Seraphae let out a gasp—sharp, guttural—as golden light burst from her mouth. Her legs buckled for a moment before she clenched her jaw, eyes flashing with unholy hatred. Ice spread across her skin like a shield, locking her abdomen in a prison of frost to slow the internal burning. But the flames were unnatural. They weren't just heat—they were corruption, hunger, and devouring.
Ashgrave leaned in, forehead nearly touching hers.
"Your divinity... it tastes bitter," he growled, voice layered with something more than mortal—ancient, monstrous. "Like something long dead pretending to be alive."
She snarled, lips curled back in fury, and slammed the butt of her spear into the chamber floor. A divine pulse burst from beneath them—frost and force erupting outward. Ashgrave was blasted backward, flipping midair before landing in a crouch, his clawed feet dragging twin gouges across the frost. He licked blood from his fingers, spat it out, and sneered.
"Disgusting."
Seraphae dropped to one knee, coughing as flames flickered under her skin. She forced them down with a wave of divine aura, but it was costing her. Blood stained her lips. She wiped it away with the back of her hand and rose, straightening her posture as a halo of light began to form. Slowly, her wings emerged once more—yet they were different.
Not pure light. Not divine frost.
Translucent, and flickering.
Ashgrave let out a low laugh—a cold, guttural rumble that echoed through the chamber like a funeral bell. His abyssal eyes locked onto hers.
"Running out, aren't you?" he said. "You burned through it. That precious divinity of yours... gone, wasted on that little trait you kept using... over and over."
Her gaze snapped to him, the once-brilliant gold now dimmed.
"…A mere mistake dares speak to me of divinity!?"
She tried to sound defiant, venomous—but deep within, a sliver of fear had taken root. He was right. [Judicator's Requiem], her continuous exertion of aura, the unrelenting pace of battle… it was draining her rapidly. She was falling behind.
Still, she scoffed and pointed her spear at him, voice rising—not in desperation, but conviction laced with fury.
"You are a shadow mocking the sun. I will drag your cursed soul into the light until it burns to ash. You will die screaming. And I will savor every moment!"
She charged, divine light roaring around her.
Ashgrave met her halfway, laughing darkly, a beast relishing the slaughter. Her spear thrust forward, aiming straight for his heart.
He extended his hand—and caught it. Fingers closed around the tip, claws grinding into divine metal until it cracked and shattered. In one fluid motion, his other hand shot out and seized her throat. Her eyes widened—not in pain, but in shock.
She hadn't expected this. She hadn't even considered it.
"You never truly adapted," Ashgrave said, his voice distorted—Zay's tones warped by something older and darker. "That's your error."
His grip crushed tighter. With his other hand, he grabbed the shaft of her spear and snapped it in two. Then, with monstrous strength, he hoisted her into the air and slammed her into the frozen ground. The impact split the floor, ice fracturing outward in a spiderweb of cracks. She coughed, more saliva than air, as the [Forbidden Flames] reignited inside her—raging through her body.
"This is where you die," he said.
He leaned in and whispered the only words he could remember in the Language of Design—a tongue so ancient, most primordial beings had long forgotten it existed. Four words, each soaked in primal defiance.
"Thar'ul."
Seraphae's eyes widened in horror instantly as she knew only one incantation began with that.
"No—NO! STOP! YOU'RE A MISTAKE! YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION!"
Ashgrave's claws sank deeper into her neck, silencing her. Blood spilled freely.
"Dive'os."
She thrashed violently, pummeling his face with weakened fists. But her strength was failing. Her blows bounced off his skin like raindrops.
"Revig…"
"…Trios."
As the final word fell from his lips, Seraphae screamed—her voice filled with pure, soul-searing agony. Her Angelic Core began to rise from her chest, ripped from her body by unseen force. Her flesh cracked. Her radiance dimmed. Her body, once divine and eternal, began to wither.
In a single instant, stripped of the core that anchored her soul, her body collapsed into dust.
Ashgrave's hand closed around the glowing Core—still warm, still pulsing faintly with divine essence. His fingers flexed, testing its weight.
"I couldn't even get a real fight out of you," he muttered, disgust curling in his voice. "An Angelic Core holder... and you fell so fast. Has this world grown weak?"
He stared at the Core. It gleamed, but the light was impure.
"It has divinity… but the taste..." he snarled, lips curling in disdain, "is putrid. I want to crush it. But this body—" he looked down at his hands, now twitching slightly, "—this body would probably want it."
