The land trembled under every step the colossal beast took.

  Even from miles away, each thunderous footfall sent ripples through the cracked ground, shaking loose stones, snapping jagged pillars, and bending the ancient spires of the Shadow Realm as if they were reeds in a storm.

  Kevlar, Draculius, Lilith, Camilia, and the hand-selected strike party of fewer than thirty Royal Ones streaked across the broken plains like streaks of dark lightning. Dust clouds spiraled in the wake of their speed, their figures weaving around chasms of newly-formed lava and mountainous debris.

  The force pressing from the Maw’s presence alone was enough to make even seasoned warriors sweat.

  Yet Kevlar stood at the forefront, eyes sharp, aura tightly coiled.

  “We’re closing in,” Lilith called, her voice steady despite the shaking terrain.

  Kevlar slowed first. The others followed.

  The Maw—towering, misshapen, ancient—dragged its gargantuan form forward, its molten-lined scales glowing like rivers of fire beneath the dark mist coiling around it. Every breath it exhaled came as a hot wind that warped the air itself.

  Draculius studied it with a deep frown.

  “Now with a closer look...that size… those scales… the structure of its skull,” he murmured. “It really does resemble an earth dragon. But its anatomy suggests an older lineage—older than the Realm. Either born of the planet itself, or the remains of something that once ruled it.”

  Camilia exhaled. “Something that ruled it? Even for you, Father, that sounds far-fetched.”

  “No,” Draculius replied calmly. “This thing is not natural. It is… primordial.”

  Kevlar didn’t comment. His focus locked onto the Maw’s ankle—each bone plate large as a fortress.

  “Time to test it.”

  He dashed forward.

  In a blink, Kevlar launched upward and slammed a fully condensed punch into the titan’s foot.

  The impact echoed like a mountain being struck by a meteor.

  BOOOOOM—!

  But the only result was a brief ripple across the Maw’s massive limb, like punching a hillside.

  No injury.

  Not even a crack in the scales.

  Lilith blinked. “...Seriously?”

  Draculius nodded gravely. “Tougher than expected.”

  Kevlar gritted his teeth, stepped back, and drew more force from deep within his core.

  He shot forward again—this time aiming a full-force Shadow-infused strike.

  CRAAACK-THUUUM!!!

  The ground beneath him cratered from the rebound.

  The Maw’s leg shifted by an inch.

  Still no visible damage.

  Camilia hissed, “You’ve got to be joking…!”

  Kevlar leapt up to chest height—hundreds of meters—and unleashed a violent burst of aura directly at the titan’s plated chest.

  The hit shook the realm like a thunderclap.

  This time, the Maw stopped.

  Its massive head—shaped like a dragon warped by centuries of molten sleep—tilted downward.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Then those ancient, molten eyes locked onto Kevlar.

  Lilith stiffened. “It’s looking at you.”

  Kevlar wiped a bit of dust off his cheek. “Good. Means it can feel somethi—”

  He froze.

  Because something changed.

  Something shifted in the air.

  The Maw leaned closer.

  Sniffed the air.

  Then—

  Its molten throat boiled.

  Its aura surged.

  Draculius’s eyes widened. “Kevlar, step back. It recognizes you.”

  Kevlar blinked. “Recognizes me?”

  “No,” Draculius corrected grimly. “Not you. The scent on you.”

  Lilith took a slow step backward, eyes wide.

  “The scent… of the one who sealed it before.”

  Silence.

  Then a realization struck them all with cold clarity.

  The Maw was a sealed ancient. And Kevlar—an awakened Shadowborn—was carrying the same Shadowborn essence as the ancestor who had sealed the creature long ago.

  The Maw felt it.

  And it interpreted him as the threat it remembered.

  Kevlar exhaled, “...So I smell like its jailer.”

  And then—

  The Maw’s eyes flared violently.

  The beast—slow and ancient moments ago—became a storm of violence.

  With a single motion, it reared its mountainous arm back.

  The air pressure collapsed.

  Lilith cried out, “MOVE!”

  The strike came down like the sky falling.

  WHOOOOOOOOOM—!!!!

  A wave of force blasted outward, flattening distant cliffs, ripping rivers of lava into explosive geysers. The ground beneath the strike party shattered like glass. Camilia and the Royal Ones reacted instantly, erecting barrier after barrier—each one cracking and shattering the moment the shockwave hit.

