Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 1377: The Converging Crisis

What Hackzord had shown them was not empty talk. Nothing human could ever rival it, and Marwayne understood this with a clarity that left no room for doubt. He could not imagine what Graycastle would do when faced with what stood before them now. Look upward, and pray. Those seemed to be the options.

The demons will win this war.

Every last uncertainty dissolved. The anxiety he had carried for months — the helpless, furious weight of watching everything crumble — was simply gone, replaced by something he had no good name for. Not joy exactly, but the recognition that his payback was no longer imaginary. This was not a drowning man finding a handhold; this was a man who had already drowned being handed back his life at the surface.

The knights who had fled would spend the rest of their years in regret. More than that: they would not have long years. Marwayne swore to himself that the first act of his reign as King of Everwinter would be attending to the traitors.

He dropped to one knee before Hackzord, head lowered. “Yes. We have all seen it.”

The other nobles followed in a wave behind him.

“This is the Deity of Gods,” the Sky Lord said, hands still clasped at his back. “The most direct demonstration of what my race truly commands.” A pause. “I did not bring you here solely to remove your doubts. There is a task that requires you.”

“We await your instructions.”

“It will still take time for the Deity of Gods to reach the Impassable Mountain Range. But the territories under your management are already showing signs of disorder. Every deserter has the potential to become an enemy, and I will not allow the situation to deteriorate further.” He looked across the assembled nobles without hurry. “From this point, you will organize your people and evacuate them here. I will designate a region within the Deity of Gods for your residence, until the Battle of Divine Will is concluded.”

“You would allow the… common folk to ascend to this miracle?” Narnos couldn’t quite contain his surprise.

Hackzord looked at him. One look. “Whose fault is this situation, would you say?”

Narnos closed his mouth.

“When the knights’ flight becomes known — and it will become known — Everwinter’s social order will collapse completely. Rather than let Graycastle harvest those people as soldiers, it is better to secure them ourselves before the collapse gathers momentum. If any among them challenge your authority, a blade will silence them. That is well within your capabilities.”

“Of course, of course.” Marwayne was first on his feet. “I will begin immediately.”

The others agreed in succession.

“Your territories will not be lost,” Hackzord added, seemingly registering the worry that none of them were quite willing to voice. “This war will not be long. Beyond that — participation in this phase of the conflict represents a contribution to the war effort. When the time comes to distribute the human territories, those contributions will not be overlooked.” He let that settle. “Is that understood?”

The mood in the room shifted instantly. The failed ambush of the Graycastle patrol team had done nothing to improve their standing with the Grand Lord; now a path to making good appeared before them, with the possibility of gaining rather than merely recovering. Something like real energy entered their expressions.

“Yes! We will give everything we have!”

Hackzord opened a new portal. “Good. Two requirements: evacuate quickly, and say nothing about the existence of the Deity of Gods. Now move.”

After sending the nobles back, he walked deep into the great rupture.

Hackzord had endured considerable pressure from his peers over permitting the “lowlifes” to set foot inside the Deity of Gods. The Grand Lords were not unified on the matter. Mask found it an act of desecration. Hackzord had pushed it through on the authority of his rank as Commander of the Western Front, and let the others complain behind his back.

His reasons were simple and practical.

Graycastle’s soldiers were not special. Farmers, hunters, ordinary people — but a few months of training and a firearm turned any of them into someone capable of killing a demon who had spent decades preparing for war. The rate at which Graycastle built its army exceeded anything the demons had ever encountered. Even Mask’s prized Symbiotic Demons couldn’t approach that efficiency. This was why Graycastle was pulling in people from Everwinter and Wolfheart without pause — not out of sentiment or long-term strategy, but because those people had immediate, practical military value.

When a noble’s territory lost order, Graycastle received soldiers. That was what Hackzord was trying to prevent.

And once those people were moved into the Deity of Gods, they could serve the demon cause rather than the human one. The calculus was straightforward. The other Grand Lords disapproved. Hackzord had stopped caring about their approval some time ago.

The Deity of Gods, the concept of a holy land — none of it outweighed the necessity of winning. He had already staked everything on the Western Front, promised results to the King, and secured the use of the Deity of Gods in the process. Every one of those choices had added to the accumulated criticism directed at him. He had stopped counting it.

The Deity of Gods was the least of his concerns.

It was Sky City that gave him real problems.

He descended the stairs of Birth Tower to its lowest level.

The Red Mist Pond filled the chamber with a heavy, damp quiet. Lying within it was a new dark shape — the figure that had recently arrived, sitting opposite Nightmare’s body with both hands clasped over Nightmare’s palms, motionless as carved stone.

“You haven’t given up?” Hackzord heard the irritation in his own voice and didn’t bother to soften it. “If the Nightmare Lord had left any recoverable trace in the Realm of Mind, I would have found it already.”

He did not know what particular curse had arranged for every one of his peers to be unreliable in this specific, exhausting way.

The new arrival was Silent Disaster, sent west as reinforcement.

As the name suggested, it kept itself sealed in its armor at all times, rarely showing its face, and it spoke less. No one truly understood what went on inside it. But Silent Disaster was not Mask; it was not like the other Grand Lords. Its individual strength was known throughout their ranks, and even the Sky Lord chose his words carefully in its presence.

Anyone else, and he would have cursed them long ago.

He had waited considerable time for these reinforcements to arrive. The moment Silent Disaster set foot in Sky City, it had gone directly to the Red Mist Pond and sat beside Nightmare’s body rather than receiving a briefing or discussing the strategic situation. It had not moved since.

Everyone understood what it meant when a consciousness entered the Realm of Mind and didn’t return: an immense probability of never coming back. The Realm of Mind had no fixed stars, no horizon, no reference points. Only chaos and storm-like undercurrents that wore away at everything — and the erosion of the mind was continuous. The Nightmare Lord had been gone for months. If it did return, it might not return as itself.

“It must have found some kind of lead and decided the risk was worth taking,” Silent Disaster said. “Since it concerns Valkries, I had to verify the matter myself.”

Silent Disaster clearly did not trust Hackzord’s assessment. The Sky Lord suppressed the urge to say so and pressed his fingers against his forehead. He knew, distantly, that the Nightmare Lord occupied a singular position for certain of the other Grand Lords — Silent Disaster among them. He recalled that Silent Disaster’s upgrade ceremony had been presided over by Nightmare.

“And have you verified it?”

“Almost. But my conclusion differs from yours.” Silent Disaster’s voice was always concise, each word its own weight. “I believe the Nightmare Lord is not lost. It is trapped somewhere within the Realm of Mind.”

“Basis?”

“Intuition.”

Intuition. Hackzord silently registered the response. If there was something less reliable than Mask’s promises, it was Silent Disaster’s intuition. “And how does your conclusion help anyone? You can’t locate Nightmare. You can’t wake it. Nothing has changed. Instead of spending more time beside a pond, why not think about how to actually deal with the humans.”

“That male human,” Silent Disaster said.

“What?”

“I will help you destroy the humans. That is why I came.” It rose from the Red Mist Pond, the helmet’s surface flickering with a slow red light. Dangerous and even, like a heartbeat. “But the male human who appeared in the Legacy Hall — he is mine. I believe the Nightmare Lord’s location is connected to him.”

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