The black, formless abomination continued its slow, relentless consumption.

  It didn’t lash out. It didn’t strike.

  It didn’t need to.

  It simply moved, and everything vanished in its wake.

  The ground beneath it crumbled into nothingness, as if it were never there.

  Rocks, grass, corpses—all devoured, erased from existence.

  The air itself trembled, warping like the world was struggling to reject the thing’s presence.

  Asael and the others struck with everything they had.

  Giren’s massive axe came down in a thunderous arc, his roar lost beneath the deafening silence of the void.

  A metallic clang rang out.

  His weapon bounced back, as if he had struck something beyond reality itself.

  Steven’s blade, wrapped in a veil of crackling lightning, carved through the black mass, the energy tearing through with the force of a storm.

  Nothing.

  The attack didn’t leave a scratch.

  Lily fired her arrows with pinpoint accuracy, her hands steady despite the terror gripping her heart.

  Each arrow vanished the instant it touched the darkness, as if they had never existed.

  Sirius unleashed his magic, hurling torrents of fire and ice, the spells burning so brightly they could have been mistaken for the sun breaking through a storm.

  The flames flickered and died before they could even touch it.

  The ice melted into black sludge, absorbed without effort.

  It was growing.

  And still—it did not attack.

  It had no mind, no anger, no hatred.

  Only hunger.

  It kept moving, swallowing the world, inch by inch.

  Then—it turned toward them.

  The air twisted, as though space itself was folding inward, a ripple through existence.

  Anne stumbled. Her foot caught on a jagged stone, her balance lost. She fell backward, her breath sharp and panicked.

  Right into the creature’s path.

  It did not stop.

  It did not hesitate.

  A black tendril stretched toward her, twisting and coiling like a serpent made of nightmares.

  It was going to consume her.

  Anne’s eyes widened, time slowing as death reached for her—

  And then Asael moved.

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  His body blurred into motion, his heart hammering against his ribs as he threw himself forward.

  His hand caught her shoulder, shoving her aside with all his strength.

  Anne hit the ground, rolling away. But in that instant, in saving her, Asael had sealed his fate.

  The tendril wrapped around his arm first, then slithered up his leg, his torso—

  And the pain began.

  It was not pain as one understood it. Not the burning sting of a blade, nor the crushing agony of broken bones.

  It was the unraveling of existence itself.

  His body dissolved where it touched the mass, flesh turning to liquid, veins blackening, bones vanishing into dust within him.

  He felt his very essence being stripped away, something deeper than the body—

  Something reaching into his soul.

  A scream tore from his throat, raw and ragged.

  He struggled, twisting, thrashing, trying to break free.

  It was useless.

  The darkness crawled over him, his armor disintegrating like paper in a fire.

  His vision blurred, his senses flickering between existence and nothingness. He was dying.

  Steven saw it all.

  Horror gripped his chest, a primal fear more suffocating than anything he had ever felt before.

  His hands trembled.

  And then—he saw it.

  Asael’s sword, lying on the ground just beyond reach.

  Its blade pulsed with divine energy, a holy relic meant only for the Hero.

  A weapon no mortal could wield.

  The rule was absolute.

  Steven didn’t care.

  He lunged for it, fingers wrapping around the hilt.

  The moment his skin touched the metal, his world ignited in pain.

  His veins burned like molten gold had been poured through them.

  The sword rejected him, divine power raging against his unworthy hands.

  His body convulsed, blood pouring from his nose, his eyes, his mouth.

  His muscles locked, his bones threatening to shatter from the sheer force of it.

  But he did not let go.

  Lightning erupted from his body, golden and furious, divine thunder roaring through his very being.

  Something that should not have been possible.

  And still—he held on.

  His body was crumbling, but he forced himself forward, step by agonizing step.

  Every movement was like dragging his soul through fire, but he refused to stop.

  The creature’s abyssal mouth yawned wide, the void closing around Asael, ready to consume him whole.

  Steven didn’t hesitate.

  He dove into the darkness.

  Into the nightmare’s very core.

  And inside, in the endless void where nothing should have existed—

  He began to rampage.