With a final, joyless laugh echoing through the chamber, Ashgrave closed his eyes—and let go.
Zay's body collapsed. The dark aura faded. The ice shattered, vanishing into mist. Silence returned.
He lay alone at the chamber's center. The streaks of red and white in his hair slowly returned as he laid unconscious.
After an unknown amount of time, Zay's eyes snapped open. He looked down at his body—his hands were clenched, coated in blood. His breathing came in ragged gasps as the memories of the battle surged back, each one crashing into him like waves. Killing Seraphae. The way it ended. He opened his hand.
The Angelic Core was still there.
But it had dimmed—its bright light reduced to a dull glow, its warmth gone, now cold and lifeless in his palm.
He tried to push himself upright, but before he could even rise to one knee, his strength failed. He collapsed backward, eyes fluttering shut. Images flooded his mind—memories of death, over and over again.
His gaze wandered across the chamber from where he lay. The ice was gone. The cold had receded. The battlefield was silent. Everyone who had entered with him—gone. Dead.
And then it hit him.
All at once.
His stomach churned. He rolled to the side and vomited violently, bile and blood mixing as his body rejected the horrors carved into his mind.
'Death… t-that's something… I'm used to… but this—this was… c-constant. Without a break…'
He raised his right hand weakly, trembling. It hovered in the air for a moment, then dropped limply onto his chest. His breathing grew heavier, more strained. Each inhale was a battle. Each exhale, a surrender.
A very weak chuckle released from his lips, despite the pain he felt, "I... I won." he said weakly before a slight smirk appeared but faded instantly due to the pain. "N-no... we won." he corrected himself as he looked up at the ceiling.
He blinked slowly. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye and rolled into his hair, unnoticed.
'I don't even know how many times I screamed. How many times I bled. I begged, didn't I? Once… maybe twice. Maybe more. I begged for it to stop. That pain... freezing... my heart ripped from my chest...'
His hand trembled around the Angelic Core. His blood dripped onto it, staining its fading light.
"I'm tired... so tired," he murmured again, more to himself than to the room. His voice was barely breath. A sound made not to be heard, but to be released.
The stone beneath him was cold now from the silence that followed death. It crept into his bones.
"I just wanted to protect everyone… that I could... I tried." he whispered. The words tasted hollow.
He raised his arm, rested it against his forehead, but even that felt heavy. His body was a ruin. Burned, bruised, shredded from the inside out. But it wasn't the pain that broke him—it was the futility.
"I gave them all a chance," he rasped. "Every single one. I waited when I should've acted. I held back when I should've ended it."
His fingers curled into a tight fist and slammed into the stone again, the crack sharper this time. More blood. More proof he was still alive—against his will.
"And for what reason?!" he growled, voice rising with bitter rage.
His head tilted back, eyes staring into the void above.
"This world doesn't care about mercy. It doesn't reward kindness. It punishes restraint."
Zay's breathing slowed. But his heartbeat—it felt... sharper.
"I've wasted time... so much time believing people could be saved. That if I endured enough pain, I could spare them from it. But maybe..."
He opened his palm, staring at the dying Angelic Core.
"Maybe the only thing mercy does... is delay the inevitable."
His voice became colder. Flat. Detached.
"I'm done. I've tried. I've failed—over and over. If this world keeps betraying me... punishes me for caring... for hesitating... for being kind... then fine."
Aura surged around his battered frame, a violet eruption igniting like a storm. It wrapped him in raw energy as he gripped the Angelic Core tightly, attempting to absorb it the same way he had with the Monster Core.
"I'm tired. Too damn tired. I've tried so many times... I protected them. I loved them. And still..."
His eyes darkened.
"My brother betrayed me. Just... because he felt like it."
The aura around him flared violently.
"I'm done giving a damn. I don't have the heart to care anymore. This pain... it really hurts. It hurts so damn deeply."
As he spoke, tears welled in his eyes—tears born from agony, from countless deaths, from trying his best to help... or at least to believe he was helping. Zay had poured every last part of his heart into the love he could offer. He had tried to save his family, his loved ones. All he ever wanted was to be a hero to at least one person.
But he had never truly achieved that.
He was hailed as a hero across kingdoms in previous lived, but those same kingdoms turned on him. His own family turned on him. And now, his heart carried too much pain to put anyone there.
[First Task Has Been Completed]
Rewards: Seal of the Demoness has increased to level 2.