The chamber pulsed with unnatural energy. The shattered seals radiated an eerie glow, their power dissipating into the air like dying embers. The ground trembled beneath Kol's feet, responding to the abyssal force clawing its way into the world.
Kol stood at the center of it all, his Black Thunder crackling around him in violent arcs. The two Knights of the Devil, battered but standing, watched him with cold, knowing eyes. The one who had lost his arm sneered, his dark armor stained with his own infernal blood.
"You think this is over?" the armless Knight spat. "You think because you took my limb, you've won?"
Kol said nothing. He only raised his hand, letting the dark energy coil around his fingers.
The second Knight chuckled darkly. "You don't even realize it, do you?"
The ground beneath them split apart. A deep, guttural sound—something between a growl and a sigh—rippled through the void. Shadows pooled, stretching unnaturally, writhing as if they were alive.
And then—something moved.
A colossal form stirred within the abyss, its shape shifting between a massive, coiling shadow and a monstrous, undefined terror. The darkness itself seemed to breathe, exhaling an oppressive aura that threatened to swallow them all.
The Devil's shadow had begun to rise.
Kol barely had time to react before the first Knight lunged, his remaining arm wielding his obsidian sword with renewed fury. Their blades clashed—Kol's Black Thunder meeting the dark steel in a storm of raw power. Sparks flew as they exchanged blows, each strike sending tremors through the already crumbling battlefield.
Elizabeth, still weakened from her earlier wounds, fought beside Dain, Orin, and Valen. They engaged the second Knight, their combined efforts barely keeping him at bay. Dain's massive strikes shook the ground, Valen's infernal chains lashed out with precision, and Orin teleported between attacks, slicing at vulnerable points.
But the Knights weren't faltering.
Even injured, they fought with the experience of warriors who had battled for centuries.
The witches, despite their losses, had not stopped their ritual.
Meanwhile, across the chamber, Jacob and Brad fought desperately against the witches.
The dark magic that surrounded them was relentless. The head witch, still leading the ritual, barely needed to lift a finger—their magic was already overwhelming the two hunters.
Jacob's blade sliced through another cursed specter, but it was endless. No matter how many he cut down, more rose in their place.
"Brad—" he growled.
"I know," Brad snapped, his eyes darting toward the final seal. "We're running out of time."
The final seal was breaking.
And if it shattered completely, there would be no stopping what came next.
Then, the head witch finally moved.
She lifted a single hand.
The air froze.
Jacob and Brad's bodies locked in place, their limbs refusing to obey.
Her voice was smooth, condescending.
"You humans never learn." She walked toward them, placing a single finger beneath Jacob's chin. "Do you even realize what's coming?"
Jacob struggled, his arms shaking under the weight of her spell.
The witch leaned closer, whispering,
"The Devil doesn't care about your little rebellion."
Her other hand lifted—shadow magic forming into a spear aimed straight for Jacob's heart.
She smiled.
Then—
A hand pierced through her chest.
The witch gasped, blood spilling from her lips.
Lisa stood behind her.
Her divine aura flared, her presence eclipsing the darkness.
Her hand—once delicate—was now a weapon.
Something inside her had changed.
The witch coughed, eyes wide in disbelief. "You... you shouldn't be..."
Lisa ripped her hand free.
The head witch collapsed.
Jacob and Brad staggered free from the spell, gasping for breath.
Lisa turned toward the final seal.
Her eyes glowed.
And for the first time—it wasn't fear.
It was power
The final seal was collapsing. The witches wanted this to happen.
Kol parried another strike and drove his fist into the Knight's chest, sending him skidding back. He turned—just in time to see the entire chamber shatter apart.
From the abyss, it emerged.
The Devil's form was not yet fully realized, but its presence alone was suffocating. A hulking figure of endless shadow and piercing crimson eyes, it towered over them, its form shifting and distorting, as if struggling to take physical shape.
The very air turned to fire, the space between moments stretched, and reality itself groaned under its weight.
And then—it spoke.
A single word. A name.
"Kol."
The sound was not a voice but a force—a command that dragged at his soul.
Kol staggered. His mind flooded with whispers. The voices of the fallen, the damned, the ones who had knelt before this entity.
Join me. Become what you were meant to be.
Kol clenched his jaw, shaking the voices away. Not yet. Not ever.
But then—four more figures stepped through the darkness.
The Devil's Knights.
Not two. Not four. But now six.
Kol's heart pounded as he took them in. They were different from the others—stronger, darker, more refined. Their presence alone was a declaration of power.
Behind them, the abyssal legions followed. Thousands of demonic foot soldiers, each bearing the Devil's mark.
Elizabeth, standing beside him, whispered, "We can't win this."
Kol didn't respond. He knew. They all knew.
The battle wasn't over.
It had only just begun.