The Heavenly Demon of Terror-Chapter 310: The Shattered Bastion, Realm of Echoes

Samuel's POV

The wind howled through the desolate ruins of the Shattered Bastion, a once-mighty fortress now reduced to crumbling stone and lingering memories. The air was thick with the scent of ash and old magic, a testament to the battles fought and lost here.

I navigated the debris-strewn path, my boots crunching over shattered remnants of what was once a grand hall. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant echoes of the past.

At the heart of the ruins stood Henry, his form silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the broken arches. His armor, though tarnished, still bore the insignia of the old guard. He turned as I approached, his gaze steady and unflinching.

"Samuel," he greeted, his voice carrying the weight of countless battles. "I sensed your arrival."

I inclined my head. "Henry. It's been a while."

He studied me, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You've changed. The ritual?"

I nodded. "Completed. The seal on the Forgotten Gate is reinforced, but it's only a temporary measure."

Henry's expression darkened. "Then the true threat still looms."

"Yes," I confirmed. "And we need all the allies we can muster. That's why I'm here."

He crossed his arms, considering. "Owen will be a challenge. He's grown... distant."

"I'll handle Owen," I assured him. "But I need to know if I can count on you."

Henry met my gaze, a flicker of determination in his eyes. "You have my sword, Samuel. For the sake of the realms."

I extended my hand, and he clasped it firmly. "Thank you, Henry."

As we released our grip, I turned to leave. "Time to find Owen."

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The Obsidian Spire, Realm of Shadows

The Obsidian Spire loomed ahead, its dark silhouette piercing the storm-laden sky. Lightning danced across the clouds, illuminating the jagged structure in brief, stark flashes.

I ascended the spiral staircase, each step echoing with the weight of purpose. At the summit, I found Owen, gazing out over the tumultuous landscape.

"Owen," I called out.

He turned slowly, his eyes reflecting the storm's fury. "Samuel. To what do I owe this visit?"

"We need to talk," I said, stepping closer. "The realms are in danger. The Forgotten Gate—"

"I know," he interrupted. "I've felt the tremors."

"Then you understand the urgency," I pressed. "We need your strength."

Owen's gaze hardened. "And why should I fight for realms that turned their back on me?"

"Because this threat doesn't discriminate," I replied. "It will consume everything."

He studied me for a moment, then sighed. "Very well. For the sake of balance."

I nodded. "Thank you, Owen."

As we stood atop the spire, the storm raged around us, a harbinger of the battles to come.

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Roselle's POV – New York City, Midnight – Nocturne's Office

The skyline of New York burned in lights—an endless, restless sprawl of humanity trying to outshine its own shadows. But no matter how many lights they lit, despair always found a way to seep through the cracks.

I stepped into the building like smoke slipping through a window. No cameras caught me, no guards questioned me. They wouldn't dare. Not in a place like this. Not in her domain.

The elevator ascended in silence, smooth and swift. The 111th floor: her perch.

When the doors opened, the scent of lilacs and blood hit me like a memory I never wanted back. The office beyond was sleek—marble floors darker than onyx, a glass wall offering a stunning view of the city that mocked the stars. A desk of crimson wood sat like a coffin between us.

And there she was.

Nocturne.

Goddess of Despair.

Queen of the Unspoken.

My closest friend. My greatest mirror.

She looked up from her glass of wine—red, of course. Her violet-black hair spilled down one side of her shoulder like ink, and her eyes... those violet eyes still carried the weight of a thousand suicides and whispered prayers unanswered.

"Roselle," she said, swirling her glass, her voice smooth and low like a violin played at a funeral. "You look worse than usual. So, something terrible must be happening."

I smirked and crossed the room, not bothering to sit yet. "It's always something terrible with me. You know that."

"I do." She took a slow sip. "You wear it like a lover's perfume."

I finally sat, letting my shadows flicker off me like dust. "I need to talk to you. About Nerezza. And the Forgotten Gate."

Nocturne's expression flickered—just for a heartbeat. But I saw it. The crack in her eternal melancholy.

"So," she said slowly, setting the glass down, "it's waking."

"It's not just waking," I said. "It's looking. Reaching. And Nerezza can't hold it alone."

"And you want to help her?" Nocturne asked, one perfectly shaped brow arching. "You, who called her a traitor to entropy? You, who swore you'd never set foot in Oblivion again?"

"I never said I'd do it for her." My eyes narrowed. "I'm doing it because if that gate opens, everything we've built—every realm, every afterlife, every loop and rebirth—burns."

Nocturne leaned back, thoughtful. "And Samuel?"

I looked out the window.

"He's with me."

"Of course he is." She sighed. "The man who ruins you in every life. The chaos to your control. The only one who can Fuck you right and fight beside you."

I smirked, unable to argue. "He leveled half of Ebonfall. Took down Nelo Angelo and Nerezza's Right Wing like he was swatting flies."

"Impressive," she murmured. "So, what do you want from me?"

"I want you to stand by me, Nocturne. I want Despair at my side when I go back to Oblivion and face the Queen. I want your archives, your whispers, your intel. I need to know who else is stirring."

She stood, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she walked to the window.

"I've felt something... something old moving beneath the sublayers of consciousness," she said. "The Null Architects are breathing again. And when they breathe, reality cracks."

The name sent a chill through me.

The Null Architects.

Entities who once unmade worlds, who whispered to dying gods and rewrote laws of existence. If they were moving...

"I'll need more than intel," I said.

"You'll get it," she replied. "I'll come."

I turned toward her. "Even if it means crossing the Pale Queen again?"

Nocturne turned to me, her gaze sharp as a blade. "I didn't survive the first Descent just to let existence collapse now. Besides—" she smiled faintly, "—if we're all going to die, I want to see what dress you wear to the apocalypse."

I laughed—genuine, rare.

"Thanks, Nocturne."

Her hand brushed mine briefly. "We've been in worse hells together. This one... will just be more theatrical."

As I turned to leave, shadows curling around my frame, she called after me—

"Tell Samuel not to break anything too important until I arrive."

I smirked over my shoulder. "He won't. Unless it tries to kill me first."

And with that, I vanished into the night.