"Where is Sandra?" Y/N muttered, his gaze now on Igris as he began to stir from the brink of unconsciousness. Relief briefly crossed Y/N's face as he noted Igris's recovery, a rare piece of good news amid the turmoil. He then turned his attention to the somber task at hand, ensuring Alphen's body was wrapped in shadows to be preserved for a dignified burial. Leaving him to decay in this forsaken place was unthinkable.

As Y/N's resolve hardened, his distaste for the deities deepened. The fall of an Amygdala at his hands bolstered his confidence, yet he knew hubris could be his downfall.

Igris's cough broke the silence, his voice hoarse as he regained his senses. His first concern was for his fallen comrade. "Where is Alphen?" he asked, a hopeful edge to his words that quickly faded as he took in the scene—Alphen's blood a silent testament to the tragedy that had unfolded.

"Dead," Y/N replied, the weight of the word heavy in the air. "Ambushed by an Amygdala, which I've slain in his vengeance." His voice was a mix of sorrow and resolve, a stark announcement that left Igris grappling with the reality of their loss.

The moment of mourning was brief as Y/N turned the conversation towards pressing matters. "Igris, you mention a war with the Great Ones, and I am left confused by all of these except for one thing that is desired of me. Tell me, what is Idrila hiding?" The urgency in Y/N's voice reflected his need for clarity in a realm filled with shadows and half-truths.

Igris met Y/N's gaze, the sorrow for Alphen mingling with the heaviness of the secrets he bore. "The theory you presented to us before was correct," he began, his voice carrying the burden of regret. "We sought to preserve the idea of beauty, but one among us, blinded by fanaticism, sought an ancient relic—a writing of knowledge belonging to the Great Ones. His actions unleashed chaos, sparking the war with the Great Ones."

"I... tried to stop him, but it was too late," Igris confessed, the regret in his voice unmistakable. His story, while leaving many questions unanswered, shed light on the dark origins of their current plight.

Y/N absorbed the revelation, his mind racing to connect the dots. The existence of a catalyst—a relic that brought the Great Ones into their realm—aligned with his suspicions. The rune on his hand, now alive with a sinister glow, was a stark reminder of the interconnected mysteries surrounding their war.

With a deep sense of resolve, Y/N contemplated his next moves. The information Igris provided was a critical piece of the puzzle, yet the path forward was fraught with uncertainty. "Hmm... decisions, decisions," he mused, ready to navigate the intricate web of intrigue and betrayal that lay before them. The battle against the Great Ones was far from over, and Y/N's journey into the heart of the conflict was just beginning.

In the aftermath of the battle, as Igris mourned beside what remained of their comrade, Y/N stood amidst the ruins of conflict, his thoughts adrift. The Aeons' influence had honed his decision-making, yet at a cost he hadn't fully anticipated—his emotional connection to those around him had waned, leaving him to navigate the complexities of leadership with a heart grown distant.

"Balance," Y/N mused, the word echoing within the cavernous chambers of his mind. He thought of Hooh, the Aeon of Equilibrium, a guide he had yet to encounter since the Progenitor's introduction, whose teachings on the Abyss's balance had yet to manifest. "Even in its absence, perhaps this is the lesson it intended," Y/N thought, recognizing his path of self-discovery and the intricate dance of power, emotions, and self.

With resolve, Y/N acknowledged his imperfections, aspiring to a future where errors were fewer and every action deliberate. "Yes, that will be good. Afterwards, a break," he planned, envisioning time spent with Ena in her domain, a brief respite from the chaos.

Turning to Igris, Y/N issued a stark choice, his voice carrying a blunt edge that belied his underlying intent. "Igris, will you continue to mourn and let Sandra meet an unknown fate, or will you stand with me and end this war?"

Igris, pain etched into every movement, rose with his greatsword as a crutch, his stance a testament to his unyielding spirit. Though sorrow clouded his aura, determination shone through as he silently vowed to follow Y/N, commanding respect with his gesture.

