The ship finally broke free of the Non-Zone, emerging from the swirling chaos into the familiar vastness of open space. The crew erupted in cheers, as sweet relief washed over everyone.
After everything they had endured, from the relentless demons of the Abaddon royal family to the harrowing battles within the Non-Zone, it felt as though they had escaped the impossible. Even Perseus allowed himself a small smile, grateful for a moment of peace.
But then, a strange silence fell over them. A presence, heavy and foreboding, seemed to settle in the space ahead. In the distance, two figures appeared, floating with an effortless grace that made them seem almost unreal. Their feathers were as white as snow, gleaming like polished silver against the darkness of space. Yet, on their chests, a dark mark burned—a twisted sigil that marked them as fallen. The mark of Lucifer.
Perseus clenched his fists, his brow furrowing. This was clearly a trap.