An Hour Earlier… While Carpathia and Noir flew through outer space…
The Palace of Tamoru – The King's Court
The Palace of Tamoru stood like a divine fortress etched from ivory stone and celestial ore, glimmering beneath the veil of starlight even at midday. Its spiraling towers pierced the skies, crowned with golden crests shaped like phoenixes mid-flight. Every wall bore intricate carvings of Tamoru's legends—epic tales of conquest, oaths of kings, and divine decrees etched into its very bones. The windows shimmered like liquid sapphire, refracting sunbeams into hauntingly beautiful auras that danced along the marble floors.
Within, the King's Court was a sanctum of prestige and might. A great hall lined with obsidian pillars stretched from the gate to the Throne of Authority, which sat raised upon a tri-tiered dais of crystal and metal, fused by divine flame. Behind it, a tapestry woven from star silk depicted the First King of Tamoru slaying a three-headed serpent—a Grade A demon beast.
Upon the throne sat King Velron Arcten Tamoru, Sovereign of Tamoru, garbed in battle-forged robes sewn with strands of diamond thread. His crown bore the teeth of extinct gods, yet his eyes bore the undeniable weight of one simply tired of it all. At his side stood his Royal Attendants, cloaked in ceremonial black and silver, each bearing enchanted scrolls.
These scrolls carried the same runes that Ascalon, the First Apostle, had drawn—runes that had reversed the damage caused by Carpathia on the altars. It was the only reason this ancient castle remained standing.
At the base of the dais stood the Second Apostle—a tall, regal figure named Damien the Gold-Blooded. His mask resembled a calm visage of judgment, adorned with golden filigree that matched his flowing cape. Below his left eye, just visible beneath the mask's edge, was a dark tattoo shaped like a four-starred symbol—the mark of the Apostles. His presence radiated calm menace. His armor shimmered like molten bronze, though he bore no visible weapons. Only fools thought him defenseless.
Surrounding the court stood the infamous Chrisom Knights, six in total—Tamoru's sword and shield against the rest of the world.
Each was a paragon of a different discipline.
Kael the Unbroken, a brute in red obsidian plate whose arms were the size of tree trunks, his gaze weighing every soul.
Selene the Riven, clad in dancer's mail with curved blades that hummed softly with spiritual resonance. Her gaze held quiet disdain.
Macabre of the Hollow Flame, an ashen knight whose armor steamed with infernal energy, breath molten.
Thornis the Gale-Horned, with wings folded behind him, each feather razor-sharp. His crimson lance hovered beside him without string or hand.
Mirael of Many Eyes, veiled and crowned with a circlet of whispering runes. No visible weapon, but her presence cracked the marble beneath her.
Vael the Crimson Judge, tall, silent, and draped in a cloak stitched from the flags of kingdoms he had judged unworthy. His greatsword, taller than a man, rested against the throne wall—ever-watchful.
They stood in a crescent, flanking the Apostle but answering only to the King.
The air buzzed with tension. This was not a mere assembly.
They had been summoned—gathered by the king—for something dire.
With the First Apostle's sacrifice, they had ample time to lay siege to the Dekka Mountains and the cities below. They weren't really interested in the cities.
But as Fadex had rightly said, the Chrisom Knights were a prideful bunch. This was their means of stroking their burnt egos.
It was also the reason the Apostles had been able to integrate so easily into the system. They had recognized they couldn't take on the Legend alone. So when they received the Apostles' envoy at their lowest point—hungry for revenge and retribution—they gladly agreed to the Apostles' proposition.
Of course, some of the court argued against the massacre of their people. But that resistance was silenced easily. People would always die. Babies would always be born. But to send away the God of Death and his Apostles? That would be eternal damnation.
King Velron Arcten Tamoru gave a slight nod.
Damien swung open a portal that led to the outskirts of the Dekka Mountains. The Knights wasted no time stepping through.
Each of them knew the weight of what they were about to do.
A legend's territory is never truly defenseless.
***
Outskirts of Tamoru central city...
Moments Before the Chrisom Knights leave..
The sky was wrong.
Clouds twisted as if pulled through a black hole. Mountain winds howled—not from nature, but from distortion. Gravity collapsed and reassembled, folding space like paper. Trees leaned sideways. Stones floated. The world was breaking.
