The sky remained bright, the sun hanging high, its golden light indifferent to the slaughter below.


    Clouds drifted lazily across the heavens, blind to the blood-soaked earth beneath them, to the silent screams frozen in the eyes of the fallen.


    The arena, once a place of battle and glory, had become a grotesque display of death.


    The bodies of beastmen lay scattered, some torn apart beyond recognition, others impaled on jagged debris, their fur matted with blood and dirt.


    Limbs lay twisted at unnatural angles, eyes wide with the terror of their final moments.


    The stench of death was suffocating, thick and heavy in the air.


    Blood pooled in deep cracks, forming sluggish rivers of crimson that slithered through the ruined stone like veins of the battlefield itself.


    And above it all, Asael floated.


    Silent. Unmoving.


    His golden weapons hovered around him, their radiant edges gleaming in the sunlight, dripping with the blood of those they had butchered.


    A divine glow surrounded him, an eerie contrast to the carnage below—a beacon of holy destruction, a messenger of salvation and damnation alike.


    Then, from the emptiness of the battlefield, something wrapped around him.


    Thick chains of light, pulsing with raw arcane energy, lashed around his limbs, coiling tightly around his waist and neck.


    The glow of the chains flickered violently as they locked him in place, forcing him to halt mid-air.


    "Now!" Hemel''s voice rang out, sharp and desperate. "I can''t hold him for long!"


    Sweat dripped from his forehead, his hands trembling as he poured every ounce of his power into keeping Asael bound.


    His magic pulsed erratically, a testament to the sheer strain it took to restrain something that should never have been restrained.


    Anne took a deep breath, her fingers tightening into fists before she slowly clasped them together.


    She began to pray.


    A saintess’s prayer.


    A sacred chant meant to reach the depths of Asael’s soul, to call forth whatever remained of the hero he once was.


    But as she whispered the words, her body was left completely vulnerable.


    She was defenseless.


    And Asael knew it.


    A pulse of divine energy erupted from his body, sending waves of power rippling through the air.


    The chains of light cracked, splintering as his very presence rejected them.


    Then, with a single movement, he shattered them.


    The bindings exploded into nothingness.


    His golden weapons spun in midair, turning with deadly precision.


    Then they launched toward Anne.


    They sliced through the air like golden comets of death, streaking toward her heart and throat with lethal accuracy.


    A metallic clash rang out.


    Giren had intercepted them.


    With a ferocious battle cry, he swung his massive axe, knocking the weapons aside.


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    The force of his strike sent a shockwave through the battlefield, shaking the very earth beneath them.


    Beside him, the Dwarf King, breath heavy and ragged, picked up a fallen war hammer.


    His hands, calloused and bloodied, tightened around the handle as he slammed the weapon into the ground.


    The earth trembled.


    A wall of jagged stone erupted upward, a final barrier standing between Asael and Anne.


    For a moment, it held.


    But only for a moment.


    Asael tilted his head, golden eyes flickering with something unreadable.


    The weapons shifted again, weaving through the air, preparing to strike from another angle.


    Then, arrows rained from above.


    Lily''s sharp gaze locked onto her target.


    She loosed arrow after arrow, her hands moving in a blur, her breath steady despite the chaos around her.


    Beside her, Magnum chanted in rapid succession, his spirit magic weaving into the projectiles.


    The arrows glowed with ethereal light, their tips shimmering as the enchantments took hold.


    Asael moved to dodge.


    But some found their mark.


    They pierced through his armor, embedding deep into divine flesh.


    For the first time, Asael flinched.


    His hand reached up, golden fingers grasping at the arrows lodged in his body.


    His expression remained unreadable, but his movements were slower, his glow flickering for the briefest moment.


    Before he could pull them free—


    A bolt of lightning descended from the heavens.


    Not from Steven.


    From Sirius.


    The thunder crashed into Asael’s body, drawn like a beacon toward the open wounds where the arrows had struck.


    Electricity ripped through him, searing through flesh and bone, lighting up his veins with a blinding glow.


    His body convulsed, spasming uncontrollably as the magic coursed through his divine form.


    The arrows embedded in his skin became conduits, channeling the full force of the storm into his very core.


    His veins blackened.


    His skin split open, the exposed muscle beneath crackling with raw power.


    Then—


    A massive fireball engulfed him.


    Hemel’s magic.


    Larger than any before.


    The flames roared to life, devouring Asael in a burning inferno.


    The heat was so intense that the air itself twisted, warping the battlefield into a haze of blistering light.


    The fire consumed him, wrapping around his form like a living beast, licking hungrily at his divine flesh.


    Then came the explosion.


    A deafening blast of pressure and heat rocked the battlefield.


    The ground trembled, dust and debris surging into the air as the inferno erupted outward.