  Kevlar alone stood his ground, arms crossed before him as the shockwave split around his aura.

  When the world finally stopped shaking, Lilith gasped for breath.

  “That thing… wasn’t moving like that earlier.”

  Camilia growled. “It became aggressive the moment it smelled him.”

  Kevlar stared at the titan, whose chest now heaved with fury.

  “I think…” Kevlar muttered, “it wants me dead specifically.”

  Draculius nodded grimly. “It remembers the one who bound it. Or close enough. And you, child, smell exactly like him.”

  Lilith swallowed. “This just became much more complicated…”

  As the dust settled from the Maw’s first earth-shattering strike, Lilith steadied herself, her sharp eyes scanning their surroundings with trained precision.

  Something felt off.

  Not metaphysical.

  Not ancient.

  Just dangerously practical.

  “Kevlar,” she said, her voice tense, “watch your footing.”

  He glanced down. “What is it?”

  Lilith pointed to the shaking terrain. Cracks were widening—not randomly, but caused by the sheer pressure of the Maw’s movements. Every time the titan shifted its weight, the ground buckled inward like soft clay, forming sudden sinkholes large enough to swallow buildings.

  “It’s the environment,” Lilith warned. “Not magic. Not a mechanism. Just raw destruction. The closer we get, the worse the instability becomes.”

  Draculius inspected the nearest fissure. Lava surged beneath like boiling blood.

  “So its presence alone is reshaping the land,” he muttered. “A creature that size… the force of its aura… even standing near it is a hazard.”

  Lilith nodded.

  “That’s the danger. Every strike it takes—even from you—could cause a collapse under our feet. If we fight recklessly, we’ll fall into lava before the Maw touches us.”

  Kevlar exhaled.

  “Alright. No sudden jumps into giant molten pits. Got it.”

  Lilith smirked lightly despite the tension.

  “Exactly. Just… don’t die stupidly.”

  Kevlar shrugged.

  “I’ll try.”

  Her eyes softened a little before snapping back to vigilance.

  “Be careful. Its attacks aren’t the only threat here — the ground itself is a battlefield.”

  Kevlar murmured, “So a longer fight might destabilize the land even more.”

  No one had an answer.

  They only had the Maw’s boiling rage.

  And the Vatican looming in the distance.

  Far across the realms, the Vatican’s inner chamber buzzed with tense energy. Saint Fariel stood solemnly before a projection of the Maw’s emergence—produced through layers of light magic and long-range divination.

  Castiel stood beside him. “It appears the Shadowborn has engaged the creature.”

  Emilia clenched her fists. “Should we assist?”

  “No,” Fariel said calmly, eyes narrowed. “A creature of that magnitude cannot be defeated by mortal armies nor our assistance would matter either. But our goal is not to slay the beast.”

  Slavik asked carefully, “Then what is our goal, Your Holiness?”

  Fariel smiled—a slow, calculating smile.

  “To guide the story the world will believe.”

  He tapped the projection, zooming in on Kevlar confronting the Maw.

  “The Shadowborn will fight it. The Shadowborn will weaken it. Perhaps even subdue it.”

  He turned toward the window.

  “And when he falters… when his strength wanes… humanity will strike the final blow.”

  Serena—still quiet, her eyes empty—stood in the corner like a statue. Fariel glanced at her.

  “Our Saint will be the beacon of salvation. And history will record that humanity, through divine light, saved the world.”

  Castiel and Emilia exchanged looks.

  Slavik lowered his gaze. “So… we wait until the creature and the Shadowborn bleed each other dry?”

  Fariel smiled faintly.

  “Exactly.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back.

  “Prepare the Choir of Dawn. Prepare the armies. When the moment is right… we shall descend.”

  Behind him, Serena blinked once.

  And whispered softly—

  “…Kevlar…”

  Unheard.

  Unnoticed.

  The Vatican’s machinery of narrative was already turning.

  Back in the Shadow Realm, Kevlar cracked his knuckles and stared up at the titan, whose molten eyes burned with ancient hatred.

  “Alright,” he muttered, aura rising around him like a black sun.

  “Round two.”

  And the Maw roared—this time not as a beast waking from slumber…

  …but as a prisoner recognizing its jailer.

  The real battle was about to begin.