As the Ferry of the Dead burst free from the carcass of the undead immortal, there was nothing but the sensation of motion as the ship relentlessly tore through the last strands of rotten flesh and soared into open space once more.

  The immortal’s remains drifted behind them, split cleanly through the middle by the crimson wake of the Divinity of Dissection. It had been a gamble—one that could have ended with the ship shattered against decaying flesh or swallowed whole by the darkness that had lurked within—but Darren had trusted the instinct clawing at the back of his mind. He had known the creature had not been stationed there by accident.

  Now, the System had confirmed it.

  Ahead of them stretched nothing but the endless dark. To the naked eye, it was the same empty expanse they had been traversing ever since they had left behind the Realms of Tartarus.

  The ship had not slowed, barreling forward without hesitation. It sailed forward at full speed, propelled by the Authority of Hades and wrapped in the blood-red sheen of Darren’s magic. The Divinity of Dissection flowed through every inch of the ship. He continued feeding it instinctively, not daring to let it stop. Just because he could not see it did not mean that there was nothing there.

  Then it happened.

  The ship struck something.

  There was no warning, only a sudden, violent impact against what should have been empty space. Sparks erupted in a blinding cascade along the bow, red magic screeching as it met resistance.

  Whatever this barrier was, it had been made invisible.

  Even then, the Divinity of Dissection did not care.

  The crimson energy flared brighter, slicing forward without hesitation. Whatever lay before them—whatever machinery had been hidden so carefully behind the illusion—was torn open. Plates split apart. Framework shattered. The red current carved a tunnel through technology of complexity so advanced Darren could scarcely comprehend it.

  He had seen the Magic Tower in Easthaven. He had once walked its halls in his youth, witnessing marvels of construction and magical theory that pushed the limits of what they all understood about reality and the forces of nature that presided within it.

  In Hiraeth, that institution had been the forefront of technology as they all knew it.

  This surpassed everything that the Magic Tower had ever achieved.

  The machinery flashing past the Ferry was intricate beyond belief—interlocking mechanisms, systems built with precision that bordered on divine craftsmanship. And all of it was being ripped apart in a storm of sparks.

  The Ferry groaned.

  Its sides scraped violently against the tunnel being forced into existence, metal grinding so hard that Darren could feel the vibrations through his teeth. The endless shriek of destruction drowned out everything else. He could not hear Marianne. Could not hear Merlyn. Could barely hear his own breathing.

  For a fleeting instant, doubt threatened to overwhelm him.

  The ship had just been put through immense strain as it dug a path through the undead immortal standing in their path.

  Would it be able to hold together now?

  The deck shuddered beneath his feet. The air filled with the scent of burning metal. Cracks spidered across parts of the hull before sealing again under the oppressive weight of Hades’ power.

  It was then when the torn machinery around them began to react.

  It was subtle at first, small ripples in the broken framework. Then the pieces began to move. Plates folded inward. Fractured segments twisted and locked together. It was as if the structure itself had become aware of the damage.

  It was as if this technology was alive.

  The walls of the tunnel they had carved began pressing inward, squeezing toward the hull. Repair systems activated in frantic response, mechanisms trying desperately to close the wound Darren had forced open. Even as the Divinity of Dissection shredded them apart, new layers formed, attempting to suffocate the ship within a tightening metallic throat.

  “Faster,” Darren whispered.

  Merlyn urged the ship forward with even greater speed through the Autopilot Program, harnessing the very power that he possessed through his title as a Champion of Hades.

  The Divinity of Dissection continued cutting through the regenerating layers. It continued to be a force of great quality as his father liked to call the magic of Clan Ittriki.

  The pressure mounted. The grinding intensified. The ship felt as though it would tear itself apart before the machinery could.

  And then—

  Release.

  The resistance vanished all at once.

  The Ferry of the Dead burst through the final layer of concealed structure and shot into open space again. The grinding ceased. The sparks faded. The shriek of metal dissolved into silence.

  The golden runes that had surrounded them, woven and maintained by the Wicked Witch’s precise control, began to dim, their steady brilliance fading as if even they could not quite process what lay ahead. The oppressive darkness that had been their constant companion across dead realms and ruined heavens had seemingly been left behind.

  At the exact same moment, the crimson glow that had been imbued throughout the Ferry of the Dead flickered.

