CHAPTER 1151: RASCALS.

By dawn, the tower was gone.

Only the twisted skeleton of its base remained, half-buried under ash and burnt soil. Cain stood amid the ruin, his breath forming slow, ragged clouds. Around him, the others sifted through the wreckage in silence, faces hollow and blackened with soot.

They had survived. Barely.

The sky above bled crimson. Thick clouds rolled in unnatural rhythm, pulsing with faint light from within. The horizon itself shimmered, as if reality was still trying to stitch itself back together after what they’d endured.

Roselle leaned against a half-melted beam, reloading what little ammo she’d scavenged. "Three hours of fighting, and that’s what’s left of them." She nodded toward the field beyond the tower—hundreds of twitching corpses, still dissolving into dark mist. "Feels like we killed ghosts."

Steve kicked a broken rifle out of his way. "We did. Just ones wearing skin."

Susan sat apart from them, bandaging her shoulder. The wound pulsed faintly blue where the creature’s claw had grazed her. She ignored it. "We can’t stay here. The ground’s poisoned."

Roselle looked to Cain. "Orders?"

Cain said nothing for a long moment. He stared at the eastern ridge, where the sky fractured like glass. Each pulse from the clouds was synchronized, deliberate—too rhythmic to be natural.

"They’re calling something," he muttered.

Steve frowned. "Calling?"

"Like a beacon," Cain said. "Those things weren’t the attack. They were the signal."

Roselle cursed under her breath. "For what?"

Before he could answer, the air split open.

A streak of red lightning tore across the horizon, followed by a wave of heat that rippled through the ground. The light bent space itself, and from the tear, something massive began to emerge.

It wasn’t a creature at first—more like a structure being born wrong. Its form twisted mid-air, stone melting into flesh, metal into bone. It reshaped itself continuously, refusing definition. But the pressure it exuded was unmistakable: Divine.

Susan’s voice trembled. "That’s not possible. The Rift shouldn’t support something of that magnitude."

Roselle steadied her weapon. "Tell that to the damn sky."

Cain’s eyes narrowed. He felt it in his chest—the same oppressive weight he’d once felt standing before a Celestial shrine. Only now, the holiness was inverted. This thing wasn’t born from Divinity; it was consuming it.

"Move," he ordered.

They didn’t argue. They ran.

The ground cracked behind them as the entity took its first breath. The air turned heavy, every sound smothered by the pressure of its arrival. Buildings that had somehow survived the night began to crumble. The landscape folded inward, sucked toward the emerging mass like a collapsing lung.

Roselle fired a grappling round, catching onto a ridge above. "Cain!" she shouted, extending a hand. He grabbed it mid-leap and hauled himself up. The others followed, just as the ground below imploded, swallowing what was left of the tower.

The tremor didn’t stop—it spread.

From their vantage, they could see it clearly now: a colossal figure, faceless, half-submerged in molten stone. A halo of broken symbols hovered above it, spinning slowly like debris caught in orbit. Every few seconds, one of the symbols shattered, sending another surge of red lightning across the sky.

Steve spoke through clenched teeth. "That’s... that’s a Fallen construct. Has to be."

Cain’s expression darkened. "No. Fallen don’t build. They reclaim."

"Then what the hell is that?"

Cain didn’t answer. His gaze was locked on the creature’s chest—a pattern of runes burned there, faint but recognizable. His breath hitched.

It was a summoning mark. And worse, it bore a name he knew.

Bael.

The name itself seemed to hum inside his skull, low and resonant, as though the world was whispering it through his bones.

Susan noticed the shift in his expression. "You’ve seen it before."

Cain’s grip on {Eidwyrm} tightened. "Not seen. Survived it."

Roselle swore. "Then we’re leaving. Right now."

"Too late," Cain said. The runes across the creature’s body flared. The halo shattered completely, and the air screamed.

A shockwave hit the ridge, hurling them back. Roselle barely caught the edge before sliding off. Steve grabbed her wrist, veins straining. "Got you!"

"Pull!" she yelled.

Cain drove his sword into the rock and anchored the line. Together they hauled her up just as the next blast rolled across the valley.

The construct roared—a sound like thunder given voice. Its chest opened, light spilling out in violent waves. The air rippled, and shapes began stepping through: armored figures, each bearing a sigil of Bael burned into their flesh.

A vanguard.

"Cain," Susan breathed, "they’re human."

"Not anymore," he said, rising to his feet.

The soldiers moved with unnatural precision, eyes empty but glowing faint red. They advanced in silence, weapons drawn, their movements synchronized as if puppeteered.

Cain exhaled slowly. "We hold them here. Buy time for the others down below."

Roselle raised an eyebrow. "There are no others."

"Then we buy time for ourselves."

They formed a rough line along the ridge, the wind cutting hard through the silence. The first wave of Bael’s soldiers charged, their boots pounding in eerie unison.

Cain stepped forward to meet them. {Eidwyrm} gleamed faintly despite the lack of mana—it remembered the blood of gods too well to stay dull for long.

He swung once. The first soldier split in half, the second lost an arm, the third kept coming anyway.

"Keep their formation broken!" he shouted.

Steve’s rifle barked short, sharp bursts. Roselle threw an incendiary, igniting the air. Susan, despite her wound, fought beside Cain with her bayonet—every strike surgical, every motion desperate.

For every soldier they dropped, two more emerged.

The ridge began to shake again. The creature below was moving, rising to its full height now—an abomination crowned with light and shadow both.

Cain looked up at it, jaw tight. The name burned behind his eyes like a brand.

"Bael," he whispered. "You should’ve stayed buried."

The entity turned its faceless head toward him. And smiled.

Cain cut down another, and another, but they didn’t stop. The corpses burned, but from the ashes, more shapes formed — incomplete, flickering, half-real.

Susan emptied her last clip. "They’re not dying!"

Cain slammed {Eidwyrm} into the ground, letting the shockwave tear through the base of the tower. The blast scattered them temporarily, long enough for Roselle to pull him behind cover.