Itekan stood bloodied, arms shaking, his blade scorched along the edge from a failed clash. He was only thirteen, but his eyes burned like those of a soldier three lifetimes older. He braced himself on one knee, staring up at the Apostle hovering above.
He'd woken not long after Keel Kun knocked him out. His mind and body refused to rest until he was sure the enemy was defeated.
So he had run here the moment he woke. His shadow form had proved exhaustible. For now, he couldn't draw on shadow energy.
Zain floated like a god, unbothered by the world. He didn't raise his voice—he didn't need to. His gravity domain did the talking. He had let go of his limiters when Keel Kun arrived. He was in Denkei Form.
Unshakeable. Absolute.
Keel Kun darted past Itekan's right, teleporting with rapid flashes of blue light, his halo flickering like a sputtering flame. Each move left a whisper of light behind him—proof he was nearing the limits of his torture-battered body.
"Move!" Keel shouted, appearing beside Itekan just in time to pull him from the path of a collapsing gravity pulse.
The ground behind them caved in.
Keel's breathing was ragged. His halo dimmed at the edges. "I can't keep dodging him forever."
"We hold," Itekan said, coughing blood as he stood. "He's not invincible."
"Yeah?" Keel said with a strained grin. "You gonna cut gravity next?"
Itekan said nothing.
A few meters away, half-buried under shattered rock and dirt, lay the limp body of Avery.
Unmoving. Cold.
He'd been the first to fall. The killing intent released by the two Legends was not something a Hero of the First Stage could handle. His ribs had shattered.
He had lost consciousness, falling deep into the world of his dreams.
***
Somewhere Else… Avery's Dream
Soft grass. A summer breeze. Blue skies that never broke.
Avery stood barefoot in a field too familiar to be real. He looked down at his hands—clean. No scars. No blood. The mountain was gone. The battle was gone.
Just the sound of wind and—
"Aaron?" he whispered.
Behind him stood a boy no older than eleven, dressed in a shirt too big for his frame, dark hair ruffled, a wooden sword tied at his belt.
Aaron smiled like he'd been waiting forever. "Took you long enough."
Avery's throat tightened. "You're dead…"
Aaron shrugged. "So are dreams. But you still have them."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Aaron sat in the grass, patting the spot beside him. "You're running on fumes, you know. The old you would've laughed at that Apostle."
"I'm sorry," Avery muttered, dropping beside him. "I messed up. You told me… not to trust them."
"You were deceived. That doesn't change who you are," Aaron said softly. "You're still the same idiot who dove in front of a horse cart for a kitten."
"I couldn't protect you," Avery said, voice breaking.
Aaron didn't flinch. "You weren't supposed to. I agreed to it. I played my part. But you? You haven't. And you've got two others out there, facing that monster for you."
Avery looked to the horizon. It stretched forever.
Aaron nudged his shoulder. "Stop waiting to be someone stronger. Just be who you already are. That's when you scared me the most—when you believed you could win."
Avery blinked. "You think I can beat him?"
Aaron grinned. "No. But I think you can make him bleed."
The wind howled louder. The sky started to crack.
"Wake up, Ave. It's time."
***
Tamoru – Reality
The Apostle raised a hand, preparing to twist space again. A spiral of force gathered around his palm, crushing the very air.
Then— Boom.
A pulse radiated from beneath the rubble.
Blue light surged outward like a pulse of life returning to the dead. Stones flew in all directions, wind roared, and the sky shook.
Avery rose from the crater, his shirt torn, skin glowing faintly golden beneath the grime. His hair flickered with streaks of electric white. In his eyes—clarity.
Not rage. Not desperation. Resolve.
"Let's try this again," he muttered.
Keel stared in disbelief. "His wounds… they're gone."
Itekan felt it too. The shift. The pulse in the air that now bent, ever so slightly, toward Avery.
"Second Stage Hero," he murmured. "He broke through."
Avery floated into the air, gravity stabilizing around him, pushing back the Apostle's field just enough to create space.
The Apostle tilted his head. A slight smile on his face.
Avery cracked his knuckles. "I'm not scared of you anymore. Let's see how much pressure it takes to snap a bastard Apostle in half."
And then he launched forward—fast, precise, and full of will.
Spiritual Energy -- SE
Spritual Sea -- SS
Spiritual Signatures -- SST