Clamour and Smithy instantly froze. Their summons retreated as if burned. The Void Eel phased back to Smithy’s side, letting out a low, submissive hiss. The towering Treant rapidly withdrew its roots, shrinking backward into the shadows to escape the Drake’s gaze. Along the walls, dozens of cult members dropped to their knees, forcing their mutated horrors to flatten their bellies against the freezing stone.
"My Lord." Clamour dropped into a deep, immediate bow, the arrogant fire in his eyes entirely extinguished. "I was merely—"
"I am aware of what you were doing." Darius’s voice remained soft, conversational. He glided between the two operatives, moving with the terrifying grace of a man who had never needed to rush. "You collapsed the Tower of Ash without my authorization. You attacked Cross and his party indirectly, which has only accelerated the TCA’s investigation into our movements. You murdered one of our own operatives in the Whispering Dark and left his corpse as a calling card. You have acted entirely on your own pride, Clamour. And in doing so, you have jeopardized the Cleansing."
"My Lord, I only sought to—"
"You sought to soothe your ego." Darius stopped mere inches from Clamour. Behind the operative, the massive Treant seemed to physically cower. "You wanted to punish a boy because he defied you. You wanted to prove you were superior to Smithy. You allowed a petty grievance to override our strategic patience. And now, the TCA has more evidence, more motivation, and more time to prepare for us."
Clamour’s face drained of color. "My Lord, I swear—"
"The Cleansing is weeks away." Darius didn’t raise his voice, but the sheer weight of his words pressed down on the chamber, crushing the breath from their lungs. "Every Tower we collapse prematurely is a Tower the TCA can study. Every operative we lose is an intelligence leak. Every emotional outburst is a warning given freely to our enemies." He let the silence stretch for three agonizing seconds. "Do not be reckless again, Clamour. I will not issue a third warning."
Clamour bowed his head so low he nearly touched the frost-covered stone. "Yes, my Lord. I understand."
Darius pivoted slowly to face Smithy. The operative swallowed hard, straightening his posture as the Void Eel coiled protectively around his boots. "And you. Your lingering faith in Cross’s potential is noted. But hope is a poor substitute for strategy. That party has chosen their allegiance. They will not be recruited, a fact they have violently proven at every turn. When the Cleansing begins, all obstacles will be removed. All of them. Do we understand one another?"
Smithy’s jaw flexed, but he bowed deeply. "Yes, my Lord."
Darius held his gaze just long enough to ensure the lesson had taken root. Then, he turned to face the kneeling congregation. Behind him, the Oblivion Drake rose to its full, terrifying height. Its void-eyes swept the chamber, and every operative in the hall felt the suffocating weight of its stare press against their minds.
"The Cleansing is upon us," Darius proclaimed, his voice carrying the quiet, terrifying authority of absolute conviction. "For months, we have bled for this. We have seeded our operatives. We have chosen the Towers. We have subjected our summons to the sacred evolution of mutation, separating the worthy from the weak. And now, the hour is at hand."
A low, trembling murmur ran through the cult. Mutated summons growled in the dark. The Oblivion Drake opened its maw and exhaled a silent wave of absolute zero, snuffing half the torches in the room.
"The old world will burn. The weak will perish, exactly as they were designed to do. The Towers will break this stagnant land, and from those ashes, we will forge something pure. A world where only the worthy remain. A world where the Towers are recognized not as a curse, but as a divine crucible. A world where the Nemesis Court stands as the rightful architects of tomorrow." Darius slowly raised a hand. "Prepare yourselves. When the Cleansing begins, there will be no hesitation. No mercy. And no failure."
He paused, letting the silence ring in the freezing air.
"For TheShepherd."
"For the Shepherd!" The answering roar shook the ancient dust from the ceiling. Summons howled and shrieked into the dark. The Oblivion Drake spread its massive wings, blotting out the remaining light as the cult members surged to their feet in a frenzy of absolute devotion.
Darius lowered his hand, allowing the shadows to swallow him whole.
The Cleansing was no longer just a plan. It was now an inevitability.
✦ ✦ ✦
The common room of Celestial Peak’s observatory was bathed in the warm, golden light of the late afternoon sun. Dust motes danced lazily in the beams shining through the glass dome.
