The battlefield did not calm after Binyamin’s last collision with the Grand Curator.

  It convulsed.

  Shockwaves from the heavens rippled downward in violent pulses, each one distorting gravity for a heartbeat before slamming it back into place. Massive chunks of stone hovered and then crashed unpredictably. Rivers of molten glyph energy snaked through shattered earth, flaring brighter whenever the sky detonated above.

  Aylen nearly lost her footing as the ground tilted beneath her.

  They weren’t standing on solid terrain.

  They were standing on something dying.

  Above them, Binyamin and the Grand Curator clashed again—light and cosmic authority tearing through clouds in expanding rings. Each impact sent debris raining down like divine shrapnel.

  “We can’t… we can’t help him,” Aylen muttered, bracing herself against a sudden tremor. “If we join, we’ll only slow him down!”

  Another shockwave hit. The air compressed. Kara staggered sideways as gravity shifted left for a split second.

  “Then what are we supposed to do?” Kara snapped, regaining balance mid-step. “Watch?”

  Naela’s hands trembled around her staff. Glyph energy flickered uncertainly across her palms, reacting instinctively to the chaos above.

  “Big brother… stay safe…” she whispered.

  The air behind them warped.

  Dark glyph energy tore outward in a violent arc, shredding through falling debris as if reality itself recoiled.

  The Inquisitor descended—not calmly, not ceremonially—but crashing down through unstable air, landing on a slab of floating stone that immediately fractured beneath his weight.

  Shadow-infused glyphs pulsed across his body like living veins. Black-violet sigils crawled along his arms and into his fists, tightening around muscle and bone.

  His eyes were not calm.

  They burned with fanatic devotion.

  “You will not interfere,” he growled, voice raw with urgency. “For the Grand Curator… I will eliminate all distractions.”

  The stone beneath him collapsed.

  He moved before it finished falling.

  He didn’t cast distant glyph storms.

  He became the weapon.

  The Inquisitor lunged forward, dark glyph energy flaring across his limbs. Each movement left afterimages—shadows layered over reality itself.

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  Aylen barely raised her weapon in time.

  The impact exploded through her arms.

  This wasn’t a projected strike.

  It was his fist—augmented by concentrated shadow glyphs—driving into her guard with crushing force.

  The ground beneath her feet disintegrated.

  She jumped instinctively, landing on a drifting slab of stone just as molten energy burst through the space she’d occupied.

  Kara moved simultaneously, adapting without speaking. She leapt not toward the Inquisitor—but toward a collapsing pillar, using it as elevation as gravity twisted again.

  He pivoted mid-strike, dark glyph energy surging across his shoulders like armor.

  He was fast.

  But more than that—

  He was desperate.

  “You think survival matters?” he snarled. “You think your lives outweigh order?”

  He lunged again, this time targeting Naela.

  Aylen saw it too late.

  Naela raised a defensive barrier—glyph energy flaring outward in a trembling sphere.

  The Inquisitor’s shadow-infused palm slammed into it.

  The barrier screamed.

  Cracks spidered across its surface.

  Naela’s boots slid across unstable ground as the force pushed her backward toward a widening fissure of molten glyph energy.

  The earth beneath her gave way.

  Kara reacted first.

  She didn’t attack.

  She kicked a floating shard of debris downward, altering its fall just enough to create temporary footing beneath Naela.

  Naela landed hard on the drifting stone instead of the molten fissure.

  They were learning.

  Adapting.

  The battlefield wasn’t just killing them.

  It was becoming part of the fight.

  Aylen used the next shockwave.

  As gravity twisted upward, she launched herself higher than she physically should have been able to. The Inquisitor tracked her—but a chunk of falling debris clipped his shoulder, disrupting his line of movement.

  For the first time—

  He misstepped.

  Kara capitalized instantly, striking at the Inquisitor’s flank.

  He blocked—but the force of the impact sent him sliding across unstable terrain, boots grinding against stone that refused to remain solid.

  Another shockwave hit.

  This one stronger.

  Above, Binyamin and the Grand Curator collided again, their glyph energies detonating in blinding light. The aftershock slammed downward, shattering entire sections of ground.

  A massive slab beneath Aylen cracked.

  She slipped—

  And for a moment—

  There was nothing beneath her but a collapsing chasm of molten glyph energy.

  The Inquisitor saw it.

  His eyes narrowed.

  One less distraction.

  Aylen’s fingers clawed at the air—

  Kara dove.

  Naela extended her staff—

  Time fractured into a single, stretched heartbeat.

  Aylen caught the end of Naela’s staff just as the slab disintegrated completely.

  Heat surged upward, scorching her face.

  Her grip slipped.

  For one second—

  She thought:

  If he dies… I never told him.

  Not as a soft confession.

  Not as hope.

  As regret.

  Her fingers tightened.

  “I’m not dying here!” she snarled, using the upward surge of a gravity distortion to swing herself back onto stable debris.

  The Inquisitor’s expression twisted—not in fear.

  In frustration.

  They were surviving.

  They were adapting.

  And every second they remained alive was another second the Grand Curator fought alone.

  He roared and surged forward again, shadow glyphs expanding violently across his body.

  But this time—

  The girls didn’t scatter.

  They moved deliberately.

  Aylen baited.

  Kara flanked.

  Naela timed her barrier not defensively—but to redirect force sideways into unstable debris.

  A falling pillar collapsed directly into the Inquisitor’s path, forcing him to crash through it instead of cleanly advancing.

  Smoke and fractured stone swallowed him for a moment.

  From a wide aerial view, the battlefield looked apocalyptic beyond comprehension.

  Above—two godlike entities tore at existence itself.

  Below—three mortal figures weaved through falling mountains and molten rivers, barely surviving, yet evolving with every breath.

  They were not winning.

  They were not overpowering him.

  But they were no longer reacting blindly.

  They were thinking inside chaos.

  And that alone reduced the burden on Binyamin—even if only slightly.

  The Inquisitor emerged from the dust, shadow glyphs flaring brighter, devotion burning hotter.

  This would not end easily.

  But neither would they.