  Darren exhaled slowly, lifting his hand as the last traces of red light evaporated from the hull, allowing the Divinity of Dissection to fade into nothingness.

  Because there was nothing left to cut.

  He did not need Merlyn to tell him what he now saw.

  They were finally here.

  This was the planet they called Earth.

  Before them stretched a sky of blue.

  And it was a living sky vast and open, brushed with drifting white clouds illuminated by a radiant sun. The Ferry cut through it, no longer sailing through vacuum but air.

  Darren felt it immediately.

  Mist clung to his face. A sharp chill bit against his skin as the ship moved at impossible speeds through the upper atmosphere of this world. The wind blew past them, carrying with it a scent he had not realized he missed. The scent of life's clean vibrancy. They descended through layers of clouds, the Ferry parting them in swirling plumes of vapor. The world beneath was hidden for only a heartbeat longer.

  Then the clouds thinned.

  Darren shook his head in pure amazement.

  Below them sprawled a city unlike anything he had ever seen. Towering structures of glass and steel pierced toward the sky, their surfaces gleaming beneath sunlight. Roads stretched in intricate networks, crisscrossing with mathematical precision. Smaller buildings clustered between the giants, rectangular and uniform, their rooftops flat and organized. Vehicles moved along the roads in steady streams—small metallic carriages without horses, flowing in patterns of order. He saw bridges spanning wide rivers, saw patches of green parks carved deliberately into the concrete expanse. Sunlight reflected off windows in dazzling flashes, creating a shimmering sea of civilization.

  It was overwhelming.

  Darren had known this world would be different from Hiraeth. Hundreds of millions of years had passed. Time reshaped everything. There would never be another world like Hiraeth.

  But this—

  This was something that he could never have imagined.

  He saw them.

  People.

  Tiny figures from this height, walking along sidewalks, crossing streets, entering and exiting buildings. He saw movement everywhere, life flowing through the veins of this sprawling city.

  It was completely untouched by the darkness that had devoured so many worlds.

  Darren’s throat tightened.

  He had finally returned to the Lands of the Living.

  His eyes closed slowly as he drew in a trembling breath, letting the reality of it wash over him. The sound of the wind. The warmth of the sun. The distant hum of a civilization thriving without any knowledge of the abyss he had crossed to reach it.

  They had made it.

  “Darren.”

  Merlyn’s voice cut sharply through the moment just as Darren had begun to relax.

  “The Ferry of the Dead is at extremely low integrity. Brace for a crash landing.”

  His eyes snapped open.

  The relief and awe that had flooded him vanished in an instant, replaced by extreme dread. The ship began to shudder, following the System's urgent warning. He turned toward Marianne without thinking and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him. He wrapped her tightly against his chest just as the Ferry dipped violently. The nose angled downward, the city rising rapidly to meet them.

  Metal screamed.

  It was a different sound than before, no longer the grinding resistance of external forces, but the internal protest of a vessel that had endured too much. The Authority of Hades flickered weakly, its hold strained to its absolute limit.

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  For a fleeting, irrational moment, it really seemed like the Ferry of the Dead was a sentient thing. It had held together just long enough—long enough to escape the undead immortal, long enough to carve through the hidden machinery, long enough to reach the destination toward which the Compass of Life had guided them. Knowing that its passengers had arrived alive and well, it finally broke apart.

  The world tilted into chaos.

  Darren tightened his hold on Marianne, shielding her with his body as gravity claimed them.

  There was a flash of motion around them, metal scraps converging midair, drawn together by Merlyn’s frantic calculations. The Autopilot Program acted in desperation, piecing together a makeshift barrier. It formed around them like a crude membrane, reminiscent of the protective shell that had once kept the darkness at bay.

  Then came the impact.

  The ground rushed up in a blur.

  Everything went white.

  When awareness returned, Darren was lying amid rubble and twisted debris. Dust filled the air. His ears rang so loudly that it drowned out all other sound. Pain throbbed along his ribs and behind his eyes, sharp and disorienting. He groaned, struggling to draw breath. The metallic shell around them had crumpled but still, it had absorbed the worst of the force.

  He had lost his grip on Marianne during the fall.

  His vision blurred as he lifted his head slightly. Across from him, the Wicked Witch pushed herself up onto her elbows, coughing softly. A faint golden sheen shimmered across her torso, concentrated protectively over her abdomen. The Witch’s power had reacted instinctively, safeguarding the unborn child from the brunt of the collision.

