The gate to the 90th Floor rose with a creak that sounded like the world’s final breath.

  No music. No echo of applause.

  Only the acidic stench of blood and rotting flesh seeping from the corridor, as if that darkness itself was breathing.

  Lukas felt his hand tremble on the Maximus. Not from fear—but from the cold certainty: nothing would ever be the same beyond that door.

  Luiz was the first to speak, with a tense half-smile.

  — Well… if there was ever a time to pray, it’s now.

  Valquíria ran her hand through her braid, soaked with sweat and dust.

  — Praying won’t help. But dying on our feet… that’s the least we can do.

  Adriele gripped the hilt of the Spring Sword.

  — I just wish… — she took a deep breath — that father could see us now.

  Silence. Lukas stepped forward.

  — He’s watching. — His eyes burned like embers. — And I won’t disappoint the man who sacrificed everything to raise us.

  The ground shook beneath them.

  The door opened on its own.

  The hall was an amphitheater of twisted columns, each carved with unrecognizable forms. At the center, three thrones of bone — and in two of them, unmoving figures, still as statues.

  The one on the left raised his chin. The 11th Disaster.

  — Ah… the cursed son of the Thunder Phantom. You finally made it. — His eyes were pale as ancient ice, his smile a festering wound. — I waited so long to see the rat who survived the massacre.

  Lukas felt rage ignite.

  — You… you killed my father.

  — I am Anatoly. The Black Fall. — He raised his blackened claws. — These hands tore out Kyros Fernandes’ heart. And then… I destroyed Sorriso.

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  Valquíria spat on the ground.

  — Talk all you want. We’re going to kill you.

  From the throne beside him, Morgana rested her face on her hand, smiling softly… but with sadness.

  — So… you really came, Lukas Fernandes.

  Anatoly laughed.

  — Don’t tell me, Morgana… are you starting to like him? Want him to hit you too?

  Her smile vanished.

  — Shut up.

  — Ah… I hit the mark. — Anatoly bared his teeth. — Wretched woman.

  She turned her eyes to Lukas. They didn’t hold the coldness of a Disaster, but the silent hunger of someone who wanted the impossible.

  — You don’t know anything… — she whispered.

  Lukas snarled.

  — I didn’t come here to listen. I came to bury you.

  Anatoly spread his arms.

  — Then come.

  The ground split into cracks. From them rose creatures of stitched flesh, skulls of iron, blades on their shoulders. A hundred of them.

  — Legion formation! — Luiz shouted.

  The battle erupted.

  Lukas charged forward, shield raised, Maximus slicing through two enemies at once. Adriele unleashed a cutting wind, tearing three apart. Valquíria crushed another with her hammer. Luiz drove his spear into a colossus’ chest.

  Búdica dashed along the flank — her two spears spinning in a golden whirlwind, cutting through ranks. When a group tried to retreat, she locked the blades into the central mount, forming a longbow. A shining arrow pierced five enemies at once, dropping them into the blood-soaked ground.

  But the slaughter was inevitable. One by one, the squads fell. Screams echoed across the stone ceiling. By the time the second line was crushed, only Lukas, Búdica, Leli, Valquíria, Luiz, Alenna, and Kátia of the Copas remained.

  Luiz, face drenched in blood, opened his hand — revealing a small black sphere inscribed with silver runes.

  — Hold them off… three minutes, and we’re out of here.

  — Three minutes against this?! — Kátia shouted, blocking a strike that shattered her shield.

  — Then die trying! — Valquíria roared, smashing another enemy.

  Time dragged on. Anatoly did not move, only watched. Morgana too remained still — and for an instant, Lukas swore he saw frustration in her eyes.

  When the final second passed, the relic burst in golden light, ripping the air like torn cloth.

  — Now! — Luiz shouted.

  The seven of them crossed the portal, vanishing.

  Silence fell over the hall. Anatoly turned to Morgana, furious.

  — You let them go.

  She did not answer. She simply rose, her gaze cold.

  — I decide who lives and who dies. Not you.

  And deep down, Anatoly understood: it wasn’t mercy. It was desire.

  A dangerous interest he could not comprehend — one that could endanger them all.

  End of Chapter 14