Smoke still hung in the air like ash-laced fog.
Berou stood at the edge of the ruin, the remnants of the prototype reduced to glowing motes that spiraled slowly in the black wind. The Apostate armor had receded, but the marks it left — the black veins, the subtle glow behind his eyes, the pressure in his chest — did not fade.
He looked down at his hands.
For a moment, he didn't recognize them.
You're slipping further,
but forward is the only direction left.
He turned east.
Toward the Pale Gate.
The front-facing entrance of the Abyss Organization's inner citadel.
No back doors. No stealth paths. It was a monument to supremacy — a massive arch of steel and bone carved into the cliffside, guarded day and night by elite sentries and automated defenses.
Berou didn't care.
He wasn't coming to sneak in.
He was coming to be seen.
The land changed again. Cracked glass plains replaced soil. Massive obelisks jutted from the ground at unnatural angles, each engraved with names of those the Abyss had consumed in silence.
Berou walked through them like he was being summoned.
And then — he wasn't alone.
A ripple of power.
Then a voice, casual, smooth, like a blade pressed flat against your throat.
"You've made quite the mess, Berou."
He turned.
A figure stood several yards away, arms folded, cloaked in deep violet robes embroidered with Abyss script. Face half-covered in a porcelain mask. One wing — mechanical, humming faintly — twitched behind them.
Vael.
Former tactical overseer. Strategist. Manipulator. Berou had never trusted him, even when they served the same cause.
Vael smiled. "You really came. I wasn't sure you had the arrogance."
"I'm not here for performance," Berou said flatly.
"No. You're here to die, I assume. Or start a war. Is there a difference anymore?"
Berou stepped closer. "Get to the point."
Vael's smile didn't fade.
"The Abyss knows you're coming. It watched the Hollow Vein collapse. It heard the Prototype scream. And it's not surprised."
"Then let it open its doors."
Vael raised a brow. "You think they'll welcome you? You're a myth now. A warning. A scar they carved out and buried."
"I'm not asking."
Vael's face darkened. "They'll try to kill you."
Berou's eyes flickered red. "They already did."
A tense silence.
Then Vael sighed, glancing back toward the Pale Gate — now visible in the distance, black and towering, ringed in energy and flame.
"I can get you in," Vael said quietly.
Berou narrowed his eyes. "Why would you help me?"
Vael didn't answer at first. He just stared at Berou like someone trying to decide whether to kneel or run.
Then he said, "Because I saw what they did to you. And one day, they'll do it to me, too."
Berou studied him. Saw the flicker of truth, or the illusion of it. But in this place, motives were knives — always hidden, always sharp.
He didn't need to trust Vael.
He just needed a door.
"Fine," Berou said. "Take me in."
They walked in silence.
Through shattered trails of old battles. Past warning glyphs and dead sentries. Vael moved with the precision of someone who had spent too long surviving by proximity to monsters.
And then — the Pale Gate stood before them.
Massive. Breathless. Silent.
As if it recognized Berou.
As if it remembered what it had let out all those years ago — and couldn't quite believe he had returned.
Vael placed a hand on the outer seal.
The gate groaned. Shifted.
Opened just enough.
"After this," Vael murmured, "you're on your own."
"I've always been."
Berou stepped inside.
And the door shut behind him like the mouth of a god swallowing its child whole.