Acknowledging Igris's\ decision, Y/N summoned the Abyssal Gate, poised to venture deeper into the labyrinth in search of life, of hope. Before stepping through, he reached out with telekinesis, claiming Alphen's longsword—a weapon that seemed to resonate more closely with his fighting style than the Ornate Dagger ever did.

With arrangements set, Y/N and Igris entered the portal, the labyrinth fading behind them as they moved forward, united in their mission to confront the Great Ones and unravel the mysteries that bound their realm to chaos. The path ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but together, they stepped into the unknown, their resolve unwavering.

---

With lethal precision, Y/N's blade sliced through the swarm of beasts and eldritch entities that charged towards him. Each swing of his sword was a masterful execution, werewolves, crazed humans, and alien creatures alike falling before him in silence. The labyrinth's once-sacred ground was now a theater of carnage, a testament to Y/N's harrowing transformation in this realm.

Ascending the stairs of the grand altar, Y/N's gaze fell upon the intricate details surrounding him. The labyrinth, lined with majestic statues and gothic arches, bore the scars of countless battles. Amidst the towering candelabras and draped banners, the remnants of hunters and knights lay scattered, evidence of the labyrinth's unforgiving nature.

Each step he took resonated against the stone floor, the weight of Alphen's longsword in his hand a constant reminder of their mission. He wielded the blade with grace, its lightness allowing for swift, deadly arcs that were coated in the spectral flames of Blacklight, his enemies succumbing to fiery ruin.

Growing weary of the onslaught, Y/N gathered the shadows in his palm, concentrating them into an orb of annihilation. It grew with each pulse of his heart, a dark mirror to the orb of flame that had once symbolized creation. With his other hand wielding the longsword, he weaved through his adversaries, each stroke a death sentence.

As the orb expanded, Y/N released it, guiding its destructive path through the labyrinth. It moved with the inevitability of nightfall, obliterating all in silence—no screams, no pleas, just the quiet of extinction.

As the last of the adversaries fell, so too did the orb dissipate, leaving behind only the echo of its power. Igris, steadfast and resolute, maintained his guard, his greatsword a silent partner to Y/N's dance of destruction.

Upon the altar, Y/N discovered a slab inscribed with runes. His hands, shrouded in the protective grim shadows, grasped the slab. It thrummed with energy, attempting to unleash its magic, but Y/N's will was stronger. Channeling the Abyss, he subdued the slab's power, his mind recalling the Progenitor's methods, reducing the rune's magic to a hollow shell. With a final, decisive crush, the slab shattered under the might of his palm.

Y/N turned to Igris, his voice resolute, "Let us go to another destination, Igris. We must end this quickly; I can feel them coming in." The urgency was clear; the signatures of the Great Ones were drawing near, an alien presence encroaching upon them.

Igris gave a firm nod, steeling himself for the battles ahead. With that, Y/N conjured the Abyssal Gate, the familiar portal swirling into existence and stepped through the Abyssal Gate, the labyrinth with its silent statues and scarred landings receding into the shadows of the past.

---

As Y/N stood before the last altar, the scene before him was a grotesque tableau of carnage and transformation. The ground was soaked in blood, surrounded by creatures that once might have been knights or soldiers, champions of beauty now reduced to monstrous forms. In his heart, Y/N knew them as beasts, a term that felt fitting yet carried the weight of sorrow for what they had become.

Amidst the chaos, Y/N had gleaned valuable insights. The destruction of the runes connecting to the Great Ones' dimensions had unveiled secrets he dared not expose to the world. Each rune absorbed or destroyed peeled back another layer of the dark tapestry the Great Ones wove across the cosmos. The plague, it seemed, was but a tool in their quest for surrogates to replace their lost children.

Y/N had come to understand the role of the Paleblood Moon in this macabre cycle, a celestial phenomenon spoken of in hushed tones by those who dared to remember. This Paleblood Moon, an entity or event tied intimately to the Great Ones, sought to foster new life for a Great One mourning their own lost offspring.

The key to this process was the Cord of the Eye, an umbilical cord belonging to the infant Great Ones. This relic, steeped in mystery and power, was essential for the Great Ones' attempts at creating new life. "Every Great One loses its child, and then yearns for a surrogate," Y/N muttered, the words echoing the cruel fate of these cosmic entities. Their longing for surrogates drew them to special babies, lures for beings that traversed dimensions in their grief.