  There was no telling how bad their injuries really were.

  What really mattered was that they were still breathing.

  They were still among the Lands of the Living.

  Darren forced himself upright with a sharp inhale, one hand pressed tightly against his right side. Pain flared beneath his ribs, hot and insistent, but it was manageable. The pieces of the metallic cocoon Merlyn had assembled from the Ferry’s scraps had settled into the crater their crash had carved into the earth.

  The clouds of dust were only just beginning to settle when he finally saw it.

  Red light pulsed across the sky above the city. A vast rectangular screen hung high overhead, its edges sharp and luminous. Symbols flickered across it in bold lines, the format eerily reminiscent of the warnings Merlyn would project into his vision.

  Darren’s stomach tightened.

  He glanced at Marianne.

  She was staring upward too.

  If she could see it, then this wasn’t his System. It wasn’t an internal alert or private projection.

  This was something imposed upon the world of Earth itself.

  Before he could focus on the words forming across that immense display, another sensation cut through the ringing in his ears.

  Footsteps.

  They approached with alarming speed, heavy and clearly headed their way. Darren turned instinctively, forcing his body fully upright despite the protest in his side.

  A man stood before them.

  He had mounted one of the larger fragments of the Ferry’s shattered hull, using it as a vantage point. Silver armor encased him from head to toe, polished to a brilliant sheen and laced intricately with gold filigree. It was not ceremonial, Darren could see the subtle scoring along the edges, the weight of it built for combat rather than display. His long blond hair fell cleanly past his shoulders, catching the sunlight. His features were sharp and symmetrical, almost unreal in their perfection. Piercing blue eyes locked onto Darren with a gaze that carried both command and judgment.

  He looked like a prince stepped out of a children's storybook.

  Darren recognized the type immediately.

  Authority came naturally to him. Power sat comfortably on his shoulders.

  This man reminded him of his older brother Alric of whom Darren had never been close to.

  The armored man’s boots scraped against the broken metal as he shifted his stance, looking down at him and Marianne from his elevated perch. There was no immediate aggression in his posture, only scrutiny. In his eyes were curiosity edged with disdain.

  His lips parted.

  He spoke.

  Darren saw the movement clearly—the slight narrowing of blue eyes, the faint curl of his mouth—but the words never reached him. His ears were still ringing from the crash, the world muted and distorted. Sound came in distant waves, as though he were submerged beneath water.

  All Darren could do was frown.

  Confusion clouded his own expression as he tried to steady his balance. The Ferry lay in ruin around them. Marianne had hijacked it because it had been their only means of crossing the cosmos.

  And now it was broken.

  Even if Merlyn could salvage its pieces, the repairs required would be immense.

  What were they going to do now?

  The blond man spoke again, louder this time. Darren could see the tightening of his jaw, the impatience creeping into his expression as no reply came.

  His regal composure began to fracture at the edges.

  Still Darren heard nothing.

  The man’s hand moved decisively, reaching for the sword fastened to the belt at his hip.

  The motion cut clean through Darren’s haze. His instincts sharpened instantly. Whatever had been spoken, whatever accusation or command had been issued, the meaning was now clear. The blade slid free with a fluid motion. Sunlight flashed along its edge as the armored warrior held it up.

  But before he could level it toward Darren and Marianne—

  It happened.

  There was no incantation, no visible gesture from Darren.

  It was only a sudden flash of red.

  Magical energy crackled through the air in an invisible arc, so swift it barely disturbed the dust. The Divinity of Dissection manifested as a precise, merciless line.

  The blond man froze.

  His sword slipped from his grip.

  Then both of his hands flew upward—not toward Darren, not toward Marianne—but toward his own neck.

  A wound had opened there.

  For a heartbeat, he remained standing, blue eyes wide in stunned disbelief. Blood welled between his fingers, bright and impossibly red against the silver and gold of his armor.

  Then it poured.

  His blade clattered uselessly to the ground.

  The man staggered forward on the broken hull fragment before losing his footing entirely. He fell heavily, armor striking metal and stone with a dull, final thud on the ground below.

  Silence followed.

  Blood pooled rapidly beneath him, spreading across the fractured earth in a dark crimson stain.

