The fall and escape (unsuccessful) from the Amphitheater.

The amphitheater was an ocean at war.

The giant wave crashed again and again, the salt statues marched like a soulless army, and Anastasia herself, who had become a hybrid of a siren and a gorgon, roared in a distorted voice.

"Я  бездна!" (I am the abyss!) —thundered the Tyrant, her voice reverberating off the damp walls.

But the group was no longer retreating.

Ayato advanced to the front, his sword vibrating with the accumulated dark energy of the souls he had devoured. Fatima danced in circles, threads glittering around her like constellations of steel, successively transforming into whips, spears, and scythes.

Isolde summoned flashes of light that kept the salt statues at bay. Vera recited chants to weaken the creature's flow of water. Lucien, half theatrical and half practical, directed Sylphidia so that her gusts of wind would dissipate the miasma of the song.

It was a counter-chorus to Anastasia's concert.

The Sea Gorgon, fed up, raised both arms. A colossal wave, even taller than the amphitheater itself, rose like the final curtain of a tragedy.

"Поглотить их всех!" (Let them all drown!).

Ayato gritted his teeth.

"If that wave falls, it's the end!"

Fatima grabbed his arm with a crooked smile, her nightgown still soaked, her eyes glowing with adrenaline:

"Alors… une dernière danse."

Her threads multiplied like a swarm, weaving a pentagram of dark energy across the ground.

"Danse Maudite!" she roared, and the flurry of blows strung together like violent notes, projecting toward the monstrous diva's chest.

At the same time, Ayato concentrated all his power in a single upward slash. The sword traced a scar of shadow that rose like a column against the wave.

Isolde reinforced the crack with her light, Vera sealed the pressure with chants, Sylphidia blew the remaining water back, and Lucien, in a firm voice, shouted like an orchestra conductor:

"Now, all together!"

The wave burst into a thousand fragments that fell like rain.

The combined impact struck Anastasia's torso. The Gorgon let out a piercing scream, her chant shattering into unbearable dissonance. Scales and seaweed shattered into shreds, her body twisting until she fell to the center of the stage.

"Невозможно… моё море… моё царство…" (Impossible… my sea… my kingdom…).

Ayato prepares to pull the trigger of the revolver and...

BOOM!

A furtive shot hit the Sea Gorgon's head squarely.

Noooooo!

With a final muffled roar, Anastasia collapsed into salt and foam, leaving behind only a crystalline pool that reflected the moon.

Silence reigned for the first time in the amphitheater.

Everyone was breathing heavily. Water dripped from their armor and clothes, but there was a gleam of triumph in their eyes.

Fatima smoothed her hair, panting, with a broken laugh.

"Et voilà... the diva has sung her last note."

Ayato put away his sword, surveying the destroyed stage.

"No... this is just beginning. If Anastasia was just a piece on this chessboard, what comes next will be worse."

Lucien raised his arm as if lowering an invisible curtain.

"A tragedy concluded. But the third act awaits us."

The amphitheater shook, shattered by the fury of the battle.

The columns, shaped like petrified waves, broke one after another, and the ocean, like a patient predator, claimed what belonged to it.

Ayato, panting, held the sword soaked in salt and dark blood.

In front of him, the last fragments of Anastasia Vodnikova's body dissolved into foam. A crimson sphere, throbbing like a diseased heart, emerged from the pool where her body had been buried.

"The soul..." Ayato murmured.

The sphere was sucked straight into his chest. The air grew heavy; the waves of the rusalka's soul passed through him like a ghostly choir.

For an instant, he heard voices in Russian, thousands of wails of drowned sailors, of betrayed lovers, of deformed choirs. Then, silence.

Ayato fell to his knees, but his breathing steadied.

"…One more in the pile."

The ground shook violently. The amphitheater's steps sank beneath a roar of water. Lucien raised his voice as if directing the final scene of a tragedy:

"Ladies and gentlemen, the performance is over! The curtain is falling!"

"We'll be in the ocean if we don't run right now!" Sylphidia shouted, taking Vera's hand.

They all rushed toward the remaining stairs. But before they could step outside, a burst of purple magic lit up the air.

On a half-ruined balcony, Zeltha stood, yawning listlessly, her grimoire book half-open.

"Ugh… too much noise. If they're still alive, I suppose I need them to be. I'm going to get them out of here."

"Now you're willing to help?!" Isolde yelled.

Zeltha waved a weary hand.

"Don't shout…. I'll perform an area teleport."

The glyphs expanded beneath their feet, tracing an arcane circle of titanic proportions. The amphitheater creaked one last time; columns and seats were already collapsing into the raging ocean.

The group felt the force of magic swallow them. But then, something went wrong. Zeltha yawned again, her concentration shattered.

"With a demon, what's missing..." the dark elf whispered.

The light shattered like a broken mirror.

Isolde disappeared in a crimson glow, alone.

Lucien was swallowed by a rift of shadow in the opposite direction.

Vera and Sylphidia fell together in the same current of magic, held by the goddess's flute.

And Ayato, still reeling from Anastasia's soul, was dragged alongside Fatima, who managed to laugh brazenly amid the chaos.

"Oh là là, mon chevalier… it seems fate insists on putting us together."

The amphitheater finally sank beneath the sea. The roar of the ocean drowned out any further sound, and when everything calmed, only bubbles and the echo of a dead song remained.In different corners of Luminovia, the heroes awoke alone, separated, each facing an unexpected destiny.

The play had changed acts, and the torn curtain promised an even crueler scene.