Music shakes the battlefield like an earthquake—an overwhelming, spiraling chorus of angels, sinners, and everything in between. Hell’s skyline flickers with neon fire as ruptured beams fall from the heavens, each impact sending ripples of melody through the air. The countdown hum of the Heaven-forged bomb pulses beneath it all, rising faster, brighter, deadlier.

Vaggi stands at the center of the chaos, wings flared and eyes burning with focus. Her spear clashes with Lute’s blade in a shower of sparks that dance to the rhythm of the surrounding song. Every movement is sharp, desperate, practiced—she’s fighting with everything she has, even as exhaustion pulls at her shoulders.

Lute lunges, singing her triumphant verse like a taunt. Vaggi blocks, gritting her teeth, boots skidding across cracked marble. She’s bleeding from a scratch above her brow, wiping it away with the back of her hand before spinning into another strike. She doesn’t look away from Lute for even a second. She can’t. Not with the bomb whining toward detonation. Not with everything she’s protecting on the line.

Lute: ♪ And so be it, don’t resist ♪

Vaggi: Or what?

Lute: ♪ I’ll take your other eye ♪

Behind her, impacts shake the ground. Angelic light crashes against demonic fire. The song crescendos.