The deepest level of the Abyss Prison did not scream. It did not bleed. Unlike the chaos of the floors above, where the desperate cries of guards and the primal roars of demon-vessels created a cacophony of terror, the "Terminal Floor" was a tomb of absolute silence. The air here was heavy, unnaturally cold, and thick with the scent of ancient copper, stagnant water, and a pressure that felt like being buried under a mountain.

  Emmet walked through the darkness, his boots clicking softly against the obsidian floor. He was a reaper who had finished his harvest; his body was saturated with the energy of a hundred lesser demons, his Unwoven muscles pulsing with a vibrant, violet light. His eyes, glowing like twin searchlights, scanned the final hallway. He had taken what he needed from the upper floors, but his curiosity—the cold, analytical curiosity of a master harvester—had led him to the one door that the Empire had never meant for anyone to find.

  It was a slab of obsidian-reinforced steel, twenty feet high, etched with glowing blue seals of the "Absolute Lockdown" protocol. These weren't meant to keep something in—they were meant to protect the world from what lay behind. Emmet didn't hesitate. He shifted his weight, his lean, muscular frame coiling like a spring. He channeled his Herculean strength, a gift of his evolved Unwoven biology, and fused it with the amplifying resonance of Behemoth.

  The weapon, now a heavy tactical glaive-club, hummed with a low-frequency vibration that rattled the very air. With a roar of purple energy, Emmet struck the center of the seal.

  BOOM.

  The shockwave pulverized the stone walls. The metallic gate didn't just break; it buckled and folded inward like wet parchment. Emmet stepped through the settling dust into a chamber that defied all logic.

  In the center of the vast, circular room, a figure was suspended in a spiderweb of ivory-colored tubes and pulsating IV-like conduits. This wasn't a prison cell; it was a refinery. The tubes weren't feeding the being—they were draining it. Thick, crimson fluid and raw, agonizing demonic essence flowed through the conduits, pumped away to hidden reservoirs in the Empire above.

  The being was a vessel, human in silhouette but distorted by centuries of extraction. Its skin was the color of bruised marble, and its arms were fused—literally latched—into the hilt of a massive, terrifying broadsword that pulsed with a rhythmic, blood-red light. It was as if the weapon was a living organ, and the man was merely its battery.

  As Emmet approached, the being’s head lolled forward. Its eyes opened—ancient, weary, and reflecting the violet fire of Emmet’s presence.

  "What... are you?" The voice was a telepathic rasp, speaking in the ancient Demon Tongue. The being peered at Emmet, trying to find a label for the creature before it. "Your soul is a void... yet it burns. You feel like the abyss... yet you walk with the purpose of a man. Are you one of them? The Abberaths? Have you finally come to reclaim us?"

  Emmet stopped ten paces away, his voice calm and perfectly fluent in the ancient tongue. "Abberaths? No. I am something the world hasn't seen in a long time. And you... are you a prisoner, or the source of this rot?"

  The being let out a sound like dry leaves skittering on stone. "If you are not an Abberath, then you are a thief. Are you here to end me, or to steal what the Empire has already bled dry?"

  "I have questions," Emmet said. "Answers will buy you a favor. I can free you, or I can kill you. Choose."

  The being's grip tightened on the red sword, the crimson pulse accelerating. "Ask."

  "Years ago, a cult summoned a being. It took someone from me. It had silver wings and an aura that made the air impossible to breathe... as if time itself had stopped. Do you know what it is? Where it hides?"

  The creature’s pupils dilated. "That is no demon. If time bowed to its presence, you were looking at a servant of this Holy Veil's Domain. It is the undoing of the elemental gods... their final messenger. You are hunting a Shadow of the Higher Heavens, little harvester. A creature that exists between the seconds."

  The being’s breath hitched, its life-force flickering like a dying candle. "I speak the truth. Now... my wish. Grant it. Kill me."

  Emmet looked at the tubes, seeing the horrific "stew" of energy being extracted. "I shall grant it. What is your name, being? And what are you, if not a demon?"

  "I am... Dabren. A... Steward of the Gate..." The words failed him, his throat closing as the red sword began to glow with a violent, hungry light, consuming the very flesh of his hands.

  "End me," Dabren begged in a language so ancient it vibrated in Emmet’s bones. "I beg you... do not let them use my blood for another hour."

  Emmet nodded, his face softening into a mask of grim respect. "Consider this my mercy, Dabren. You shall be the first to experience the culmination of my path. Be honored—you are the first to witness the answer I have prepared for that damn being."

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  In the quiet, dark moments, a time when Emmet reminisces how Eanne was taken, he had spent months staring at the Unwoven Tree in his mind. His Divine Forge was no longer just a tool for crafting weapons; it had become an engine of existential theory. He remembered the feeling of that silver-winged being—the way the air turned to lead, and his own strength meant nothing.

  He realized that Rend energy was not just a fuel. If compressed enough—if folded onto itself a million times—it would reach a density that reality itself could not support. He didn't need a bigger explosion; he needed a Zero Point. A place where energy was so dense it created a vacuum in existence. He had spent years theorizing how to craft a "destructive void" using the Unwoven traits. This was his masterwork.

  Emmet raised his right hand, pointing a single, steady finger at Dabren’s forehead.

  The air in the room suddenly went dead. The purple aura around Emmet didn't explode outward; it imploded. All the violet energy he had harvested from the floors above rushed toward the tip of his finger. It began to compress, changing color from violet to a dark, bruising indigo, and finally into a light-eating blackness.