    Smoke billowed in thick, choking waves, swallowing the battlefield in a veil of suffocating darkness.


    For a long, agonizing moment—


    No one could see what remained of Asael.


    The battlefield fell silent.


    Only the crackling of flames remained, their dying embers drifting into the sky.


    But deep within the smoke—


    Something still glowed.


    Something still moved.


    Then—


    A sudden movement within the suffocating fog.


    A spear tore through the haze, a golden streak of death aimed straight for Hemel’s heart.


    His breath hitched.


    Instinct took over.


    He twisted his body at the last possible moment, the weapon whistling past his ear, its tip grazing the edge of his tattered robe.


    But before he could recover—


    Asael appeared.


    Not walking.


    Not dashing.


    He simply manifested, as if the very fabric of reality had warped to his will.


    One moment he was absent, the next, he was there—standing before Hemel with his sword raised, poised to strike.


    His eyes, golden orbs that once shone with unwavering righteousness, now burned with something else.


    Something merciless. Something inhuman.


    Without hesitation, he thrust his sword forward.


    The force behind it was absolute, an unrelenting judgment meant to split Hemel in two.


    It would have been his end—


    But at the last moment—


    A flash of blue light.


    The spell activated.


    Hemel vanished, leaving nothing but empty air in the path of Asael’s blade.


    The sword carved through the space where his body should have been, but Asael did not falter.


    He merely tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable, as if this outcome had already been foreseen.


    Slowly, he turned.


    The divine energy surged around him, pulsing through his once-wounded body.


    Wounds that should have festered.


    Flesh that should have blackened.


    Bones that should have shattered under the unrelenting storm of fire and lightning.


    Instead—


    His body had already healed.


    The arrows were gone.


    The burns had vanished.


    His skin, unmarred, glowed with unnatural perfection.


    Divine energy.


    That was the answer.


    Asael, the weapon of the gods, was never meant to fall so easily.


    Then, a soft voice broke through the stillness.


    “It’s done.”


    Anne stood firm, her hands clasped tightly, her face pale with exhaustion.


    Her chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths, but her eyes—her eyes shone with unwavering conviction.


    The golden radiance around Asael intensified.


    A sphere of pure divinity bloomed into existence, enveloping him completely.


    It was no mere prison of force.


    No cage of steel or chains could have bound him.


    This was different.


    This was absolute protection.


    No attack could enter.


    No attack could leave.


    And only one person could undo the spell.


    Anne.


    Asael’s expression remained unreadable, but his fist clenched.


    Then, without hesitation, he struck the barrier.


    The ground quaked beneath the force of his blow.


    A shockwave tore through the battlefield, sending loose stones and debris skittering away.


    Cracks splintered along the earth beneath the golden sphere, but the barrier itself remained unshaken.


    Again, he struck.


    And again.


    Each blow sent tremors rippling through the ground, a thunderous rhythm of fury and defiance.


    The sky itself seemed to tremble with every impact.


    But the barrier did not break. It did not bend. It did not yield.


    Finally, Asael lowered his hands.


    His golden gaze, filled with something unknowable, remained locked onto them.


    Silent. Watching. Waiting.


    Anne exhaled a shaky breath.


    “We need to take him to Sam,” she said, her voice firm despite the weight of exhaustion dragging at her limbs. “Perhaps they can help.”


    Giren nodded, gripping his bloodstained axe.


    Before they could move, Sirius turned, scanning the battlefield one last time.


    “Have you freed everyone?”


    Steven, still catching his breath, nodded. “Yes.”


    And behind him, a sea of weary souls emerged from the ruins.


    Humans. Orcs. Elves. Dwarves.


    Their faces bore the marks of suffering—bruised, bloodied, and exhausted beyond measure.


    Many of them had known only torment, their bodies bent under chains, their spirits shattered by cruelty.


    But now—


    They were free.


    Tears glistened in the firelight, streaking paths through the filth on their faces.


    Yet despite the weight of their suffering, they stood tall. They did not flee.


    They did not collapse.


    They bowed.


    The orcs, their mighty frames trembling with exhaustion, bowed to Giren.


    The elves, their elegant robes torn and dirtied, bowed to Lily and Magnum.


    The dwarves, their beards matted with dried blood, bowed to their king.


    And the humans—those who had endured so much, who had lost everything—bowed to Sirius.


    It was not a gesture of mere thanks.


    It was a pledge.


    A vow that this moment, this act of salvation, would never be forgotten.


    Hemel took a deep breath, then lifted his hand.


    A portal shimmered into existence, the swirling light reflecting off their battered forms.


    One by one, they stepped forward, leaving behind the battlefield drenched in blood.


    Leaving behind the ruins of their suffering.