Creation Of All Things-Chapter 198: The Pale Ones

The Pale Choir.

The Spiral's dogs.

Adam took one look at them and sighed.

"Great," he muttered. "Was wondering when the freak show would get here."

Joshua didn't flinch. His gaze locked with Lyrix, steps still steady.

He looked at Adam. Their eyes met.

Adam gave him a small nod. "Go."

Joshua turned without hesitation and continued walking toward Lyrix, the ground under his boots humming with restrained pressure.

Alice and Kaiden stepped back.

Adam rolled his shoulders and stepped forward to meet the approaching Choir.

He clapped once, loud enough to echo through the plaza.

"Alright," he said, smiling like this was just another day. "Ladies. Gentlemen. Whatever the hell you are."

Ashra's eyes narrowed. Flames sparked up her arm like they were hungry.

Hush tilted his head, dripping ink from his blade.

Anvil cracked his neck, knuckles popping like thunder.

Adam raised both hands lazily and said, "I hate to break it to you, but you're all dead meat."

He smirked, that calm grin that only belonged to someone who wasn't bluffing.

"So," he asked, "how do you wanna die?"

Ashra moved first.

Fire roared from her palms in spiraling arcs, chains of molten light wrapping toward Adam like snakes. But he didn't move. He just watched as the flames got closer—

Then snapped his fingers.

The fire stopped mid-air.

Twitched.

Then reversed.

Ashra's own fire turned on her—like a betrayed pet—and slammed into her chest, throwing her back into a pillar. She screamed, rolling in broken flame.

Hush moved next. Silent as breath. One moment, he was standing, the next—right in front of Adam, blade mid-swing.

But Adam wasn't there anymore.

The rogue blinked, confused—

And Adam appeared behind him, hands in his pockets.

"You're fast," Adam said, voice low, "but not fast enough."

A pulse rippled from his body. Not visible—felt.

The ink around Hush began to boil. He twisted, trying to scream, but no sound came. His blade shattered in his hand. And then—

His body hit the ground, motionless, black ink flooding out into the cracks.

Anvil grunted.

He walked forward slowly, hammer dragging behind him, carving grooves into the plaza floor.

"You broke my friends," he rumbled.

Adam cracked his neck. "No. They were already broken. I just did the cleaning."

Anvil lifted the hammer. Magic screamed around it. The faces etched into the metal twisted, mouths opening wide—

Adam vanished.

The hammer swung down—into air.

And then—

Boom.

Adam appeared right in front of Anvil, hand glowing with compressed force.

He struck the smith in the chest.

The hammer fell.

So did Anvil.

A crater formed under him as the stone tiles caved inward, shockwaves rolling outward, sending dust and rubble flying.

Silence.

Adam dusted off his sleeves.

"Three."

He looked around.

"Next?"

There was no next.

The crowd—those who hadn't run—stood frozen in awe and fear.

The Pale Choir was down.

Lyrix's grin was gone now.

Joshua was standing a few feet away from him, still approaching.

"Was that the plan?" Joshua asked. "Throw broken monsters at us to buy yourself time?"

Lyrix snarled. "You think you're a king walking back into your throne. But you're just a relic. A shadow. You think this city belongs to you—"

"No," Joshua said. "I know it does."

Joshua didn't just walk toward Lyrix—he descended. Every step hit the plaza like a quiet drum, echoing through the tense silence left behind by the wreckage of the Pale Choir. Adam, having finished his part of the show, leaned against a broken pillar and crossed his arms, letting the stage belong to his friend.

Lyrix scrambled to his feet.

Blood streaked his cheek. His cloak hung off one shoulder, torn and tattered. The Spiral-marked orb in his hand flickered weakly, pulsing with erratic energy. But he still stood tall. Still full of pride.

"This isn't over," he growled.

Joshua didn't stop walking.

"It is."

Lyrix raised the orb, muttering a curse under his breath. Shadows rose from the cobblestones, spiraling up around his arm like serpents. His veins glowed violet. His teeth grit as the artifact fused with his wrist, flesh warping around it.

A last resort.

"By the Spiral's will," he hissed, "I'll tear the light from your name."

Joshua halted.

For a moment, even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Then—

A sharp boom echoed across the plaza.

Joshua moved.

In one instant, Lyrix stood with his hand raised.

In the next, Joshua's foot smashed into his stomach, launching him backwards before he even processed it. He hit the ground, bounced, skidded across the tiles, and crashed into a merchant stand, shattering wood and glass in a storm of sparks.

The crowd gasped.

Lyrix coughed, blood painting his teeth red.

Joshua approached again, calm. "Get up."

Lyrix groaned and tried to summon the shadows again. They answered, sluggish and weak.

He thrust a hand forward.

Spikes of void-energy shot from the ground.

Joshua weaved through them like they were falling leaves—no wasted movement. No effort. Just grace and dominance.

He reappeared beside Lyrix and grabbed his collar.

Then slammed him into the ground.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Cracks split the plaza tiles under them. Dust rose. Lyrix gasped, barely conscious, but still gripping the Spiral's corrupted mark on his wrist.

"You're nothing," he rasped. "Just a name on an old banner."

Joshua yanked him up by the front of his cloak.

"Names mean everything," he said.

Then turned and threw Lyrix through one of the plaza's stone columns.

The explosion of debris forced the crowd to shield their eyes. When the dust cleared, Lyrix was embedded in the rubble—bleeding, twitching, trying to breathe.

Joshua didn't give him time.

He appeared above him—mid-air—and stomped down.

The earth shook.

Lyrix coughed again. Tried to swing.

Joshua caught his wrist mid-swing and twisted.

Snap.

Lyrix screamed.

"You brought monsters to fight your battles," Joshua said. "You attacked innocent people. You tried to trade a woman like a coin."

He slammed his knee into Lyrix's ribs.

"You put your pride over your city."

Another hit.

"You thought the Spiral gave you power."

He grabbed Lyrix's arm—where the mark pulsed.

"And all it did was expose how weak you really are."

Joshua raised his other hand.

A golden symbol ignited over his palm. Pure light. Not magic. Not rage. Just truth.

He pressed it to the artifact.

And the Spiral mark shattered.

Lyrix screamed—not in pain, but in terror.

The shadows left him.

The curse vanished.

He slumped, a broken husk of the spoiled noble he was five minutes ago.

Joshua leaned in close, voice low.

"Krayon Sol deserves better. You're done."

Then he turned away.

Lyrix didn't move.

Couldn't.

The silence afterward was suffocating.

And then—

Cheers.

From the balconies.

The rooftops.

The scattered onlookers who'd stayed to witness it all.

Joshua didn't raise his hands. Didn't bask in it.

He simply walked back to Alice, to Kaiden, to Adam—his people.

And together, they stepped into the floating arena.

The floating chains pulsed in rhythm with every step.

The old power had returned.

The name the Spiral feared.

The name the city never forgot.

Zayriel.

And somewhere in the broken dust behind him—

Lyrix wept.