Chapter 12: Chapter 11: It's Beautiful Tonight, Isn't It?

Amelia sprinted after Tiamat through the twisting cellar halls, the dragon’s laughter echoing behind her. Without warning, Tiamat found a staircase and surged upward—spectral wings erupting from her back. At the top, she twisted mid-air, slashing the wing downward like a blade.

The staircase split in a single dark-red arc, rubble and debris collapsing in Amelia’s path.

Smoke flared around her. She vanished, reappearing at the top just in time to grab Tiamat’s hood. The two burst into the entrance hall, Amelia still hanging from her, as chaos exploded below—Royal Guards locked in brutal combat with their twisted, infected kin, now turned into Newts.

“Damn you,” Amelia snarled. “How many did you poison?”

Tiamat smirked. Amelia drove a fist into her jaw, sending them both crashing through a stained-glass mural of Queen Selene. They hit the ground outside, glass and stone raining down around them.

Amelia landed in a crouch, blade drawn. Tiamat followed, mocking her posture but stumbling on the landing.

“It’s not like I forced them to drink my blood,” she said, smiling. “They just chose to fight for a greater cause.”

“There is no cause,” Amelia snapped. “Just you--- manifesting chaos on the unfortunate like you’ve done the last decade.”

Tiamat said nothing. Her gaze lifted to the full moon above, wind stirring her cloak.

“It’s beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

Amelia was suddenly in front of her, blade poised for the kill—but the strike missed. Tiamat vanished, reappearing behind her.

“A sneak attack? Tsk, shame on you, Commander.”

“Where is Queen Selene?” Amelia demanded.

“Queen… Sele—? Oh, Selene.” Tiamat feigned surprise, lips curling. “You’ll have to earn that answer.”

Amelia lunged. Steel met claw, the clash ringing through the air.

“She’s not dead,” Tiamat hissed, shoving Amelia back. “Trust me, I've tried. Over and over. But that bitch just won’t die.”

She stepped lightly, widening the gap between them.

“So I’ve decided to keep her. For now. You don’t mind, do you?”

Tiamat blinked.

Amelia suddenly vanished.

The air turned sharp with the scent of blood.

Tiamat gasped, staring at the gushing stump where her arm had been. Amelia stood still, blood sprayed across her armor, the severed limb clutched in her gauntlet.

Tiamat grinned, flesh already knitting itself back as smoke obscured the space between them. When Amelia struck again, Tiamat blocked with the spectral wing, now rigid and honed like steel. She spun, wing slicing air as Amelia narrowly ducked.

“Why?” Amelia demanded, slashing again—this time grazing Tiamat’s neck. But the dragon vanished, reappearing above with a brutal kick that cratered the earth around Amelia’s body.

Amelia groaned, staggered to her feet, then roared. “Why the queen? Why the prince?! What is the reason?!”

She leapt skyward, blade drawn—burning orange eyes locked on her target.

Tiamat stood still.

But Amelia’s sword froze inches from her chest.

Her arms trembled. The gauntlets cracked from the strain. But the blade wouldn’t move.

“W-what?” she gasped. “Why can’t I slay you?”

Tiamat’s voice softened. “Amelia... I thought I was following your vision. You were the one who stayed behind to play pretend.”

Goosebumps raced across Amelia’s skin.

“You’ve deluded yourself. That damned princess twisted your sense of self,” Tiamat continued. “You forgot what we were.”

Amelia opened her mouth, but no words came.

“When will you stop clinging to this fantasy—and start fighting for what we both want?”

Tiamat stepped closer.

“You and I... we’re the same, after all.”

“I... who are you?” Amelia whispered.

Tiamat reached up. Slowly, she pulled back her hood.

Amelia’s breath caught. Her eyes widened.

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On the rooftop, Deimos and Remus collided, the force of the impact tearing tiles from their foundations and hurling them into the night.

Remus quickly overpowered him, driving Deimos backward and hurling him through the air, slamming him into one of the castle's spires.

Deimos staggered, trying to regain his footing, but Remus was already upon him. He grabbed Deimos and launched him through the spire, shattering it entirely. The structure crumbled beneath them, the castle lights flickering violently as dust and stone rained down.

From the debris, Deimos burst upward, a wing of flame trailing behind him as he soared skyward. With a swift motion, he unleashed a torrent of fire down toward the wolf.

The flames engulfed Remus, but he quickly rose—unscathed. He let out a monstrous roar, the sound splitting the air and sending a concussive shockwave that extinguished the fire in an instant.

“Shit—” Deimos hissed, just as Remus lunged upward and seized him midair, slamming him into the ground. The body exploded in a burst of white sparks, revealing itself as a projected variant.

In a flash of white light, the real Deimos reappeared several meters away, blinking into view behind the wolf.

