CHAPTER 1202: I... YIELD (1).

The explosion swallowed the world in a storm of gold and red. Heat slammed through the canyon, ripping metal, stone, and bone alike. Cain crashed through a ridge, carving a long scar in the rock as he hit the ground and skidded to a halt. His ears rang; his breath was smoke. The echo was gone, or at least, it seemed to be.

He pushed himself up, coughing through the ash and dust. The air shimmered with residual energy—his own mana signature, twisted and unstable, folding over itself like a dying flame.

Eira appeared out of the haze, her left arm burned to the elbow, her coat shredded. "That—was not normal," she rasped.

Cain’s hand trembled as he reached for his blade, {Eidwyrm}, half-buried in molten gravel. "It wasn’t supposed to be," he said, voice hollow. "That wasn’t magic. That was memory made solid."

"What the hell does that mean?" Eira demanded.

He didn’t answer immediately. He just stared at the blade, seeing faint images ripple along its surface—old battles, old faces, dead cities, and a younger version of himself holding the same sword with blind faith. "It means something got inside," he muttered. "Something that shouldn’t exist anymore."

From the crater, a low hum began. The kind that made bones ache. The light flared again—runes in the ground, circles layered over circles, all bearing the mark of something ancient. Cain recognized the pattern instantly. "The seal’s reawakening," he said under his breath.

Eira’s eyes went wide. "We were never supposed to be this close when it opened—"

"Then leave," Cain interrupted, already moving toward the crater. "I started this. I’ll finish it."

"Don’t act like this is noble," she shot back. "You think dying here helps anyone?"

He ignored her, stepping into the molten pit. The runes burned brighter, reacting to his presence. His own blood, still dripping from his earlier wounds, hissed on the glowing symbols, binding him deeper into whatever the seal had become.

Then, out of the core, a shape began to rise—humanoid, towering, and crowned in shadow. It wasn’t the echo this time. It was something worse. A remnant—a construct of pure will and regret, drawn from the remains of a dead Celestial’s influence. It spoke without sound, its thoughts slamming into his mind like a tidal wave.

You carry what was lost. Give it back.

Cain’s grip on {Eidwyrm} tightened. "You want your divinity back?" he muttered. "Take it."

The world fractured again.

Energy surged outward in concentric rings, vaporizing what little remained of the battlefield. The remnant lunged, its massive arm crashing down with enough force to level mountains. Cain intercepted, every muscle screaming as steel met spectral mass. The ground beneath him split apart, rivers of lava shooting through the cracks.

He held his ground—barely. Every heartbeat sent a sharp jolt through his arm as the sword’s edge screamed under the pressure.

Eira called out, but her voice was drowned beneath the thunder of the collision. The remnant’s form flickered—half-solid, half-light. With each swing, it carved through space itself, bending reality like glass.

Cain countered with precision, his body a blur of motion. Sparks of molten gold flew where their weapons met. He moved faster now, ignoring the pain, fighting like something ancient within him had reawakened. His strikes weren’t desperate—they were furious, exact, cold.

"You were gods once," he growled, blocking another swing and driving his heel into the remnant’s chest. "You fell because you forgot what it meant to bleed."

The impact threw both of them apart. Cain landed in a crater, coughing blood. The remnant crashed through a ridge, its voice rumbling like the collapse of an entire world.

You are not worthy of what you stole.

Cain spat red onto the ground, eyes burning gold. "Then earn it."

He charged again. The next collision shattered everything within a mile radius—mountains crumbling, the air itself fracturing into mirrored shards of light. The shockwave tore Eira off her feet and sent her tumbling across the blackened earth.

From the heart of the storm, golden fire erupted into the clouds.

The seal responded. The earth screamed. Every rune pulsed as if alive, feeding off the chaos. For every cut Cain inflicted, the remnant adapted. For every wound he took, the ground itself tried to mend him—divinity and corruption fighting for control inside his body.

His scream tore through the sky. He swung again, a final arc of gold and red that cleaved straight through the remnant’s torso. The explosion that followed painted the horizon in blinding light.

When the dust finally began to settle, Cain was on one knee, breathing raggedly, his blade cracked, the seal still glowing faintly beneath him.

Eira limped toward him, blood streaking her face. "Did you kill it?"

Cain’s eyes stayed fixed on the light still bleeding through the cracks. "No," he whispered. "It’s only waking up."

Eira froze. "Then what the hell did we just fight?"

Cain looked up at her, the glow of the runes painting his face in a sickly gold. "The gatekeeper. A fraction of the real thing."

The ground groaned. Dust sifted from the cliffs as the seal’s hum deepened, no longer a vibration but a pulse that matched the rhythm of Cain’s heartbeat. He could feel it inside his veins now—something old and heavy pressing down on his soul.

Eira reached for him, but the moment her hand brushed his shoulder, she recoiled. His skin was burning cold, the kind of chill that made her breath frost in the air. "Cain, you’re not—"

"I’m fine," he lied. "Get back."

The glow from the runes surged again, spreading outwards until the entire canyon floor looked like a cracked mosaic of molten light. At the center, where Cain knelt, the lines curved inward, forming an ancient sigil neither of them could read.

Eira’s voice trembled. "That’s a summoning mark."

Cain didn’t deny it. His fingers dug into the earth. "It’s calling something through me," he said quietly. "And if I don’t hold it back—this world burns."

The canyon split wide open, swallowing his words.