Alexander groggily blinked his eyes open, winds howling against him.

His first sight was his arm, still black and scaly, still burning with demonic magic. He had transformed, and even as he lost consciousness, his body maintained that state for who knows how long. He could feel the distortion in his skull– the thick, single horn stabbing outward and connected to the dark veins that ran down his body and blackened his skin.

His first sensation was a poking at his ribcage. It only took an instant to piece together what was happening. He flew with Shadowfax, the trusted wyvern carrying his body in her mouth, gently picking him up and keeping him from harm– actively trying not to pierce Alexander with her sharp teeth, it seemed. At the same time, Furcas' demonic blade sat atop his chest. The sword capable of splitting Godfrey in two, he recalled.

Shadowfax must have swept him and it up into the air all at once, the second Furcas ordered her to. She flew with urgency towards the white tower, the Doors of Life and Death, with that sight being the one to remind Alexander of what had happened before he lost himself.

An army was approaching. Furcas was fighting. And Kieran was killed.

Furcas was somewhere, alone. Even if he could handle himself against an army, Alexander didn't want to leave his side, nor did he want that devilish encounter of death to be their last meeting.

Those memories brought a dense, dark thumping in his head as they crashed back into his murky skull. He let out a heavy breath, ignoring all else surrounding him. Even as they flew hundreds of feet from the ground, even while black storm clouds chased after them, he didn't think of any of that.

All he could hope for was that Kieran's death wasn't a demonic demise, only hoping that the boy wouldn't have to spend another minute in this hell.

It was nearly noon, by Alexander's guess, although that bright sun of the UnderWorld would soon be blocked out by the black clouds that trailed behind.

In just a handful of minutes, Shadowfax began the descent, gliding down with the wind and gaining proximity to the tower. As they finally caressed the ground, Alexander finally realized his unusual lack of pain.

His demonic transformation, combined with a quick period of rest as Shadowfax traveled, restored his body. Not to its best nor prime condition, mind you– but enough to keep him moving and fighting. There was no more bleeding, and even the muscles torn and pierced didn't ache or throb.

With gratitude, Alexander could only rub Shadowfax's snout. He didn't know what would come next, but to him, it may very well be their last moments together.

He smiled at the wyvern he once thought of naming 'Milky Way'. The creature's gentle eyes glistened again, as Alexander spoke to her.

"Thank you," he spat out. "For everything you have done. The fact that I'm standing with the Doors of Life and Death in front of me... was only possible through you. When you return to Furcas, make sure you tell him I'm grateful for everything."

She purred in response as Alexander lifted his hand and began to turn to the white tower. Right then and there, he stood on the one dirt path that led to the tower doors. Around him, for dozens and even hundreds of meters, stood chopped tree stumps and single roots left in the dry ground, where dirt and soil had turned arid and into stone.

The tower itself was built of a singular mass– pure rock. It was white stone, even after what could have been millennia of endless impacts of firestones and probable attacks and assaults from the force of demons. At the peak of the tower, its summit a dozen hundred meters above the road Alexander stood on, sat five horns, four of them facing into the cardinal directions. The last horn wasn't jagged or bent or twisted like the others– rather, it was straight, a linear pinnacle, as sharp as a spear point.

"God, please tell me that thing has an elevator."

He traced his gaze back down the tower and now, there stood a figure in armor at the end of the dirt path. Alexander stared. He stood straight, his palms pressed atop the pommel of a sword, one he had dug into the ground. His helmet blocked out any light to his eyes, keeping the wide, linear visor shrouded in darkness. He spoke with a plain voice, "The way is shut."

That was a god. Alexander understood that much. After all, the keeper of the border, of The Doors couldn't be anything less.

Even so, in the sight of a deadly being entitled as a god, Alexander took a step forward.

The Keeper lifted his sword from the ground, only to thrust it back into the stone. The ground rumbled as he repeated, this time louder, "The way is shut."

"Bullshit." Alexander clenched his jaw. "I've come way too far for you to tell me that. I've done too much."

"Irrelevant. I have my duties. Whatever comes next..." the Keeper muttered through his helm, drawing his sword from the dirt again and brandishing the blade at the Human-Born. "...will be the product of the will of the Above."

"I just need to get past him," Alexander mumbled to himself, taking in quick breaths. "Just need to get past him. Just need to get past him," he repeated over and over again, squeezing his grip on his grandfather's blade.

"I'm sure you'll find that easier said than done."

Alexander forced a smile onto his face. "You kidding?" His magic dripped down into his blade, blackness dripping down the hilt, down the silver steel until the weapon was covered in a coat of demonic energy. "I'll make you cry."

