As the sky darkened slightly beneath his looming presence, the man floated high above Dreadmarch, staring down with a smirk tugging at his lips.
A stillness fell over the crowd, confusion shifting to unease as murmurs echoed through the shell-top streets.
"Who is that…?"
"Is he flying?"
Even Cadogan's smile faded, his brows furrowed with unease. Dune narrowed his eyes as a cold chill crept down his spine.
Then, the stranger finally spoke, his voice smooth and arrogant, echoing across the air.
"I am Dedany," he declared, his tone heavy with pride, "also known as the Pale Crown."
The silence deepened. Dedany's piercing gaze swept across the sea of stunned faces. "Will the grand Dreadmarch show himself… or shall I crush this shell until he does?"
A glow sparked from the center of the turtle's shell, radiant and purple. It intensified until it cast long shadows across the people below.
From the light, a figure slowly rose, gliding upward with regal calm. Gasps followed as the onlookers recognized what they were seeing.
It was a man, tall and composed, with hair that shimmered in every shade of purple. His eyes pulsed with ancient light, his skin flawless like polished stone. Robes of silk and woven Neba fluttered around him, decorated with countless ornaments that shimmered like stars. He radiated power and grace, too perfect, too serene to be human.
Dune's lips parted in awe. "That's…"
Cadogan finished for him, voice low. "Dreadmarch."
Two godly beings now faced each other above the world, two born from nature. The air between them pulsed.
The sky above Sanatria felt heavy, pressed down by the invisible tension between the two titans. People held their breath as the wind shifted around the glowing form of Dreadmarch and the pale, floating figure of Dedany.
Dedany's arms opened wide, as if presenting the stage for his monologue.
"So this is what's become of the grand beast feared by nations?" Dedany's voice was velvet and venom. "A glorified ferry, trading dignity for comfort. Walking alongside those who butcher and enslave your kind, rip out their hearts and cores, and cage their essence in their little hearts."
He extended a hand, fingers outstretched as if plucking something from the air. "Neba Cores… that's what they call them. Your brothers and sisters, turned into Slaves."
The crowd flinched. Dreadmarch remained silent for a long moment, his purple eyes half-lidded with the calm of a god. Then his lips moved, his voice deep, aged like mountains, but gentle in tone.
"I have made peace with my path, Dedany," he said, floating effortlessly before the storm. "I have chosen coexistence over conquest. Harmony over hunger. I do not see weakness in that… I see wisdom."
Dedany chuckled, low at first, then louder, twisting into something sinister.
"Wisdom?" he scoffed, voice rising. "You once crushed mountains just to walk. Now you beg crumbs of peace from the table of your jailers." He narrowed his eyes. "You've grown soft, old friend. A coward wrapped in robes of fear."
The insult lingered in the air like ash.
Dreadmarch's expression didn't waver. "I do not fear war," he said, voice unwavering. "But I have lived enough of it to know it brings nothing worth keeping."
For a moment, the world felt split between them, two opposing eternities staring one another down.
Dedany's smirk slowly faded, replaced by something colder. "Then I will show you what your peace has bred."
The sky pulsed, the winds howled, and something darker began to stir.
Dreadmarch exhaled softly, the sound like wind through ancient caverns. His robes fluttered in silence as his gaze met Dedany's once more.
"This battle will bring neither of us good," he said calmly, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "So I ask… what is your true purpose here?"
Dedany's smile returned, slow and snake-like, curling with quiet satisfaction.
"I heard," he began, tilting his head slightly, "that Fein was reduced to ash… by the Control Devil, Asyl."
The name struck the air like a blade. Dreadmarch's eyes widened, just slightly, but enough for those watching to feel it. Even the winds seemed to hush.
"What was his motivation?" Dreadmarch asked, tension now behind his otherwise calm words.
Dedany floated effortlessly, basking in the moment like a performer in the center of the world. "Even I don't know," he said, almost amused. "But he's collecting human cores… Rumor whispers it's a requirement, something needed to transcend even Purple Neba."
Gasps echoed through the crowds below. Cadogan's face twisted with disbelief, while Atlas and Ned exchanged shocked glances. Dune stared upward, his heart pounding at what he'd just heard.
Fein… destroyed by Asyl?
And there's something beyond purple?
Dreadmarch's silence returned, but this time it felt heavier. A beat passed before he replied with quiet finality.
"Whatever Asyl seeks… it has nothing to do with me."
He lifted a hand slightly, palm open.
"Leave, Dedany."
But Dedany only chuckled, dark and smooth.
"Now that I'm here, I won't leave until one of us draws blood."
He raised both arms slowly, letting purple light pulse from his body like a second skin, mockery glinting in his eyes.
Far below, people screamed, but before panic could erupt, Dreadmarch moved. With a single wave, a soft ripple of radiant purple Neba spread across the entire shell-town, wrapping every civilian, every home, every soul, in a protective glow.
It was silent again. Two figures floated above the world, glowing with power, the storm between them ready to erupt.
The gods were about to clash.