  Inside the abyssal maw of the Demon King’s formless body, golden and blue sparks exploded in a blinding storm.

  Steven’s divine thunder rampaged within.

  Lightning carved through the darkness, searing its insides, forcing the monstrosity to shriek in agony.

  From the outside, Asael gritted his teeth and charged.

  His sword, once gleaming with divine radiance, was now dim, flickering weakly.

  He had already pushed beyond his limit—

  But he kept attacking.

  The blackened mass writhed, twisting and convulsing, each strike sending it into violent spasms.

  Its screeches tore through the battlefield, unnatural and ear-piercing, something not meant for human ears to hear.

  The very air trembled under the sheer force of its suffering.

  Its body began to deteriorate, collapsing upon itself, dissolving in a way that felt utterly wrong—like reality itself was rejecting its existence.

  It was dying.

  The Demon King—the nightmare itself—was finally falling.

  But the victory came with a cost.

  Asael’s divine light finally burned out.

  The golden aura around him shattered like fragile glass—

  And he collapsed.

  His vision blurred, his body no longer responding, but he forced himself to watch.

  He needed to see the end.

  Then, a horrifying realization struck like ice in his veins.

  Steven.

  He was still inside.

  Giren moved first, his massive hands tearing through the disintegrating husk of the Demon King, his fingers digging into the burning, churning abyss.

  As he reached inside, the golden sparks scorched his skin, divine energy lashing at his flesh like searing whips, leaving raw burns and deep scars across his arms.

  But he didn’t stop.

  With a final, desperate roar of pain and effort, he pulled Steven out.

  But—

  Steven’s eyes were closed.

  His body was limp.

  His breath had stopped.

  And so had his heartbeat.

  Silence.

  For a moment, the battlefield was empty.

  The weight of it all crashed down like an unbearable storm.

  Anne fell to her knees, her hands trembling as she reached toward Steven.

  But she already knew.

  Even without touching him—she knew.

  Her lips quivered, but no words came out.

  Giren’s fists shook as he clenched his jaw so tightly it might break.

  Lily covered her mouth, shoulders shaking, tears spilling down her face.

  Sirius turned away, his expression blank, his eyes dark with something unreadable, but his fists were clenched so hard that blood dripped from his palms.

  Steven was gone.

  His sacrifice had been absolute.

  Then, a golden light erupted beside them.

  A portal.

  A brilliant rift, shining with divine power, splitting through the air with a crackling hum.

  Hemel and the others stepped through.

  They took in the scene—

  And their faces fell.

  They had won.

  The Demon King was dead.

  The nightmare was over.

  And yet—

  There was no relief.

  There was no joy.

  Only the crushing weight of loss.

  Steven’s lifeless body lay before them, a hero who had given everything, and the world could never repay him.

  Then—

  A movement.

  A ripple in the air.

  Something stirred within the blackened husk of the Demon King’s body.

  A hand.

  No.

  Not just a hand.

  A figure.

  A body rising from the darkness, dragging itself forward.

  The Demon King.

  His form was ruined beyond recognition, a barely functional corpse of what he once was.

  His flesh peeled away in strips, revealing raw, scorched muscle and charred bone.

  One of his legs was missing, his arms twisted and broken at unnatural angles.

  His face was half gone, a hollow abyss where one of his eyes had been, but his remaining eye burned with something beyond hatred.

  Something deeper.

  Something desperate.

  His body flickered, like he was fading from existence, like the world itself was trying to erase him.

  But even in his final moments—

  He moved.

  He staggered forward, dragging himself toward a circle etched into the ground.

  A summoning glyph.

  A last act of defiance.

  “No—stop him!” Asael tried to rise, but his body refused to obey.

  They were too late.

  They had given everything.

  The Demon King had nothing left—

  But his will refused to die.

  He collapsed onto the sigil, his body crumbling to dust, but the magic pulsed, a purple glow spreading through the air with an eerie, humming resonance.

  And then—

  The Demon King was gone.

  His body dissolved, his ashes scattered to the wind.

  And the sigil faded away.