He stood alone again. His breath came in slow, even draws. He looked down at the bodies strewn around him, then at his own reflection in the puddle forming at his feet. The face staring back wasn't human anymore.

"Is this what you wanted?" he muttered, looking up toward the storm, toward whatever Celestial still dared to watch. "Is this your divine plan?"

Thunder answered him.

He turned away, walking toward the faint red glow still emanating from the distant dome—the heart of the opposing camp. Baldur's death would create a vacuum, and vacuums in war were always filled quickly.

Cain's eyes narrowed. "Then I'll keep cutting until there's no one left to fill it."

And as the storm roared around him, the battlefield swallowed his silhouette once more.

The crimson dome flickered like a dying ember in the storm. Its energy was faltering—Baldur's death had severed the central conduit feeding it—but it still pulsed with lingering divine will. Cain could feel it from a mile away, that oppressive hum of foreign power trying to assert itself, even as its foundation crumbled.

He approached, unhurried but resolute. The rain fell heavier now, pelting his armor and skin with a rhythmic insistence, but he didn't care. Every drop sounded like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds until the next slaughter.

At the edge of the dome, his steps slowed. His eyes traced the surface—runic inscriptions lined the barrier, glowing faintly with runes he didn't recognize. They weren't human-made; they pulsed with Divinity, not mana. It was the kind of craftsmanship that made the air hum, heavy enough to warp the senses.

A low growl escaped his throat. "Another cage built by gods."

He raised Eidwyrm and slammed it into the dome.

The impact rippled outward like a stone breaking the surface of still water. Sparks of red and gold shot across the barrier, runes flaring violently as the structure retaliated. The feedback burned across his hands and arms, but he gritted his teeth and struck again.

The second blow was heavier.

The third one cracked the air.

And the fourth shattered the dome.

It didn't collapse quietly—the entire barrier imploded, releasing a wave of divine energy so thick it nearly blew Cain off his feet. The shockwave expanded in every direction, shredding tents, toppling watchtowers, and throwing human soldiers like rag dolls.

When the light faded, what remained was chaos.

Cain stepped through the smoke and wreckage, his blade dragging along the dirt, leaving a molten line in its wake. The enemy camp was in ruins. Bodies littered the ground. Those still standing were disoriented, many clutching at their heads as the backlash of divine magic scrambled their senses.

He didn't wait for them to recover.

The first man who spotted him didn't even get the chance to raise his weapon. Eidwyrm carved through the air, splitting him cleanly in two. Cain moved on without hesitation, cutting down anyone who stood between him and the command tent that sat near the center of the encampment.

He kicked the entrance open.

Inside, three figures waited.

The first was a robed priest—his robes soaked in blood, his lips moving in silent prayer. The second was a swordsman, armor dented, one arm missing, but eyes burning with resolve. The third was a woman—her aura faint but distinct. Cain could feel the traces of a Celestial's influence radiating from her like heat.

The swordsman stepped forward first. "You killed Baldur."

Cain said nothing.

"You've damned us all," the man spat, drawing his blade with trembling hands. "Do you even know what you've done? The Ox King's death will invite retribution. The gods will not let this stand!"

Cain's eyes flicked to him, cold and distant. "Then let them come."

The man lunged, a desperate, reckless swing. Cain didn't even parry—he sidestepped and buried his fist in the man's ribs. The sound of cracking bone echoed through the tent as the swordsman collapsed, coughing blood.

The priest raised a trembling hand. "Stop! He was chosen by the Divine! You—"

Cain's sword silenced him mid-sentence, the blade piercing through his chest and into the ground.

Only the woman remained now.

Her face was pale, almost ethereal, her eyes the color of silvered glass. She didn't move, didn't flinch. She simply stared at Cain as if studying something she didn't understand.

"You shouldn't exist," she said quietly. "You're not bound to any Divinity, yet you bear the strength of one who has been blessed."

Cain rested Eidwyrm on his shoulder. "Blessed isn't the word I'd use."

"Then cursed?"

He smirked faintly. "Closer."

The woman's gaze hardened. "If you continue down this path, you'll bring the wrath of the heavens themselves upon this world."

Cain stepped closer. The tent's light flickered across his face, revealing the faint demonic lines beneath his skin—the evidence of what he had become.

"Then maybe heaven needs to bleed too."

The woman's breath caught. "You speak as if you could reach it."

Cain's expression darkened. "One day, I will."

He raised Eidwyrm.

The sword sang once.

When the blade fell silent, there was no one left alive inside the tent.

Outside, the rain still fell. The flames of the ruined camp flickered, fading under the storm's relentless assault.

Cain stepped into the open once more, his eyes reflecting the storm clouds above. The Divinity in the air was thinning now, collapsing with the death of its servants.

For a moment, he felt something shift—something ancient, watching. The weight of unseen eyes bore down on him from beyond the sky.

He looked up, meeting the storm's gaze as if it were alive. "Send whoever you want next."

Lightning cracked overhead, splitting the heavens open.

Cain smiled.

"I'll kill them too."

The thunder rolled like applause from some unseen tribunal above. Cain stood amid the wreckage, drenched in rain and blood, his shadow stretching long across the ruined field. Around him, the dead were silent, and the sky itself seemed to recoil. The war hadn't ended—it had just found its truest beginning.