By Alexander's guess, the Keeper wouldn't initiate the battle. And so, he filled his lungs with a single breath of air. He squeezed down on the sword in his hands, grit his teeth, and bounced. With each step, each impact of his feet against the ground, he kept himself bouncing on the balls of his feet, loose, yet steady, to keep himself quick and ready to evade whatever came his way.

That was a whirlwind. An arc of light and air and any matter that existed burst from the Keeper's blade with a single swing and headed for Alexander.

The boy ducked down and slid onto the ground, before bringing himself back up to attack. Alexander stared at the Keeper's blade. 'That's the same kind of magic Ashford has, isn't it? Sword-based slashes– which is to say, one attack is enough to split me in two. But I'm stronger than I was back then. I can manage against this kind of attack.'

He could manage.

The Keeper thrust his blade at Alexander as soon as the boy got close, only for him to weave to the side and dodge. The lack of magic in that attack brought a smile to Alexander's lips, flashing the few teeth that had turned into beastly canines.

Still moving, he rolled into the ground and behind the Keeper. A quick stab behind the knee brought the armored knight to the ground. Less than ten seconds into their clash and Alexander had his path to victory laid out, by his own movements, his own will.

With his blade in his hands, the Keeper's head lowered, Alexander knew he could end this in one impact. A single swing for the neck– a movement, an attack that always numbed his arms and heart whenever he went for it, as if his own body didn't want to. After all, for almost all living beings, Alexander's swing would run through with ease and sever the head. For almost all living beings, it was an instant death.

Knowing that he had to only commit to such a movement against demons, devils, spirits, and now, a demonic god, brought him some solace, and enough resolve to push through.

The Keeper's helmet flew off.

It clattered emptily as it rolled into the ground. The Keeper took in a deep breath and shot his head up. Still connected, he grabbed his neck and began to slide his hands up to his face, rejoicing in the fact he remained intact.

Alexander froze in confusion. The Keeper's head remained with his body– and not just that, but the Keeper's head, his face, all was as black as the night sky, yet blank and starless. His head was a shapeless mass of dark mist, tethered to the body within the armor. Maybe tethered to the armor? Alexander asked himself.

With a sigh, the Keeper brought his hands down and turned to face Alexander, unveiling the two starlike eyes within his black head. Two perfect orbs that glowed with white light. "I don't think that has happened to me in the last century," he said.

Alexander's eyes widened as they locked into the Keeper's white gaze, met with the same gaze he wore with each demonic transformation in his body. He found himself uttering, "You're like me."

A single second of a chuckle left the god's dark face. He pushed his elbow back into Alexander's stomach, and in the same instant, jumped into the air, swinging his leg at the Human-Born and hurling him into stone.

Even as the tower's stone facade cracked with the weight of his impact, even as white dust flew into the air, Alexander kept his eyes on the Keeper.

He pushed himself back up the moment he hit the ground, and at the same time, the cracked rock repaired itself, leaving the stone unblemished and pure. As weird as that was, Alexander already had a problem to focus on.

The sword on the ground hovered into the air and into Alexander's palm with a simple motion from the Human-Born. He had moved the instinct learned from using Excalibur, but it managed to work with a demonic blade too, to his surprise.

Now, all he had to do was lock down the Keeper.

That was all the demon thought, before realizing the Keeper's sword stood aimed at Alexander, somewhere on his leg. Before he could react, a blast exploded onto his foot and left nothing but a circular, empty gap right through the boot and bone.

"This is my domain, boy. Did you think you had a chance?"

Alexander fell to the ground, unable to support his weight. Without a second to waste, the Keeper slammed his foot down and stepped on Alexander's ankle, crushing the already injured bone and worsening the flare at the center of the boy's foot.

"You got confident. Too confident. On my honor, allow me to aid you in your thoughts. My first manner of attack was slash-based magic, yes? That alone doesn't warrant the assumption that it is my only manner of attack, however. Secondly... In your pride, you refused to assume my attacks could damage you to such an extent. This is the gravest mistake one can make. Never assume what amount of damage your enemy can deal. Understand?"

He raised his foot off Alexander's wound and brought it down to slam into the side of Alexander's head. Alexander groaned and accidentally bit down on his tongue within the flashing of the pain of his skull, bursting blood into his mouth.

"I asked you if you understood, human boy."

Another groan as the Keeper's words finally cemented themselves into his head. 'Human boy'. That's right. Alexander was a human in hell, fighting for a proper place in a proper world. Don't forget, he urged himself.

"I'll kill you..." he slurred out, drool and blood slipping through the side of his mouth.

'I'm a human.'

"I'll kill you..." Alexander repeated, his eyes beginning to glow with a pale light.

'You are human.'

"I..."