Nathan sat heavily on the couch, the crushing weight of Ashwick still resting squarely on his shoulders. They had returned just over an hour ago—battered, drained of mana, and running on sheer adrenaline. Marta was safe. The village was deeply scarred, but it had survived. The corrupted Wyrm was ash on the wind.
But the victory tasted hollow. The Court was still out there. The Cleansing was still coming.
The heavy oak door swung open, and Valerie strode in, clutching her battered TUFF GRANNY mug in one hand and a thick manila dossier in the other. Boris shuffled in behind her, letting out a low grunt as he collapsed heavily into his designated corner.
"Ashwick is stabilized." Valerie announced, dropping the dossier onto the coffee table with a heavy thud. "The TCA has containment teams locking down the ruins of the Tower as we speak." She looked at Nathan, her expression softening just a fraction. "You did good work today. But you and I both know this wasn’t random. They targeted that village specifically because of you. Because they knew it would hurt."
"We know," Nathan said quietly. "Clamour. The operative from the Iron Horde. He’s probably making it a personal vendetta."
"Then don’t let him. Turn it into strategy." Valerie tapped a blunt fingernail against the dossier. "The Cleansing is still on the horizon. The Court isn’t stopping. You have one High Class Tower left before I authorize the push for Drak’thar." She slid the folder across the table. "This is your final hurdle. The Tower of the Crimson Depths. High Class. Five floors. It’s a subterranean environment—a blood-mine. Expect vampire-type enemies and heavy blood magic. The boss is the Crimson Lord. Clear this, and you officially qualify for the Elite Class."
Nathan picked up the dossier. The cover photograph depicted a jagged, descending chasm carved deep into the earth, its lower levels glowing with a faint, arterial red light. "We’ll clear it."
"I know you will. You deploy in three days. Rest. Patch your wounds. Prepare." Valerie took a sip from her mug and turned toward the door. "Oh, and try not to get bitten. Curing tower induced vampirism is a chore"
Boris rumbled from his corner, a sound that heavily implied agreement.
By evening, the party had gathered in the common room. The couches were soft, the ambient lighting was low, and the coffee table was a cluttered mess of empty mugs and the scattered pages of the Crimson Depths dossier. The silver mountain-and-star pins gleamed quietly on their collars.
"One last High Class run," Garrett murmured. He was slouched in an armchair, Volcan resting against his knee while the mace’s molten veins pulsed with a slow, sleeping rhythm. Red was sprawled across his boots, its thick fleece acting as a heated blanket. "Then we take Drak’thar. Then we get the Dragon’s Heart Core. We’re actually at the finish line."
"Right. And somewhere in between all that, we casually dismantle a doomsday cult and stop the Cleansing," Dillon added, leaning his head back against the couch. Cloudy was coiled around his neck, occasionally snapping tiny sparks at the ceiling. "No pressure. Just the fate of the entire outer region resting on our collective shoulders. Standard Tuesday."
Elise ignored them, her eyes tracing the schematics in the dossier. "The Crimson Depths are entirely subterranean. Dark, highly enclosed spaces. It will be environmentally similar to the Whispering Dark, substituting shadow magic for blood magic. Kuro’s stealth will be highly effective." She sighed, rubbing her temples. "The Frost Golem needs time to rebuild its mass. The ambient heat from the Wyrm caused catastrophic structural damage. It should be fully regenerated before we deploy."
"Three days," Nathan said, leaning forward to look at his team. "The Golem recovers. We sleep. We prep. And then we break it." He met their eyes one by one. "Look how far we’ve come. We’ve shattered five High Class Towers. We’ve fought the Court’s best and walked away. We saved Ashwick. Whatever is waiting for us down in that mine, we’re ready for it."
Garrett raised his mug of steaming matcha. "To the Crimson Depths."
Around the room, mugs and glasses were raised in quiet solidarity. "To the climb."
Outside the observatory glass, the city’s Towers stood stark against the twilight sky. Somewhere deep in the shadows of the world, the Nemesis Court was sharpening its blades for war. Somewhere on the horizon, the Cleansing was counting down to zero. And waiting quietly above it all was the Fallen Piece of Drak’thar—the Elite Class monolith, the sleeping dragon, and the heart that would finally grant Nathan his third summon.