Nerina soared through the skies, her divine form cutting through the air like a comet. As she approached the battlefield where Jareth and Yggdrasil had once clashed, her sharp eyes caught sight of the devastation left behind. The massive tree that had once stood as an ancient sentinel was gone—only a vast crater remained, its edges charred and jagged. The land was scarred, the air still heavy with the remnants of lingering energy.
She slowed for a moment, hovering above the ruin, memories stirring within her.
A flash of childhood—
She and Lyra, running through the golden forests of their homeland, their laughter echoing through the towering elven trees. Their clan, the High Elves, watching over them with knowing smiles, proud of the two gifted twins. The wind carried their voices, whispering of destiny, of power yet untapped.
Nerina clenched her fists, shaking the memories away. That past was long gone. There was no time for nostalgia.
"I'll protect you this time, Lyra," she whispered before propelling herself forward, determination burning in her chest. The city needed her now.
At the city gates, Lyra stood alone, watching the enemy forces gather in the distance. Her emerald eyes narrowed as she assessed their numbers. The approaching army was massive, but her focus was locked on the enemy generals—powerful beings leading the charge, overconfident and unaware of the trap she had prepared for them.
She adjusted her grip on her sword, its green blade humming with latent energy. Wind spiraled around her, responding to her will, waiting to be unleashed.
Since Jareth had removed his spell from her, she had struggled to suppress the overwhelming surge of divine energy within her. Even now, standing before the enemy, it took all her concentration to conceal the brilliance of her Godform. If she transformed too early, they would retreat, cautious of a divine battle. She had to strike first, strike hard, and make it count.
The enemy generals sneered, confident in their numbers, underestimating the lone warrior standing before them. Let them. Their mistake would be their downfall.
The wind whispered, eager for the bloodshed to begin.
Jareth strained against the suffocating darkness that bound him. The trap was relentless, its eldritch tendrils tightening with every pulse of malevolence. But it wasn't just a physical prison—it was an invasion of the mind.
Whispers slithered through his thoughts, each voice a poisoned dagger.
You will fail.
You are alone.
There is no escape.
The walls pulsed like living flesh, and from the shadows, something monstrous emerged—a creature twisted beyond recognition, its body shifting and stretching unnaturally. A grotesque fusion of countless beings, its limbs elongated and coiling like serpents, faces forming and dissolving along its grotesque frame. It was neither demon nor beast, but something born of nightmares.
Jareth gritted his teeth, his breath slow and controlled. Fear was a weapon—one he refused to yield to. He gathered his strength, focusing his power, feeling the steady presence of Bahamut's essence burning within him.
The monster lunged, its limbs stretching impossibly far, but Jareth was ready. With a burst of raw willpower, he shattered the mental bindings that held him, his aura flaring like an unchained inferno. The shadows recoiled as he twisted mid-air, slashing through the first attacking limb with a single, decisive strike.
The abomination screeched, its severed appendage writhing before dissolving into black mist. But it did not falter—it adapted. Its flesh rippled, contorting, forming a dozen new arms that lashed toward him.
Jareth smirked darkly. "Then I'll just have to cut you down again. And again. Until there's nothing left."
The battle had only begun.
Back at the city gates, Lyra exhaled slowly, feeling the wind around her shift. The enemy was within range.
"Now."
In an instant, she unleashed her power.
A tempest roared to life around her, green blades of wind forming in a deadly storm. The enemy generals barely had time to react before the first wave of razor-sharp air tore through their ranks. Limbs were severed, armor shredded, and cries of pain filled the battlefield.
Only then, as blood stained the earth, did she allow her divine energy to surge forth.
Her body ignited with radiant light, her transformation complete. The enemy, now aware of the true threat before them, hesitated.
But it was too late.
Lyra raised her sword, the winds howling in anticipation. "You should've brought a stronger army."
The war had begun, and this time, she would make them regret underestimating her.