'Human.'

"You..."

'Don't forget.'

The demon screeched, before grabbing hold of the Keeper's armored ankle and digging its black talons inside.

"I'll kill you!"

Alexander set himself free and lept into the air, his singular wing piercing out of his clothes again. He cocked his arm back and thrust it out, his grand black hand spreading and grabbing the Keeper's face, before pulling down and yanking the Keeper's head into the dirt.

"There are some things that cannot be killed," The Keeper smiled. His smile faded as his eyes met the sight of Alexander's glowing gaze. "Oh. You can't understand me, can you?"

A screech left the rabid demon's lips, before he slammed his head into The Keeper's face. Akin to a beast, one enraged, his mouth frothed with the same killing intent his eyes sank into. The whites of his eyes grew bloodshot and reddened, only to be painted black as more demonic energy outpoured from his heart and filled his being– until half his face was forced into the color of shadow, wrapped and shrouded with black, until the scales on his arm and his chest and his side and his leg hardened over his bleeding muscles. The sharp pain furthered his anguish, but deep down, his instincts knew it would make him stronger.

"I suppose I was mistaken when I referred to you as a human boy, then."

Alexander's eyes flashed again with an even brighter light. "Mistaken?" he asked. "No, your only mistake was not letting me pass."

While the Keeper's 'face' was nothing more than black, a blank slate with glowing orbs for eyes, those orbs widened in what anyone could guess was an expression of fear. His hand swept to the side, scurrying and outstretching in search of his sword, his weapon to end this clash in an instant.

"I can understand you just fine, you bastard!" he screeched again, extending his arm to the side and recovering his sword with the same magic he had always cherished. It flung right into his palm, fitting perfectly with the coiling of his fingers. It was in the next second that Alexander drove his demonic blade into the god's arm, right under the shoulder to break past any skin, any bone, any blood vessel such a being could bear.

A muffled scream burst out from behind the starless slate of the Keeper's face.

'I'm a human...' the demon told himself. He lifted his blade and brought himself back up, his body numbing his senses of pain and forcing him to walk forward to the doors of the tower.

The Keeper's armor clunked and clamored as he stood up, raising his sword at Alexander. One strike to the chest would be enough to kill this demon, he told himself. Even as Alexander noticed and turned to face him, there would be no matter of escape from what fate had decided.

It was then that Furcas slammed into the Keeper's side, knocking him toward the tower wall. Just as with Alexander, the stone cracked and reformed in an instant, leaving only the Keeper to struggle and bring himself back up.

The knight among demons scurried up and called his sword forth. It flew from Alexander to him, and with both hands, he held it and raised it above his head. He turned to his grandson, his eyes gleaming not with the usual demonic starlight, but with ferocity. "Climb!" he ordered.

Shadowfax flapped her wings in response.

Alexander and the Keeper both understood in the same instant. And as Alexander rushed towards his wyvern, the Keeper could only cry one thing. "No!"

While Alexander could still hear him, Furcas spoke again. "Reach the pillar at the center! That is the Door we must find!"

Shadowfax burst into the air the second Alexander lept up and clung to her ankle, scaling the side of the tower in seconds with howling wind beside them. Alexander grit his teeth as he stared down, at Furcas beginning his clash against his Keeper.

But right as Alexander reached the precipice of the tower, he looked down again. While Furcas remained, the Keeper had disappeared from his line of sight. He hit the ground running, landing on his feet and steadying himself by holding onto one of the pillars that surrounded the tower's peak.

"Thank you," he repeated to Shadowfax, his eyes glistening with kindness hidden behind the demonic light of his gaze. He faced the central pillar– a spike of stone that aimed at the skies. Furcas didn't clarify what must be done, but he knew he had to reach it. After all, it was calling him forth.

The white stone whispered to him, a message he couldn't understand. Whether it was fate or not was irrelevant to him. Every fiber of his being screamed out to him that he wouldn't stop until it was over.

He began to step towards it, becoming closer with each second– until the Keeper's blade ran into his back and pierced through his chest.

"I won't let you..." the Keeper's grim voice rang out. "I won't... Not... in my domain."

His domain, he said. In the face of near death, with dozens of different screaming thoughts, a quiet voice inside him understood. His 'domain' was something he meant literally, being that he could do all things within that space.

Alexander found that idea to be another thought irrelevant to him. Alexander began to fall, almost unable to breathe at all. But before he plainly struck the ground, he clawed himself forward, refusing, rejecting, denouncing any possibility of death.

A dozen hundred meters away, all Furcas could do was watch. Even as the devil forced himself to think, he knew there was only one solution. He took in a deep breath before dragging his foot against the dirt path, raising it alongside dust into the air. With his exhale, he slammed his foot into the ground and shook the earth.