“...The more I use my Signature on him, the more resistant he becomes,” Deimos muttered, “He’s adapting.”

Remus was momentarily disoriented, confused by the presence of residual sparks.

“If I want to stop him, I’ll have to burn through the curse embedded in his soul’s core again… like I did before.”

He barely finished the thought before Remus’ head jerked toward him with unnatural precision, neck twisting like an owl's.

The werewolf then charged, each step cracking the rooftop beneath his weight. The oppressive air grew heavier as the shadow-written fur covering Remus rippled, devouring the surrounding light.

“His Signature has completely cloaked his Core in darkness,” Deimos said through clenched teeth as they collided again.

But this time, he held his ground.

“So I’ll have to cut through it all with my light… if I want to reach his Soul directly.”

He paused, calculating—until the soft chime of Helios at his side broke through his thoughts. The lance vibrated with raw Arkhaios energy.

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“That’s it!” Deimos breathed.

He drove Helios into Remus’ arm. The dark fur erupted in radiant white flame, the corrupted shadows recoiling. Remus screamed, lashing out with his free arm.

Deimos rotated mid-air, extending a hand—another variant split from him, composed of flame. The afterimage plunged a second lance through Remus’ free hand, pinning it to the rooftop.

White fire exploded from both wounds.

Deimos leapt back, distance secured. Remus shrieked, writhing as the flames consumed his limbs—then the darkness surged, swallowing the light and rebuilding his form from the shadows.

The variant Deimos rose up, charred and flickering. It gave a silent thumbs up before vanishing into the void of Remus’ darkness.

Deimos stared down at Helios, now pulsing with heightened Arkhaios resonance.

“Just a little longer, and Helios will be able to transform” he said, voice steadier now, more optimistic. “I can do this,”

His grip tightened.

“I can end this without killing him.”

Deimos moved, circling Remus in wide arcs. Each step left behind an afterimage—identical silhouettes etched in white fire.

Then, in a blur, the true Deimos struck. The moment his lance made contact, the afterimages sprang into motion.

One variant appeared with empty hands, surging forward at supersonic speed and uppercutting Remus in a burst of searing light. It vanished upon impact.

Another variant wielded an axe. As Remus reached to grab it, the projection flipped into the air and cleaved through his arm with a radiant arc, the limb falling away as a glowing ring of fire expanded outward. That variant, too, vanished.

Remus bellowed, surrounded, assaulted by countless versions of Deimos from across overlapping timelines.

Each one emerging from a different superfixed position, reliving the same battle atop the same roof of the same castle, on this same cursed night.

The true Deimos glanced at Helios. The lance glowed brighter now, humming violently.

“There it is—it’s ready,” he said, planting his feet.

Remus let out a roar that cracked the stone beneath him, blasting away the remaining afterimages in a single shockwave. The echoes of their forms scattered like dust.

The werewolf spun in place, eyes wild, foam at his jaws, searching for more projections—until he saw Deimos, standing alone atop a distant spire, Helios blazing beside him.

A solitary beacon of white light in the dark.

“I hope this works,” Deimos muttered, recalling the battle with the dragon—how, in that moment of despair and uncertainty, she appeared. She offered her hand then, as she always had. Humanity’s grace. And now that grace lived within the Tarot of the Sun, a guiding light in a forest of shadow.

“Eirene!” he shouted. “Come to me!”

A sharp silence followed. Remus halted, approaching cautiously—then everything changed.

Helios expanded outward, light flooding the rooftop and beyond. Its divine mechanisms shifted, gears grinding, plates bending. The lance contorted, reshaping itself as steam hissed from Deimos’s lips.

His eyes flared white.

Remus staggered back, shielding his face as the radiant force intensified.

By the time the light dimmed enough for sight to return, the lance was gone. In its place: the divine railgun—wrought from the core of the goddess Eirene, embedded deep within the Tarot of the Sun.

Deimos raised it slowly, Eirene's power guiding his arms as before. The air began to vibrate. Clouds overhead split apart.

He leveled the railgun at Remus. The receiver began to whine, the heat of white fire thickening—cooling into a slow, fluid plasma.

“I hope this works…” Deimos repeated.

Remus roared, voice swallowed by the growing noise as pressure built.

Deimos pulled the trigger.

Silence—then a faint, piercing ring.

A wave of light surged forward.

Remus tried to brace, but the beam struck before he could move.

The werewolf vanished inside it. The light consumed everything.

The beam faded slowly. Deimos scanned the ruined rooftop, eyes narrowed. Sparks drifted through the air. Molten metal ran in slow rivulets across broken stone, dripping off the edge.

At the crater’s center, Remus lay still. Smoke clung to his body. The corrupted, shadow-wrought form that had cloaked him was gone. Only remnants clung to his skin—dark specks, trying to regenerate.

