​The silence that followed the Pulse Rifle’s discharge was deafening. The brilliant blue-white light that had momentarily blinded everyone faded, leaving behind thin plumes of smoke and a sharp scent of ozone mingled with the stench of charred organic rot. Dayat stood motionless, his breath ragged. His eyes narrowed, trying to peer through the lingering energy particles suspended in the air.

​The first thing he realized was a bitter reality: Morbis was still standing.

​The monster had not been annihilated. His body was shattered—vast cracks spider-webbed across the surface of his pale skin. Black lines snaked from his chest to his face. Though his physical form looked like glass ready to shatter at the slightest touch, Morbis remained. He stood tall, staring at them with hollow black eyes that somehow still flickered with consciousness.

​"You..." Morbis’s voice was ghastly—broken and unstable. "...You truly managed to destroy my anchor."

​There was a brief pause as Morbis drew a heavy breath. Strangely, it wasn’t the gasping breath of someone dying in agony. It sounded more like a sigh of relief. Like someone finally setting down a mountain-sized burden that had been carried on their shoulders for centuries.

​Dayat shifted immediately, positioning himself in front of the weakened Dola. His hands now gripped his HK416 tightly.

​"It’s over," Dayat said in a low voice. His tone held no explosive sense of victory—only a relief that felt premature. "You’ve lost, Morbis."

​Morbis met Dayat’s gaze. The cracks on his face widened; a small shard of black skin on his cheek peeled away, disintegrating into dust before it even hit the floor. Yet, amidst the destruction, Morbis smiled. It was a smile entirely different from any he had shown before. There was no mockery, no arrogance, not even hatred. The smile was... peaceful.

​In the corner, Lunethra remained seated on the cold stone floor. The blood seeping from the wounds on her shoulder and leg had slowed. The basic healing magic she had cast was working gradually—at least enough to keep her from losing consciousness. But she didn’t stand. Her eyes remained fixed on the figure of Morbis, who appeared both terrifying and fragile.

​"Why?" Lunethra whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief. "Why is he smiling like that? He lost. His heart stopped. Why doesn’t he look afraid?"

​Dola offered no answer. She leaned against the wall, the black veins on her cheeks fading with the destruction of the plague heart. However, her gaze remained sharp. Her dim blue eyes watched Morbis with an intensity of alertness that was actually increasing. She knew something was wrong.

​Morbis slowly tilted his head back, staring at the high ceiling. Around him, the dead black roots occasionally twitched. Not because they were alive, but because of the residual destructive energy trapped within their fibers. The atmosphere in the hall suddenly became oppressive. The stone ceiling above seemed to descend, shrinking their space. Or perhaps it was just Dayat’s mind being crushed by the drastically shifting atmosphere.

​"Lord Wabil..." Morbis’s voice changed again. This time it was deeper, heavier, and echoed in an unnatural way. It felt as though Morbis wasn’t the only one speaking through his vocal cords. Something far greater, something ancient, was speaking through him. "...Lord Wabil no longer requires this anchor."

​Dayat raised his rifle again, aiming directly at Morbis’s head. "Stop talking in riddles. What do you mean?"

​Morbis looked back at Dayat. The cracks on his body had spread to his arms, yet he seemed completely indifferent to the pain. "As long as I exist in this world... he is bound," he said with a calm tone that made the hair on the back of Dayat’s neck stand up. "I was his true prison."

​Dola suddenly stiffened. Her eyes widened—an emotional reaction she rarely displayed. She had just realized a terrifying truth.

​Morbis continued his explanation, his voice growing weaker. "I am the door. I am the final barrier holding his presence back from spilling into your world." He stared at his hand, which was beginning to crumble into grains of black dust. "And you... you have just opened that door for him."

​Silence enveloped them once more. One second passed, then two.

​Dayat finally understood. His expression shifted drastically. It wasn’t fear that surfaced, but something far more painful: a profound regret. He looked at his own hands, still trembling from the Pulse Rifle’s recoil, then at the piles of dust surrounding Morbis. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

​"So you mean... we just set him free?" Dayat asked, his voice hoarse.

​"You have just unleashed the Harbinger of the Plague. Wabil of Plague."

​The words fell like a death sentence pronounced in a courtroom. Lunethra instinctively covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes welling with tears of shock. Dola closed her eyes tightly, as if trying to erase this reality from her mind. Meanwhile, Dayat just stood frozen, trying to process the fact that the victory he had fought for with his life was actually a greater catastrophe.

​"Why?" Dayat asked again, his voice thick with suppressed anger. "Why did you let us do this? Why didn’t you tell us from the start?"

​"Because I was too tired, Dayat," Morbis interrupted. His voice no longer echoed with that deep, otherworldly power; it returned to his original voice—weak, fragmented, but honest. "Thousands of years... I have been this prison for thousands of years. Waiting in the darkness, guarding the border, ensuring he would never rise again. You will never know what it feels like to be a vessel for something far greater than yourself. Something that constantly gnaws at your soul from the inside, trying to tear its way out every single second."