  Darren’s ears were still ringing.

  He stared at the fallen figure. The magic of Clan Ittriki had imbued itself into the very air with surgical precision, answering the threat before it could fully materialize.

  Just like that, the man was dead.

  Whoever it was, this warrior had now been reduced to a lifeless body cooling atop the wreckage of the Ferry of the Dead.

  Darren did not take his eyes off the fallen man as the blood continued to spread across fractured concrete.

  A deal was a deal.

  He had bargained with the King of the Underworld himself.

  Holding up his end of the deal was simple.

  Keep himself alive.

  Protect the package, Marianne Elarion and the unborn child she bore, and deliver her to the God of War.

  He stepped forward, boots crunching lightly over debris and splintered metal. The body of the armored warrior lay twisted where he had fallen, blue eyes staring sightlessly at the sky. Darren regarded him for only a brief second longer before bending down.

  The sword lay a short distance from the corpse, gleaming despite the dust.

  Darren wrapped his fingers around the hilt.

  It was perfectly weighted, the craftsmanship evident in the way it settled naturally into his grip. The leather around the handle was worn just enough to speak of use but meticulously maintained. The blade itself caught the light in a clean, uninterrupted line.

  Beautiful.

  He had not held a proper sword in what felt like ages. Magic had been his constant companion and the Divinity of Dissection had replaced steel more often than not. The last sword he had owned, a mighty thing in its own right, had broken during his fight with the Dragon King.

  But this—

  This felt familiar.

  He straightened slowly, testing the weight with a subtle shift of his wrist. It responded like an extension of his arm. Whoever had forged it understood not only metal but purpose.

  Behind him, Marianne barely reacted to the corpse at their feet. She glanced down once, and then looked away without comment.

  Darren had expected as much.

  Marianne had walked through darkness that devoured worlds. She had seen more death than most civilizations would in ten lifetimes. If eliminating a threat like that ensured the safety of her unborn child, it was a good thing that Darren had not hesitated to cut him down.

  Because neither would she.

  “Merlyn,” Darren called upon his System quietly, eyes lifting toward the sky once more. “What is that?”

  The giant red screen still pulsed overhead, dominating the heavens like a second sun. Now that the ringing in his ears had begun to fade and his vision began to sharpen once more, he could make out the text more clearly.

  The last line stood out above all else, catching his attention.

  < Misson Objective: Eliminate Darren Ittriki at all costs. >

  “It seems,” his System replied with more disdain than had been present in the man's expression, “that this world and its inhabitants operate on a foreign System, functioning externally as supposed to internal integration. How utterly pointless.”

  This time Merlyn did not bother concealing the emotion in its voice.

  Darren smirked.

  From the very beginning, Merlyn had made something clear. This System existed for him and him alone.

  Everything it did was tailored to Darren alone, personalized down to the smallest parameter.

  In contrast, whatever mechanism governed this world appeared to blanket its population indiscriminately, an external network projecting commands across the sky like some grand overseer.

  To Merlyn, it was an insult to the machinery's very nature.

  A familiar screen flickered into existence before his eyes, this one visible only to him.

  // New Mission - [ Bubble Pop Electric ]

  // Mission Objectives:

  1. Survive Against the Strongest Warriors of Earth

  2. Collection of Data on the Inferior System

  Just as Merlyn had promised.

  He adjusted his grip on the sword, feeling the leather settle more comfortably into his palm. His muscles remembered the motion, the balance between blade and body.

  Movement caught his attention.

  At the edges of the ruined street, figures were converging.

  Those were the ones who wanted him dead, the Users of this Inferior System who had been ordered to eliminate him at all costs.

  All of them heading directly toward them.

  Darren exhaled slowly.

  Beside him, Marianne extended her hand toward the wreckage. From within the rubble, her wooden staff tore free, ripping itself from beneath twisted beams and broken plating. It flew unerringly into her grasp. The runes rose from the debris as golden light spilled outward, their glow reflecting off Darren’s newly claimed blade.

  Above them, the red warning continued to flash.

  Ahead of them, the warriors closed in.

  Darren rolled his shoulders once, settling into stance.

  At the bottom of the screen, a familiar prompt waited.

  // Accept This Mission?

  // [ Yes ] OR [ No ]

  He pressed [ Yes ].

  It was time for battle.