The sorcery he held from before the moment he was born of dust, the sorcery he imbued into each of his children, the sorcery coveted and envied by all of the UnderWorld, was the one always used in the most vital moment.

Alexander could feel the sensation before anything else. He escaped, rushed to another pillar and held onto it for dear life, staring down at Furcas as cracks began to appear and spread in the ground, expanding and blowing it to oblivion.

As for the tower, everything it stood on was reduced to nothingness. That was the true nature of Earth-Shaking, not just to momentarily debilitate, but to destroy, to crush into hopelessness.

"What the hell is this?!" the Keeper shouted out in confusion.

Alexander forced a smile onto his face, even as blood continued to escape the pierce in his chest. "You really don't know how vast the world is, do you? Guess that just makes you... a frog in a well, huh?"

"Disgusting demons!"

The tower fell south, exploding into countless stone fragments beyond repair and sending an endless plume of smoke and powder and dust into the sky. And for a whole minute– only one– the battleground fell silent.

Shadowfax continued circling over them, hovering with each flap of her wings to watch what came to pass.

The Keeper was a celestial being, one meant to be invincible and immortal, although only against mortals themselves. Only in some, few, specific circumstances should someone like him be brought down to weakness.

He stared at his hands, now barren of armor as the metal surrounding his body was crushed and blown off during the collapse. His hands were pitch black, with nothing within them or beyond them. No blood, no muscle, and yet, he felt pain.

The Keeper turned to the side, hearing the falling of stone– the rustling that came with the Human-Born's movements. Between the blood and tears, Alexander's face ran red. Furcas' attack was meant to protect him from death, and it did, although not without some quick anguish for him.

He could hardly breathe, and only manage to outstretch his hand, creeping and inching closer to his goal; the stone spike that remained perfectly intact, perfectly upright and aiming to the above.

"I'm not done yet..." he found himself uttering, against all understanding. He was only a spirit, but still mortal. He could die at any moment, at any second, considering how his manifested body had been pierced and broken and battered for hours on end. With his lifeblood escaping through any crack and crevice in his skin, that second death would arrive sooner rather than later.

"Neither am I," the Keeper spoke. He slowly brought himself up to stand, more armor of his creaking off his body, the impacts ringing out and echoing against stone.

"Dammit, man," Alexander said. He sighed, a pool of blood sliding from his mouth with it. He clenched his fists and pushed himself up. "You're giving me a harder time than any demon here did." Alexander raised his fists.

"That means I'm doing a good job."

Furcas laughed at the Keeper, although also from amusement, from surprise at the scale of his own ability. "Not good enough, clearly."

"Demon..." The Keeper spoke through his pain. Had that knight never appeared, he could have killed the boy with ease. Confused, he asked, "Why do you struggle so much? Why do you bear the Human-Born's burden with him? Leave him!"

"I will not!" Furcas barked. "I have failed my first son. I will not fail this boy too." He spat out the congealed blood in his mouth and raised his fists. "Come! Sword of Gram!"

Furcas' thrust his hand into the sky, and in the next second, his sword flew out of the debris and into his hand. The Keeper's eyes widened, leaving him to brace for an attack, one that never came.

Instead, Furcas sent his sword into the air again, and at Alexander. "My boy!" Furcas shouted out, his perfect teeth gleaming with a grand smile past his bloodied beard. "Pierce the pillar!" he ordered.

Alexander's eyes widened as he thrust both arms up to catch the sword. Gram, it was called. But to Alexander, as he gripped its solid hilt, it was all the same. It was a weapon. And like always, he would use it with purpose. Alexander forced himself to stand, struggling to be upright, but on his feet no matter what.

He sucked in air through his teeth and spun towards the upright spike of stone. "Furcas..." Alexander grunted out, oblivious to whether his grandfather could even hear him or not. "Furcas..." he repeated. "Thank you."

Alexander pulled his sword back and thrust it out– he slammed it into the pale pillar and pierced the stone. Facing forward, he noticed his hands. At some point in the battle, he had reverted, back to a human. There was no more darkness, no more demonic energy wrapped over his skin. He was human again. Human.

What came next was a brilliant flash of light, white rays that struck out and intersected onto his body. There was no sensation alongside it. But he understood what it was. That idyllic, divine light had pierced his soul.

"No!" the Keeper screeched, his arms outstretched at the marvelous sight. At the same time, Furcas fell back and crashed down to sit, his armor clatter with the impact. A hearty sigh left his lips, as he stared up with contentment at his grandson.

What they had suffered through over just a few days was not in vain. Another ray of light shot out and Alexander's face came into contact with the white. That was when everything went black.