Deimos dropped the railgun and rushed forward.

Alright—here goes. He knelt beside him, trying to focus.

“Tarot… of the Sun?” Remus croaked.

“I’m here to rescue you,” Deimos answered.

“Rescue me?” Remus chuckled. “How... strange.”

He looked up at the moon. His gaze softened. Shadows began creeping back over his body.

“No!” Deimos shouted. He stabilized, shifting through countless versions of himself in an instant. Then, phased through Remus’ chest.

The shadows snapped at him, writhing, trying to force him out—but the residual energy from the divine blast kept them at bay.

Deimos reached deeper until he felt it—Remus’ core. But the moment he touched it, his entire being jolted.

“What was that?” he muttered, pulling back. He reached again. Another jolt.

A force was pulling him in.

“G—aaah!” he strained, trying to resist, but it was too strong. His limbs turned transparent. Hands, feet—his whole form became spectral.

He turned, panic setting in, only to see himself—his body—sitting lifeless behind him. Shadows encased his spectral form.

The darkness pulled him in.

He was being dragged into Remus’ soul.

Inside, everything was twisted. A dark miasma. Shadows writhing. At the center: a soul core dimly glowing purple, bound in thick black tendrils.

“No…” Deimos muttered, eyes wide.

“The curse—it's trying to absorb my soul?”

He tried to summon flame. Call to Helios. But nothing happened. His body wouldn’t respond.

He was paralyzed.

Deimos drew closer to the core.

“This is impossible,” he said, panic rising in his voice. “I should be able to break free. Why can’t I—”

He drifted closer. The shadows thickened. The core loomed. He braced—

But before the tendrils could pull him fully in, the room shook.

The shadows recoiled. They thrashed violently. Something outside was attacking.

Deimos looked back—and saw himself, or something like him, fighting Remus’ wolf form, forcing it to retreat.

No. Not himself.

“Eirene?”

The goddess had taken control. The curse, in its attempt to consume Deimos' soul, had disabled his core temporarily. But Eirene’s presence, awakened and embedded within him, remained active. When his soul was pulled into Remus, she rose in his place.

Now she stood before Remus—the Goddess of Concord inhabiting the Tarot of the Sun’s body, wielding it as her vessel.

She said nothing. Her expression was unreadable. Her movements effortless. She weaved through Remus’ frenzied attacks without lifting a finger. Complete control. Absolute mastery of Deimos’ Signature—beyond even his own.

Remus struck wildly.But Nothing landed. She phased through everything like a ghost.

Then she raised a hand—and struck.

She phased through each strike effortlessly. She raised her hand and struck once.

The blow created an afterimage: another Deimos—But this alternate version used a different Signature entirely.

This one rose on a pillar of red ice, then converted the ice into a hammer and drove it down on Remus’ skull.

The impact nearly knocked him unconscious. His Soul Core flickered.

The afterimage lingered longer than expected, spawning another variation of itself before it disappeared.

“A–amazing…” Deimos whispered from within the soulscape.

Remus lunged at the new variant, but this one wore a lab coat and goggles. He mixed two glowing liquids in test tubes and hurled them. The concoction burst on Remus’ body, coating him in glowing purple sludge.

Remus inhaled once—and collapsed.

The variant vanished.

Eirene advanced. Her eyes flickered pink as she phased back into Remus’ body with little effort, reaching in to retrieve Deimos.

She grabbed him. Pulled him from the shadows. His soul returned to his body. But Eirene remained in control.

With her grip still inside Remus, she reached deeper, seizing the Core. White fire burst from her palm—pure, searing, unyielding.

The shadows screamed. Tendrils incinerated. The darkness retreated.

Remus' body had shifted back to its human form.

Eirene retracted her hand, falling to one knee, her strength spent. Her eyes flickered pink erratically.

Then, light broke the horizon.

Sunrise.

The fourth layer bathed in unfiltered morning light.

Remus stirred. Groggy. He yawned.

“Hnnngh— that’s odd. I had a really weird dream…”

He looked around.

“Wait… this can’t be right.”

He saw the rubble. His shredded clothes. The rooftop.

“Goddamn it—did I drink too much again?” He groaned. “No wonder my head’s killing me.”

He glanced at his hands.

“Or… did I lose control?” He frowned.

He turned—eyes locking onto the shaking body nearby.

“Tarot of the Sun…? Is that you?”

No answer.

Because Deimos wasn’t in control anymore. Neither was Eirene.

The body stood slowly. A low, twisted laugh escaped its throat.

“What is that repulsive energy?” Remus covered his mouth.

The figure straightened fully, examining its own hands, smiling wide. Its eyes glowed a scorching, violent pink.

“I've got to admit,” a new voice said, thick with amusement. “This happened way sooner than I thought. Too easy.”

Eris had taken control.