The fog had not left since last night. The city of Verlyn looked like a dull painting forced to dry too quickly—cracked, cold, and lifeless. After the sudden departure of the Supreme God, only silence remained… and nine shadows now stood encircling us.
The Nine Mist Arrivals.
Not ten.
One of them—the one with tangled silver hair—had just ended his own life moments ago, breaking free from the force controlling him.
"I don't want… to be its weapon," he said before his body fell and the mist swallowed him.
Before he vanished completely, he whispered to us:
"That command… wasn't from Marchaos…"
His sentence was cut off by the surge of mist that erased him.
We didn't have time to ask anything.
We didn't even have time to grieve.
Because the remaining nine changed instantly.
Their faces hardened, their eyes losing the last hint of life—his death only tightened the control over them.
One of them spoke in a mechanical voice:
"The traitor has been purified."
Lyona raised her sword. "Purified?! He freed himself because he knew you were manipulated!"
Another Mist Arrival responded flatly:
"Marchaos calls us. Marchaos gives orders. We obey."
I shook my head slowly. "No. That wasn't Marchaos. You know that isn't his voice."
"A voice is a voice." "A command is a command." "We are instruments."
Three of them stepped forward.
The air solidified. Mist spun like a blade storm.
Lyona stood in front, one hand gripping her sword, the other holding my shoulder to keep me focused.
"Makoto. Don't listen to the voice in your head. Focus here. Focus on me."
A cold breath touched the back of my neck—that manipulative voice returned, smooth and clear.
"Lyona is restraining you. She fears your power. Only I want you free. Kill Marchaos. Kill your root problem."
I clutched my head, pain piercing like nails.
"I said… shut up…"
One of the Mist Arrivals charged, his shadow splitting into three directions.
Lyona moved, cutting down the illusions and striking the real one. The clash burst like static. The enemy was thrown back, but stood again—joints cracking, like a puppet forced upright.
Six more advanced, forming a half-circle.
"Sakuya Makoto," their leader said. "You are an anomaly that must not exist."
I frowned. "What anomaly?"
"Perfect fusion must never occur." "If you merge with Marchaos… the God will fall." "If you merge… destiny will be erased."
They moved as one.
Mist turned into shards of time aimed at my heart.
I raised my hand, reflex faster than thought. Blue energy lit the air, forming a cracking barrier but enough to block the first strike.
Lyona looked back while fighting. "Makoto! Your energy is getting stronger!"
"I… am not controlling it!"
"Then let your body control it! You fight the voice!"
I tried.
But the voice became clearer—like someone stroking the weakest part of my mind.
"Look at them… nine walking corpses. Marchaos revived them. He wants you ruined. He wants your body. You know this."
No… Too smooth. Too perfect to be truth.
"Makoto!!" Lyona shouted as a mist spear nearly grazed my face.
I snapped back, cutting it with blue energy.
But all nine attacked at once.
Mist forming chains. Time dragging around us. Every second splitting into three versions.
Lyona growled, "They're impossible to read!"
"We need a gap," I replied.
But none came.
Instead—he did.
In the corner of my vision, between two collapsing buildings—a hole opened in the mist.
And Marchaos appeared.
His body half-transparent, like a broken projection.
He was silent.
Motionless.
Giving no command.
Only… watching. From another dimension. Trapped. Or restrained.
The nine Mist Arrivals looked to him, then back at us, filled with fake conviction.
"Our leader witnesses." "Our leader approves." "Our leader wants Sakuya Makoto dead."
I stared at Marchaos. And I knew. From the cracks across him, the incomplete face, the heavy aura—
He was not controlling them.
"Marchaos…" I whispered. "He… doesn't know what's happening."
Lyona struck two enemies and moved closer. "I see it too. He's not their leader."
The mist pressed in again.
The Mist leader raised his hand.
"The mist punishes those who betray destiny."
The air froze.
The final strike was being prepared.
Lyona braced herself, breath heavy but eyes sharp.
I focused. Forcing the manipulative voice back. Rejecting the Supreme God's push.
And as the nine Mist Arrivals forged their largest spear—
Marchaos…
disappeared.
Pulled away. Like being torn from existence.
Leaving nothing.
We were truly alone. Just me, Lyona, and nine executioners of fate.
Lyona tightened her grip.
"Makoto… we finish this together."
I took a deep breath.
"Yes… together."