeth. If looks could kill, Lucifer would be nothing but ash and dust. Wyatt wanted nothing more than to smite the smug look off the Devil King’s face.

  However, reality was far from kind. He had no such means of smiting the Devil King as he was now, no matter how hard he tried to use brute force of will to manifest that power into existence. That’s just not how things worked in the real world.

  The depth of his weakness fueled a vehemence he couldn’t beat back.

  Were Illiawyrin not mounting an attack at that very moment, he wouldn’t have been capable of holding back his fury, even if the only thing he had to gain from doing so was a quick death. Only her assault pacified him, keeping him from rushing forward uselessly.

  Cameron’s hand gripped his shoulder weakly. “I know you’re upset, but you can prevent this.”

  “Tell me how,” Wyatt deadpanned, eyes still locked onto Lucifer.

  The Devil King winked before the form of Commander Marlon shifted. Miasma streamed up from the tainted lands into him. Two thick, spiraled horns pierced through the tanned ex-commander’s skin. They curved back over the Devil’s head as brown locks turned white. Skin, thick like leather, ripped as black-feathered wings erupted from Lucifer’s back, bending and twisting as they grew. The wings forced their way from whatever hellscape they’d come from and stretched wide, longer than three grown men from one wing tip to the other.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The plethora of baubles and armor condensed and formed a second layer of skin, becoming a dapper black-and-white tuxedo with a sharp necktie. The suit hugged the Devil King's frame. The tie almost made him look respectable, and the dark sunglasses that settled at the bottom of his nose made him look like a lawyer who’d never lost a case.

  Considering his get-up, Lucifer looked ready to handle his affairs with impunity, to take care of whatever business he’d risen from the depths of Hell, once and for all. The fact he looked so… normal really bugged Wyatt down to his core. Minus the hellish wings and red, glowing eyes, of course.

  “Lucifer,” Wyatt growled.

  He burned the image of the Devilish man into his mind, tracing every detail. So deeply did he ingrain the image that he could close his eyes and perfectly visualize an exact replica of the living, breathing thing. From the way the Devil King’s breathing bounced his shoulders, to the way he stood straight up with his hands clasped behind his back, to how his polished leather shoes gleamed in the afternoon sun.

  When Wyatt opened his eyes, he knew he’d never forget the visage of the Devil King’s derisive professionalism. The sneer, the count of feathers on each wing, the distance between each eyebrow.

  Everything.

  As Wyatt began to turn towards Cameron, he stopped midway. Mirthful laughter, like that of chiming bells and a muse’s song, dragged Wyatt’s gaze to the sky and away from Lucifer for the first time.

  Illiawyrin, in all her glory, streaked down towards the Devil King. Three of Lucifer’s lackeys flew upwards to meet the Valkyrie, clashing in a flurry of blows to block her descent towards the Devil King. She held her own, but she could no longer advance.

  “You finally show yourself, Forsaken Lightbringer.” Cameron’s entire deck hissed as the air above shivered and shook under the combined power of so many cards.

  Wyatt wanted to ask what rarity each one had and how they shared a common type to allow them to merge in bulk, but when he looked over at Cameron, he looked more and more sickly by the second. No matter how Wyatt tried to rationalize the combining of so many cards, nothing made sense.

  He had firsthand experience fighting by Cameron’s side and knew for a fact that very few of his cards shared a type, even if they may share rarity—which, he was certain many of them did not. The two conditions, just like with Wyrin and Illia, required cards of the same type and rank. They were both Legendary-rank summons, and thus their merging made sense.

  What he witnessed now, the shattering of reality around him, the colors of the world bending, and the strange illusion of time progressively slowing, did not make sense in the slightest.

  The deck continued to merge over his head, the sound crescendoing to a finale. The climax. The resolution of this conflict and revelation of Cameron’s master plan.

  However, his friend’s body began fracturing, breaking away piece by piece under the cost of the deck’s merge. Grief washed over Wyatt, a familiar friend. They’d been friends for as long as Wyatt could remember, even if they’d gone long stretches of time without speaking. Cameron had been the anchor, a pillar of stable support in his life that always had a warm and welcoming smile. He’d always been there to listen and be a friend.

  “I’m sorry, brother.” Wyatt wished nothing more than to go back to the beginning of the day and ignore the Invasion Gate. “I don’t know why this is happening, but if what you say is true, I’ll do anything and everything required of me to make sure this never happens.”

  As always, Cameron smiled. “Don’t apologize to me, Wyatt. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “You said I’ve been a part of something greater, but I never even realized. I-I could’ve done more, something, anything.” Tears streamed down his face. “Thank you… for everything.”

  “Don’t worry so much. You’ll get stress lines if you make that face much longer.” The vitality of life drained even faster with each word he spoke, the tendrils of death seeping into him like dark anchors taking root and sucking him dry. “This is my final goodbye, Wyatt. Take care of yourself.”

  The speed in which his form deteriorated mortified Wyatt. His healthy and whole friend became nothing but decayed skin and bone. Even that dissipated as the final wisps of energy drained from his body and floated into the sky above, finally completing the card merger and activating… something.

  Dust and ash was all that remained of Cameron. The stream of golden Ichor disappeared as a brilliant flash blinded Wyatt. And probably everything else within sight.

  “Oh, Lucifer. Look what they’ve done to you,” an ancient voice said, dripping with deep sorrow.

  Wyatt rapidly blinked away the dizzying stars and looked to where the voice came from. A translucent Angel floated down from the sky to stand next to Wyatt. The Angel looked down at Wyatt.

  “I am sorry things have come to this, Wyatt. I wished to use what was left of Michael to reform myself, but time has run out. Lucifer acted far before we ever expected him to.” He sighed, shaking his head. When he looked past Wyatt and towards Lucifer, he clenched his fists. Golden-white Ichor radiated off of his being. “I know everything is confusing right now. In time, you will find answers. I wish I could give you those answers now, but unfortunately, my soul is still shaky. I cannot maintain this form for much longer. Not yet.”

  “Gabriel, what a surprise." Lucifer sauntered across the distance between them as if the whole time-slowing thing going on didn’t bother him.