The world outside the newly shattered barrier screamed. Not with wind, but with a sound so profound it felt like the earth itself was tearing its ligaments. Gorka, High Priest of the Solemn Light, stumbled back, his eyes fixed on the gaping maw of the broken window, the cold remedy bottle still clutched like a relic against his chest. The winged shadow, once a distant blot, now blotted out the gray expanse above the sanctuary. Its charcoal hide glinted faintly through the endless ashfall. Twin eyes, like molten iron, gazed down with weary sorrow that promised utter ruin.
“Bihotz,” Gorka whispered, the name a desiccated rustle in his throat. “The End-Binder. Hodei’s… pet.” The idea of the Calamity’s ultimate weapon being anyone’s ‘pet’ struck him as rank blasphemy. The leviathan’s head dipped, a slow, deliberate movement that displaced tons of soot-laden air, sending a dizzying spiral of gray dust through the breach and across the nave.
A claw, each talon the size of a siege engine, hooked over the highest spire. Mortar and granite groaned beneath the downward pull. A shower of masonry rained down into the courtyard, followed by a roar of splintering beams as the eastern roof vault was peeled back like tin. Stone, lead, and consecrated timber arced through the air, scattering priests like terrified pigeons.
Iker, meanwhile, had found an old, brittle newspaper tucked under a pew. He’d meticulously rolled it into a tight cylinder, the edges surprisingly sharp. Nerea, nestled beside him, had started to shiver, not from cold, but from the bass tremor rattling her teeth. Her small hands were pressed over her ears, her brow furrowed with distress.
“That’s enough, you overgrown lizard!” Iker yelled, his voice surprisingly clear amidst the chaos. “You’re scaring my sister!”
The horned head of Bihotz lowered further through the torn timber. Its immense snout, ridged with jagged bone, dipped into the space where the roof had been. A low, rumbling growl, like grinding tectonic plates, vibrated through the air. From its cavernous maw, a sickly green luminescence pooled, reeking of vitriol and sulfur. It wasn’t just fire; it was the essence of Ohalza’s toxic, dying magic, coalesced into a breath that could unravel reality.
Priests shrieked, hitting the flagstones and shielding their brows rather than witness the end. Gorka, for all his bluster, instinctively raised the cold remedy bottle, as if its mundane plastic could repel the apocalypse.
“Hey!” Iker snapped, stepping forward, the rolled-up newspaper held like a flimsy sword. “Stop that! This is a sacred building, you can’t just go breathing all over it like a common street urchin!”
The green light intensified, surging outwards. It touched the nearest remaining wall, and the ancient, hallowed stone began to crumble, not just crack, but dissolve into fine, acrid ash. The air around it warped, shimmering as if reality itself was being stretched thin.
Iker didn’t flinch. With a casual flick of his wrist, he swatted at the green surge. The rolled-up paper struck the glow with a dry, paper-crack thwack. The world-ending breath of magical toxicity, a force that could level mountains and boil oceans, *splashed* against an invisible wall, then drifted away harmlessly into the cold rafters. It was like watching someone swat a persistent fly, utterly devoid of effort or concern.
Bihotz blinked its molten iron eyes, a slow, bewildered movement. It tilted its head, a low, questioning rumble escaping its throat, less a threat and more a confused whine. The beast remained immense, filling the chamber with the heat of a furnace, yet its hostility vanished into dog-like bafflement.
Iker advanced, his brow furrowed with annoyance. “And look at the mess you’re making,” he grumbled, gesturing vaguely at the scattered roof debris. “Honestly. What a bad dog. Did Hodei teach you no manners?” He stepped beneath the wedge-shaped skull jutting through the ceiling and buried both hands beneath the jaw, scratching vigorously at the pebbled hide.
The apocalyptic titan let out a sound that was undeniably a rumbling purr. It vibrated through the stone floor, making the very air hum. Its head dipped further, nudging Iker’s hands with an almost pitiful eagerness. Its molten iron eyes softened, closing into slits of pure contentment. The crushing pressure in the air dissipated, replaced by the mild heat of a hearth.
Then, with a sharp intake of air, the great mass of Bihotz began to collapse inward. The hide condensed, the leathery wings drew tight, and the bony horns smoothed into harmless knobs. In a matter of heartbeats, the world-ending beast was no larger than a housecat, its charcoal coat sleek as obsidian. It had transformed into a small, winged lizard, complete with tiny, pointed teeth and eyes that still held a spark of ancient wisdom, though now decidedly less threatening. It nudged Iker’s hand one last time, then scampered past him, its tiny claws clicking on the flagstones.
It hopped onto the pew where Nerea sat, startling her, then nuzzled into her shoulder. Nerea tentatively extended a hand. Bihotz let out another soft purr, warm against her collarbone. It then wrapped itself around her shoulders, its tail coiling gently, settling in like a particularly possessive shawl.
Gorka, who had watched the entire impossible sequence unfold with his mouth agape, finally found his voice. “You… you tamed it?” he stammered, the words barely audible. He took a hesitant step forward, his eyes fixed on the purring creature now curled around the girl. “Bihotz! End-Binder! Return to your master, foul beast! By the Sacred Light, I command you!” He brandished the cold remedy bottle, a pathetic, desperate gesture.
Bihotz, nestled against Nerea, merely flicked an ear. Then, with a surprisingly swift movement, it uncoiled itself, darted towards Gorka, and bit sharply at the hem of his ceremonial robes. It didn’t break the fabric, but the gesture was clear: a defiant, almost playful nip. Then it returned to Nerea’s shoulder, resuming its contented purr.
Gorka stared at the bite mark on his robes, then at the minuscule lizard, his mouth pressed into a bloodless line. The priests behind him exchanged bewildered, silent glances. His authority, once absolute, had been not just challenged, but outright mocked by a creature that, moments ago, had threatened their very existence.
Iker, meanwhile, was inspecting the gaping hole in the Cathedral roof. “Honestly, this place is going to cost a fortune in repairs,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He glanced at the tiny dragon now draped over Nerea. “If you’re going to stay, you’re not allowed on the furniture.”
Nerea, her initial fear replaced by a soft wonder, stroked Bihotz’s head. Its tiny wings fluttered gently. She looked up at Iker, then pointed a small finger towards the still-broken window, where the gray sky drifted down in silent flurries. “Iker,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the creaking timbers, “the ash isn’t falling… it’s reaching for you.”