  A tiny sphere, no larger than a marble, hovered at his fingertip. It was silent, but the weight of it was so immense that the floor beneath Emmet’s boots disintegrated into fine powder.

  "Rend Zero Point," Emmet whispered.

  The sphere didn't fly; it drifted. It moved with an agonizing, silent slowness through the air. When it touched Dabren’s forehead, there was no sound. There was no fire.

  The sphere simply expanded. It was a deletion.

  Dabren, the massive red sword, the ivory tubes, and the very air in the center of the room were simply erased. For a split second, a perfect spherical void existed where the "Steward" had been. Then, the surrounding air rushed in to fill the vacuum with a deafening thwip.

  Emmet exhaled, a cloud of purple vapor escaping his lips as his eyes faded from flame to a dull glow. "Phew... that was intense. It consumed nearly every Rend crystal in my stores... but the theory is proven."

  He looked at the empty space. "Consider this my mercy, Dabren."

  Upstairs, the central plaza was a landscape of fire and rubble. The battle between Skull and Captain Reno had reached its boiling point.

  Skull felt a sudden, massive resonance through his link with Emmet—the birth of the Zero Point. A grim, terrifying smile appeared beneath his bone mask. "Ah... Master is finished. It’s time for me to stop playing."

  Skull stood perfectly still, closing his eyes as Reno charged him. To Reno’s eyes, Skull just seemed to be surrendering, but in the psychic realm, a massive, glowing totem of the Rend Tree projected behind the Bone Knight. The "Unwoven Traits" flowed through Skull’s body like glowing purple tattoos, merging with his crimson Warrior’s Divinity.

  "Absolute Rendflow," Skull commanded.

  Captain Reno skidded to a halt, his obsidian skin prickling. The power radiating from Skull had shifted from physical strength to something metaphysical. "Your power... it’s not divinity anymore. What is this foul energy?"

  "Behold my Master’s blessing," Skull said, his voice echoing with the weight of a thousand harvested souls.

  Reno laughed, his eerie, red-eyed gaze fixed on Skull. He crossed his orange daggers, his Orange Ego flaring to its absolute limit, turning the air around him into a shimmering heat haze. "Rend-what? I don't care what you call it! Let's end this, Skull! One last strike for the Empire!"

  They clashed.

  The impact was a supernova of orange and purple. The entire plaza wing of the Abyss exploded outward, the ceiling collapsing in a rain of concrete and steel. When the smoke cleared, Skull was standing perfectly still, his bone-armor glowing with a faint violet light.

  "Thank you for your blessing, Master," Skull whispered, looking at his hands.

  Reno stood five paces away, his daggers still crossed. He let out one last, dry, rattling laugh. "That was... quite the move... Skull... I... I didn't see it coming..."

  As Reno spoke, his body began to disintegrate. It wasn't a wound; it was a total molecular collapse caused by the Rendflow. He turned into red dust, then scorched black ash, blowing away in the wind. The Captain of the Blue Ops, the legend of Redwave, was gone.

  On the surface, Redwave City was a vision of the end times. The serpent-Joan had reduced entire districts to smoldering craters. But high atop the Central Clocktower, Leto’s manic conducting suddenly stopped.

  He froze, his head snapping toward the Abyss Prison. A cold needle of genuine dread pricked his heart. A shiver raced down his spine—the "Rend Zero Point" had sent a ripple through reality that even a Crimson 10 member could not ignore.

  Ah... they are finished down there, Leto thought, his eyes narrowing. I suppose I should end my performance before that shadow comes looking for a new stage.

  Leto’s expression shifted instantly. The manic, jagged grin smoothed into a look of solemn, divine determination. He floated into the air, rising above the smoke like a shining, vengeful god. He channeled his Red Ego, and a booming, resonant voice—amplified by his power—echoed across the burning city.

  "FEAR NOT, CITIZENS OF THE RED EMPIRE!"

  The survivors looked up, their faces smeared with ash and tears.

  "A messenger of justice has come to save you! It is I, a member of the Crimson 10, sent to end this chaos!"

  Leto erupted in a blinding pillar of crimson light. He manifested his perfected Ego: The Scarlet Maw. Thousands of red, ethereal shields appeared in the air around the gargantuan serpent-Joan. But as the shields closed in, they morphed into snapping, demonic maws of pure energy.

  "DEVOUR THE BEAST!" Leto roared.

  The spectacle was a masterpiece of deception. The giant red mouths began to "exorcise" the flesh of the serpent, chipping it away like a thousand piranhas. To the onlookers, it looked like a holy cleansing. Slowly, the massive serpent dissolved into red mist, leaving only the naked, unconscious form of Joan floating in the center.

  Leto caught her gently in his arms, descending slowly to the street below like a savior carrying a fallen martyr. He leaned in, whispering into her ear as her life faded.

  "Shhh... sleep now, child of the Empire. You served me well. You are free."

  The crowd erupted. People fell to their knees, weeping with joy. This was a miracle. This was the power of the Empire. Leto landed softly, looking "exhausted" and "humbled."

  "For the people of the Red Empire," Leto said, his voice soft and "shy." "No need for thanks. I am but a servant of your safety. Rebuild. Adapt. For in our struggle, we find our divinity. Long live the Empire!"

  As he flew toward the horizon, the screams of terror had turned into cheers for their "Hero." Leto had stolen the victory, but in the dark, the Unwoven were finally ready to begin the real war.