Reflecting on Sandra's disappearance and the tale Igris had shared, Y/N pieced together the puzzle. Sandra, could she be a child of a Great One? The thought was unsettling, yet the evidence pointed in this direction. The name Mergo, whispered by Oedon, lingered in his mind—a child of a Great One, perhaps, marked by a baby's cry.

As Y/N turned these revelations over in his mind, he approached Igris, who seemed a shadow of his former self, consumed by fatigue and the heavy burden of loss.

"Igris, how are you feeling?" Y/N's voice broke the silence, his tone carrying a weight of concern that belied the cold detachment he had come to embody. He watched the Marshal, noting the fatigue and deep-seated remorse that seemed to cloud his being. It was a mirror to his own internal conflict, a reminder of the cost this war had exacted on them all.

Igris' response was heavy, laden with grief. "I am... not fine. These knights... they were my men, my brothers in all but blood." His voice cracked, a testament to the pain of seeing comrades transformed into monstrosities. "Having to strike down allies from the past... it's a betrayal of everything we stood for."

Y/N listened, understanding all too well the price of victory in this war. The conversation shifted as Y/N prepared to share the grim findings of his investigation.

"Igris, what I am about to say will be disturbing," Y/N prefaced, his voice echoing slightly in the vast, desolate space. The sound of Igris' greatsword clanking against the stone floor had made Y/N wince, a rare show of emotion in these dark times.

Igris merely nodded, his gaze steady on Y/N, urging him to continue without words.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N began, "I couldn't find Sandra's whereabouts, but I have uncovered information about the Great Ones and their objectives here." Igris' body tensed, his posture straightening as he absorbed the weight of Y/N's words.

"The Great Ones have lost their children and, in their grief, turned to the humans here as a means to breed, creating more abominations of their kind. I believe Sandra is also one of their targets," Y/N revealed, the gravity of his findings hanging heavy in the air.

"No! Lady Sandra could never..." Igris' protest faltered, a flood of memories stopping him mid-sentence.

Y/N, observing Igris's turmoil, probed further, "Have you perhaps remembered something of the past?" He cradled Alphen's longsword against his chest, a silent tribute to their fallen comrade.

Igris exhaled, the weight of his recollections evident. "Indeed, back then, Lady Sandra appeared as an infant. She was then adopted by our majesty, Idrila herself. How she appeared, we don't know, but she brought warmth to the garden of her majesty, with eyes like the sun and hair as yellow as it symbolizes purity," Igris recounted, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

"Do you think it has something to do with the Knight you mentioned earlier? Does he have any characteristics that belonged to Sandra?" Y/N pressed, seeking clarity amidst the chaos of their discoveries.

Igris paused, his next words barely above a whisper, "Yes... our friend back then had blonde hair, but that shouldn't be. Wait! I remember now!" The sudden clarity in his voice was startling, as if a veil had been lifted, revealing truths long obscured.

"He used to have a lover, a noblewoman. She was a witch who sacrificed her being for power. Yes! They both were connected to the appearance of the Great Ones!" Igris exclaimed, his memories unraveling the complex tapestry of their current predicament.

Y/N listened in silence, each revelation from Igris painting a clearer picture of the intricate web woven by fate and the Great Ones. "She was also pregnant at the time when she commenced her ritual. We tried to stop her. But in turn, our comrade, her lover, was corrupted by her. The once-esteemed knight of beauty turned into a man of darkness with winged trees," Igris continued, his narrative painting a vivid picture of betrayal and loss.

"'Winged trees'? As in, it has wings in the shape of trees, yes?" Y/N asked, the memory of a being in ceremonial robes who had aided his escape from the Shackling Prison surfacing in his mind.

"Yes, I apologize for the miswording, but that is what you described," Igris confirmed, adding another piece to the puzzle.

"And does he have a name?" Y/N's question hung in the air, laden with anticipation.

Igris' response came with a heavy heart, "A friend long lost, now turned to darkness. His name is Pontiff."

End of Chapter