The sound of space shattering echoed in every direction, drowning the world in a choking silence that held all of Waverith in its grip.

The sky above Darklore darkened, heavy clouds rolling in as if they had sensed the prelude of something bone-chilling enough to split the sun itself.

Waverith felt it. Every powerhouse within the stronghold felt the sudden shift in the air, and chaos erupted without restraint.

The common folk shivered, screaming as they ran like headless chickens back into their houses, those who lived on the streets froze where they were, staring upward with their lungs held tight in their chests, hoping with all their fragile faith that whatever calamity was descending would spare them.

And that was exactly why they would all die.

Because hope had never once blocked a stray attack from killing an innocent man trying only to survive within the weight of his own difficulties.

Waverith was vast, a stronghold built to hold countless houses, squared in design, each side belonging to a powerhouse with subordinate families clustered around them, all circled by black stone walls too hard for even a master's hands to break.

Yet distance meant nothing to beings of Grandmaster rank and beyond, for to them boundaries were illusions, walls only symbols to be mocked.

So it was no surprise when the house leaders under the Cerveau appeared without warning above the Thornspire estate and the Warborn estate, standing weightless in the sky as if the world itself bent beneath their feet.

The grey-haired elder, Cylin Tori, Matriarch of House Tori, looked down at the Warborn estate, surprise clawing through her chest, her head swarming with questions that flapped like a storm of crows.

Above the Thornspire, Matthew Sagri, Patriarch of House Sagri, was met with an army clad in the white armor of Thornspire and the black-and-red armor of the Warborns, their murderous intent thick enough to turn the air into a choking fog.

At their front stood Eliot, his ruby eyes glowing with a cold, detached light as he stared back at Matthew from the tower-spire of his house.

"Are you ready to surrender?" Matthew asked, and the tension coiled, moments away from igniting into blood.

…

Inside the Elamin estate, Mayari and Serena sat across from each other in the meeting room, speaking calmly in the eye of the storm.

"Your husband went and did whatever he pleased, once again." Mayari said, her scowl laced with irritation.

Serena shrugged. "It's been too long since he had a proper fight. I understand him."

"Of course you would, you are the same."

"Is that a compliment?"

Mayari clicked her tongue, rising from her chair with measured steps, walking toward the window as if her calm could suppress the chaos that now surged outside.

She looked into the sky, her eyes narrowing… someone was there, a young blonde man, arrogant in his gaze.

"The plan of action?" Mayari asked. War was the Warborn's specialty, so she deferred to their judgment, yet even as the words left her lips she knew it was a mistake.

The Warborn were unmatched in war, but strategy was not their gift, they excelled at bulldozing through battlefields and slaughtering anything in their path, a truth that had only begun to shift with Kaden's presence.

Serena smiled. "There is no one in our estate. All have been evacuated or sent into the wilderness to fight the Steelbeasts, so anyone searching there will find only emptiness."

She stepped beside Mayari, her gaze lifting to the man in the sky, he could not see through the crafted glass, and Serena herself was void incarnate.

No one could sense her.

"I will let you deal with this one," Serena said, her voice as cold as silence. "He is only a puppet, and he will die easily."

"And you?"

"Me? I am going to the Cerveau."

Mayari snapped her head toward her, eyes flashing. "You would attack them alone?"

Serena's lips curled into a smile — the smile of a demoness sculpted from nothingness, her black eyes gleaming like twin voids bleeding with darkness.

"Of course." She paused only long enough to add,

"Once you are done here, send half your troops to Thornspire. They will need them. I have already dispatched some of mine, but it may not be enough."

"Then I will let you command your army and choose your course." Serena added, though she was already fading, her body dissolving into darkness as if devoured by the void itself.

"It would be a shame if my baby lost his mother-in-law," Serena's voice lingered like a whisper of night, "so save me the unnecessary pain and survive this chaos."

"Take some of my soldiers as well," Mayari called after her, "you will need them if you wish to focus entirely on those manipulative bastards."

"What about you?"

"I have the Caelion with me. I will manage."

Serena smirked, and then she was gone.

Mayari remained at the window, her gaze fixed upward as the young man finally spoke, his smirk carrying the arrogance of a mouthpiece who thought himself important.

"Dear Elamin, I have come to deliver a message from my masters," he declared. "Side with us, or be prepared to be enslaved."

For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then Mayari's voice cut through the air, reaching his ears with the weight of a sentence already sealed:

"Lightning."

The sky roared, dark clouds swelling as bolts of thunderous light ripped downward, blistering through the air until one struck the blonde man with blinding force.

The choice had been made.

The battle had begun.

…

After the call, Kaden moved immediately. Meris had insisted on fighting in the wilderness, and with Lari — her dear maid — she activated a runic teleportation tool and vanished, but not before pressing her lips to Kaden's in a parting kiss.

Now Kaden stood in a dark alley at the edge of Elamin territory, his back pressed to the cold wall, invisible to all, the runic communication tool resting in his hand.

His blood-red eyes glowed fiercely in the gloom, like twin pools of living blood burning in the darkness.

"How many Nests did you find?" he asked.

A heartbeat later, a voice hummed from the runic tool.

"I have found four," Vaela answered, her voice calm. "I know their locations and how to reach them. There is a runic teleportation formation at each corner of Waverith."

"You already know what to do, right? You take one. The Ruined Knight takes another. The Abomination one as well. And since the Archivist cannot enter Darklore…tell the Necroweaver to claim the last."

"What about you, my dear?" Vaela's voice thickened with worry. She had tried to glimpse the outcome of this war, but the powerhouses involved stood on the same level as her, the threads of their fates were knotted, tangled, hidden in veils of power.

Even Kaden himself had become almost impossible to see through. Every time she tried to peer into his future, something vast and devouring tore at her senses, swallowing her eyes and mind until she could bear no more. She had stopped trying, but her unease only grew heavier.

At times like this, she hated the limits of her gift. She wanted more. If she was to stand beside Kaden, she could not remain this helpless.

Far away on her end of the runic tool, Vaela clenched her fist and bit her lip, her chest tight with suffocating frustration.

Kaden didn't need to see her to know exactly how she felt. He only chuckled.

"Sugar mommy," he teased, making her laugh despite herself, "you should know by now, I'm the least likely person in this war to die."

He glanced at the glowing panel before him.

[Death Coins: 35,000]

'Guess defeating the Undefeated wasn't such a small accomplishment.'

He grinned.

"So don't waste time worrying about me. Make sure you don't die Vae, don't drag me with you. And any of you. Tell them all…" He paused, voice sharpening.

"We are not the ones who die. We are the ones who bring death — to everyone, to everything. Don't slander my name."

Vaela laughed, her voice taking on a melodramatic lilt. "We will bring all things to death as you will, O Harvester."

Kaden chuckled, the sound low and amused.

"And you," she asked, curiosity pricking through her worry, "who will you fight, my dear?"

Kaden's grin stretched wider.

"Me?" He shrugged.

"Just a couple of Grandmasters, my dear."

—End of Chapter 252—

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