Arlen exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

  “We split up,” he said. “Efficiency matters now more than ever. Cornea and I will go to Solon. I need his insight before the next move. Nyx, Grom, Dryas—you’ll head to Heaven and search for Tethys.”

  He reached into his coat and placed the Null Shroud

  “This will hide your presence. Even without your goddess core… Aethel’s blood still flows in you. You can wield it.”

  Dryas stared at the relic for a heartbeat longer than necessary, then closed her fingers around it. Nervousness lingered in her eyes—but beneath it, resolve hardened.

  Without another word, Cornea opened a teleportation gate. Darkness folded inward like a curtain, and the two vanished.

  Silence followed.

  An awkward, heavy silence.

  Nyx and Grom stood there, uncertain. Not long ago, their words had cut deeper than blades. They both knew it. Neither had found the courage to say anything—until Nyx finally cleared her throat.

  “Um… Nature goddess. I—I’m…” She hesitated, pride warring with guilt. “…sorry. For earlier. For blaming you.”

  Dryas didn’t flinch. No anger. No resentment.

  Instead, she stepped forward and gently took both their hands.

  “It’s alright,” she said softly. “I could never hate someone who would give their life for a just cause.” Her gaze lowered for a moment, then lifted again, steady. “And I believe in Arlen. If he says Aura can be saved, then I trust him.”

  She bowed her head slightly—humble, sincere.

  “So please… help me. A mortal who has let go of divinity…to save someone dear to her.”

  Even stripped of godhood, her voice carried warmth—an echo of something soothing and kind. Nyx felt her chest tighten. Grom swallowed hard.

  Grom nodded, clenching his fist.

  “Yeah. Our goal’s the same. Stopping that bastard god of death.” He gave a grim smile. “Besides… we can’t let Aura outshine us just because she died.”

  A rough laugh escaped him—half grief, half resolve.

  Meanwhile, before the gates of Solon’s Sanctuary…

  Arlen turned to Cornea.

  “I’ll speak to Solon alone,” he said. “Please—don’t come in. I know I failed. But trust me one more time. This time, I won’t—”

  Cornea suddenly grabbed his face.

  Her lips brushed his forehead—soft, deliberate.

  “Trust?” she murmured.

  Her voice wasn’t teasing now. It carried weight.

  “Do you remember our blood pact?” she continued. “I entrusted you with my revenge. My cause. My life.”

  Her crimson eyes locked onto his.

  “You don’t beg for trust every time you fail.”

  She straightened, pride and danger coiling together once more.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I, Cornea—daughter of Lysander, Demon Queen of the Hollow Court—declare this vow: No matter how many times you fail. No matter how badly you fall. You will have my full and undivided trust.”

  Her smile sharpened, predatory and familiar.

  “I will strike you when despair grips you… and I will support every plan you dare to make. Let the gates of the sanctuary be witness to my vow.”

  She stepped back, gesturing toward the sanctuary gates.

  “Now go, Arlen.”

  Then, with a low laugh:

  “Show me how your hunt truly is.”

  Arlen entered the sanctuary.

  An hour passed.

  When he returned, his eyes were different—focused, burning with certainty.

  “There’s a way,” he said simply. “To save Aura.”

  Cornea stilled.

  “The key is Mortis’ core. Destroy it… and her soul can return.”

  His jaw tightened.

  “I already have a plan. I won’t fail this time.”

  He turned toward the horizon where their allies waited.

  “Let’s regroup.”

  On the other side, Dryas, Nyx, and Grom moved like shadows torn from the world itself.

  With the Null Shroud

  Beyond the gate, the sight was breathtaking.

  White spires pierced an endless golden sky. Marble streets shimmered as if polished by divine hands, and rivers of light flowed where water should have been. Everything gleamed—perfect, immaculate, untouchable.

  A stark, blinding contrast to the Underworld.

  Nyx clicked her tongue softly.

  “These bastards exploit mortals… and live in kind of luxury?” Her voice was low with disgust. “It makes me sick.”

  Dryas’s gaze swept across the horizon, her expression tightening.

  “Heaven has changed,” she murmured. “When I last visited—five thousand years ago—it wasn’t like this. There are far more angels now.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “We won’t find Mortis here. If Arlen’s right and he’s injured, he’ll be at the Throne of Death recovering

  Grom frowned, carefully adjusting his massive frame beneath the shroud.

  “Then what’s the plan?”

  Nyx smirked faintly.

  “It’s simple, muscle brain. Tethys wasn’t his only target.” Her eyes hardened. “Mortis himself said it—angels are tools to him. Breeding stock. Raw material for mass-producing gods.”

  She tilted her head toward the distant structures.

  “So we go where the angels are.”

  They moved deeper into Heaven, silent and unseen.

  At the far-right edge of the realm stood a palace unlike the others—duller, stripped of grandeur. Its walls were clean but lifeless, as if divinity itself avoided the place. Angels moved in and out of its gates in quiet streams.

  Nyx slowed.

  “Look at them.”

  The angels’ eyes were empty. No curiosity. No emotion. They walked with mechanical precision, bodies moving as if wound by unseen gears.

  “Clockwork,” Nyx whispered. “They’re under something. A spell… or worse.”

  Dryas’s fists clenched.

  They followed the angels.

  The corridor stretched on far longer than it should have—white marble swallowing sound, golden lamps casting light that felt cold rather than holy. Minutes passed. Then more. The silence pressed heavier with every step.

  At last, the hallway opened into a vast chamber.

  What lay inside was worse than anything the Underworld had ever shown them.

  Dryas’s breath caught.

  Angels lay upon stone slabs arranged like offerings. Their wings were folded, feathers dulled and broken. Their armour and robes were gone—not cast aside in battle, but stripped with deliberate contempt. Their expressions were empty. No resistance. No fear. No shame left to protect.

  And at the centre of it all stood a man.

  He wore the sigil of law and balance, yet his eyes gleamed with hunger. He moved from one angel to the next with a greedy, casual cruelty—using them, discarding them, calling for the next as if selecting tools to satisfy his wicked lust.

  The angels did not scream.

  They did not fight.

  They neither resisted nor accepted.

  They simply obeyed.

  They approached when summoned. Laid themselves down when ordered. Let him have his way with their body like a hungry beast. Rose afterward, redressing their ruined dignity in silence, walking away to make room for the next victim.

  Their eyes were the worst part—

  Hollow.

  Vacant.

  As if whatever once made them had been scraped out and thrown away.

  Dryas collapsed to her knees.

  Her mind fractured under the weight of it.

  The Null Shroud flickered—then deactivated

  The moment their presence returned to the world, the beast wearing a god’s skin noticed.

  A hand tightened around the angel beneath him as his head snapped toward them.

  “Who are you,” he demanded coldly, “and how did you enter domain?”

  Nyx moved instantly, grabbing Dryas’s shoulders.

  “Dryas—snap out of it!” Her voice shook with fury. “Hold yourself together! Who is this bastard?!”

  Dryas’s lips trembled. Her voice came out broken—

  and the name she spoke made both demons feel sick in disgust.

  “H-He…”

  She swallowed.

  “He is Nomos

  “The God of Justice