​The cracks on Morbis’s body reached a breaking point. His right hand shattered—breaking into pieces like glass hitting the floor. It started from the fingertips, then the wrist, spreading rapidly upward.

​"I didn’t have the strength to destroy him myself," Morbis continued, his voice now a mere whisper. "But you are different. The Architect... the Maiden... you have potential I never possessed. You are strong enough to do what I failed to do millennia ago."

​"You did this on purpose," Dayat said, clenching his fists. "You let us win so you could be free."

​Morbis shook his head slowly, the last movement he could manage. "No. I didn’t let you win. I ensured you won. There is a vast difference."

​His left arm fell and shattered. His shoulder collapsed. Now, Morbis’s body consisted only of a chest and a partially intact head.

​"Thank you," Morbis spoke for the last time. His voice was nearly inaudible, swallowed by a wind that suddenly gusted through the enclosed room. "Thank you... for freeing me from this torment."

​Morbis’s head finally slumped. A final crack raced from his forehead to his chin. In an instant, the remains of his body collapsed into a mound of black dust that no longer held a spark of life.

​Morbis was dead. He was truly gone from this world.

​Yet, none of them felt relieved. There was no celebration of victory. Because at the same moment Morbis’s life vanished, something far more massive and dangerous had just awakened from its slumber.

​The first tremor struck just seconds later.

​The vibration didn’t come from within the hall, but from the distance—far to the south. The stone floor beneath Dayat’s feet shook with a terrifying frequency. This wasn’t a minor tremor that could be ignored. New cracks appeared on the hall’s walls, and fragments of stone and dust rained down from the high ceiling. Dayat nearly lost his balance, only steadying himself by leaning his weight on his rifle.

​"What is that?" Lunethra screamed, clutching the floor to keep from falling.

​Dola slowly opened her eyes. Her gaze was hollow yet filled with certainty. "It’s him."

​That single phrase was more than enough to explain everything.

​The air in the room changed drastically. The temperature rose rapidly, feeling hot and stifling. The stench of the plague, which had previously been concentrated around the heart, now wafted from every direction—from the cracks in the floor, from the walls, even from the very air they breathed.

​Dayat tried to touch the wall beside him. It felt hot. Not the heat produced by fire, but a heat that felt as if the wall itself had a pulse. The wall felt... alive.

​"We have to get to the surface immediately," Dayat said firmly. He turned and helped Lunethra to her feet. "Lun, can you still walk?"

​Lunethra nodded, though her face was still deathly pale and her breath was shallow. "I’ll try. I can move bit by bit."

​Dola stood up without assistance. Her movements were slow, but far more stable than they had been minutes ago. The black veins on her cheeks had completely vanished, leaving her skin back to its natural pallor. "I’m coming with you. We cannot stay here."

​The three of them began to ascend the spiral staircase. Every step they took felt heavier. Not because of physical exhaustion, but because the air pressure was becoming incredibly intense. The tremors beneath their feet continued, growing more intense and feeling closer with every passing second.

​After several minutes that felt like hours, they finally reached The Heart of Logic. The control room was vastly different from when they had left it. The binary lights decorating the walls flickered erratically with the red of a warning alert. Control panels emitted a constant alarm—beep, beep, beep—signaling a massive anomaly detected by the system.

​In front of one of the main panels, Dalgor stood, his face no less pale than Lunethra’s.

​"Master Dayat!" Dalgor cried out, his voice trembling violently. "There’s a massive energy signal coming from the south. I don’t know what it is, but its power exceeds anything ever recorded in this castle’s database!"

​Dayat didn’t answer immediately. He walked quickly to the large glass window facing the Forest of Lamentation to the south.

​The world outside had changed completely.

​Normally, the fog shrouding the forest was a pale gray, moving slowly among the dead black trees. But now, the sight was far more horrific. The fog had turned pitch black—as dark as ink.

​"He is coming," whispered Dola, who now stood beside Dayat. Her eyes were fixed on the blackening southern horizon. "Wabil of Plague. He has fully awakened."

​Dayat remained silent, able only to stare at the mass of black fog rising into the sky, forming a terrifying storm cloud formation. But he knew it wasn’t an ordinary storm. It was a collection of pure plague spores possessing their own consciousness. Something alive and very hungry.

​"How much time do we have before he reaches us?" Dayat asked in a low voice, almost a whisper to himself.

​Dola fell silent for a moment, her face showing a rare uncertainty. "I don’t know for sure. But one thing is certain: he won’t be coming alone."

​The next tremor hit the castle with far greater force. The entire structure shook violently, causing several pieces of equipment in the control room to fall. In the distance, at the edge of their vision to the south, something began to move. Not just one or two figures, but hundreds, even thousands.

​The Plagueborne, who had previously wandered aimlessly, now seemed to have a clear command. They no longer moved slowly and sluggishly. They began to run, charging through anything in their path toward the north.