He had beco the Maw incarnate.
A tidal pull slamd outward. The anchors Naval, Roman, and Liliana had built strained to breaking. Roselia’s fla dimd to embers as oxygen itself seed swallowed. Milim staggered midair, her starfire wings flickering under the pressure.
Leon coughed blood, white light spilling from the cracks in his chest. His rings spun erratic, shivering against the pull of inevitability that surged anew. He tried to rise, but even with his allies feeding into him, his body scread on the edge of collapse.
Glothar spread his arms, the void bending toward him like a black sea."Fracture. Refuse. Bleed. It is beautiful—but it ends."
The devouring pressure slamd down.
Naval’s knees buckled, his trident screeching against the void-floor.Roselia scread, her staff cracking under the strain.Liliana bled from nose and ears, her threads snapping faster than she could weave them.Roman roared, but his fists sank into the void as if into sand, his anchor failing.Milim’s flas sputtered, collapsing into sparks as the Maw began to drink her light.
And Leon—Leon’s fractures blazed so brightly they threatened to rip him apart entirely. His body shook violently, his grin breaking into a grimace of pain.
But even as he fell, his eyes never left the Sovereign.
"...then... if you’ve beco the Maw..." his voice rasped, more blood than sound, "...I’ll fracture the source itself."
His cracked rings spun, locking into alignnt for a heartbeat—an unstable, suicidal rhythm.
The Fifth Pulse scread, demanding release.
Leon’s cracked rings locked, spinning into an unstable constellation. His chest heaved, every fracture screaming like a thousand voices clawing to be freed. The Fifth Pulse roared through him, wild, untad—a storm begging to annihilate both wielder and foe.
His voice ripped out raw, bloody, jagged:
"If you are the Maw—then I’ll tear you at the root!"
Glothar’s helm tilted, crimson slits flaring. His new form—void-flesh wrapped in molten shadow—leaned forward, hunger lashing like chains across the battlefield. The devouring pull tightened, snapping Roman’s stance, yanking Roselia’s staff from her hands, shredding Liliana’s threads.
But the Pulse refused to be swallowed.
Naval bellowed, planting his trident into the void-floor again, veins bulging as tidal resonance surged. "Ride it, Flabreaker—ride it, don’t let it eat you!"
Roselia staggered but thrust out both hands, fla spilling from every pore. "Burn with it, Leon—don’t fight the fire, be it!"
Liliana scread, her body trembling as she rewove broken threads into a net that anchored Leon’s cracks, binding him together for one more breath. "Hold! Just one more heartbeat—!"
Roman slamd his fists into the void, forcing it to hold shape. His roar shook the collapsing ground. "Then hit him with everything you are!"
Milim, wings of fla torn ragged, pressed her forehead into Leon’s back, fire and fury surging into him. Her voice was hoarse, nearly breaking:
"Take it—take all of with you!"
The Fifth Pulse surged. Not just Leon’s fracture now, but theirs—all of theirs. Defiance braided into his collapse, refusal forged into rhythm.
Leon’s eyes burned white, blood running like molten gold from the corners. His grin returned, wild and beautiful, even as his body cracked further.
"Fifth Pulse—"
The void shook. Glothar raised his arms, the Maw behind him convulsing into a single abyssal eye, hunger infinite, inevitable.
"—Oblivion Fractured!"
The resonance detonated.
Not a strike, but a sundering. Every fracture in Leon’s body exploded outward, each one carrying his allies’ resonance—tide, fla, thread, stone, and sun. A storm of refusal lanced into the Maw’s core.
The abyss scread. Glothar staggered as the eye cracked down the center, black fire spraying into impossible colors. The chorus of devoured thrones shattered mid-cry, collapsing into silence.
And for the first ti, the Maw recoiled.
Glothar’s body buckled, his molten armor splitting apart under the assault. His helm tilted back, crimson slits wide with sothing that might almost have been disbelief.
"...No." His voice was no longer a chorus, but a ragged growl. "Not... possible..."
Leon fell forward, fractures flaring into blinding light. His allies’ anchors strained, but they held him upright long enough for the Fifth Pulse to finish its song.
The Maw’s crown collapsed inward. The abyss itself convulsed.
And Glothar roared—not as Sovereign, not as Maw, but as sothing breaking.
The void shuddered, trembling like a carcass being torn apart from the inside.
Glothar’s roar ripped through the collapse, jagged and raw, no longer the voice of inevitability—it was fury. His molten armor split further, rivers of black fire spraying into the emptiness as cracks webbed across the towering form of the Maw.
The Fifth Pulse storm gnawed at him relentlessly. Every fracture Leon had unleashed carried the rhythm of his allies: Naval’s tides that would not yield, Roselia’s fire that would not dim, Liliana’s threads that wove strength from ruin, Roman’s unbreakable blows, Milim’s starfire that burned to exist.
It wasn’t just Leon breaking the Maw. It was all of them, refusing together.
The abyssal crown above Glothar’s head splintered. Shards of darkness fell like broken teeth, devoured not by hunger but by the fractures themselves. The great eye in the Maw’s center bled light, a beam of impossible colors spilling out.
Glothar staggered, his helm cracking open. Behind the crimson slits, a deeper glow burned—ashen white, raw and unbound. He reached upward, clutching at the void as if to anchor himself.
"You... tear... inevitability itself..." His voice rasped, stripped of its chorus. "But you do not yet understand..."
The Maw writhed behind him, shrinking—not defeated, but compressing. Collapsing inward like a dying star.
Leon stumbled forward, held up by Milim’s flas and Liliana’s threads, his body cracking further with each step. Blood and light poured freely down his chest. He bared his teeth, voice a hoarse snarl:
"Then explain it while you’re choking on us."
Glothar’s head tilted back. His cracked helm split apart entirely, disintegrating into the void. What remained beneath was not a face, but a pit of lightless fire—pure hunger made flesh. His towering fra sagged, then convulsed as if birthing sothing new.
The Maw collapsed into him. Every fragnt of its abyssal crown, every devoured throne, every voice screaming from its depths—all pulled inward, vanishing into the hollow fire of his core.
For a heartbeat, silence ruled the void.
Then Glothar stood again, no longer armored, no longer crowned. His body was a silhouette of shadowed fla, endless hunger bound into a shape that burned from within. His voice was stripped bare, a single tone vibrating through marrow:
"I am not the Maw’s herald. I am the Maw’s heart."
The void split open wider around them, abyss spilling out like veins from his chest.
Leon’s rings cracked again, dimming under the revelation. His allies braced tighter against him, anchoring his failing body.
And still, he grinned, broken and bright, whispering through clenched teeth:
"Good. Then we’ll carve out your heart."
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