The muffled sound of a portal closing behind them marked the end of their visit to Paimon's mansion.
The sky of the Ring of Wrath still roared with furious clouds, but something in the air felt lighter — perhaps because of Saravia's presence, or perhaps simply because they were leaving. Daytona, Martin, Ghost, and Saravia stood before the ancient hall with its firepit, where they had last gathered with Paimon.
Paimon, in his imposing and tranquil form, watched the four with hollow, serene eyes.
— This will be the last time we meet before the final fall, he said, his voice echoing with the weight of millennia, without even moving his beak. — Remember: none of you must enter Paradise without your Mark being awakened for more than one week.
— That's why we're going, Paimon, Daytona replied, her eyes locked on his. — The Mark only awakens before the truth. And there… I will find mine.
Saravia, arms crossed, only nodded. Ghost, as always, remained silent, carefully observing the environment, memorizing every detail like a strategist.
Martin broke the silence with a forced smile. — Hey, at least we won't miss the smell of sulfur.
Paimon extended one of his wings. In his "palm," the small essence crystal he had given Daytona — mysteriously taken back from her — glowed softly, as if it recognized the path yet to be traced.
— You know where you must begin.
Daytona nodded. — The Ring of Pride.
The spiral staircase was not built but formed — a natural structure of dark flesh that coiled down into the deeper layers of Setealem. Each step felt like descending inside a giant throat — pulsating walls, suffocating heat. The air was drier on the path between the rings, and the descent was long. Hours, perhaps, though time in Setealem was never linear.
Midway down, Ghost finally spoke:
— The Ring of Pride is like a fusion of all the others. I'm certain they…
Martin didn't answer. He just held tightly to the improvised weapon he had crafted out of boredom in Paimon's mansion — a carved piece of bone, inscribed with runes by Daytona, a symbol of his own courage.
At last, they reached the Ring of Pride. They were greeted by an oddly urban landscape. A plain beneath a calm purple sky, filled with sinners and demons twisted by rare conditions. It was the only ring that still gleamed with something resembling celestial light, as if mocking the Hell that surrounded it.
Saravia stopped at the center of the clearing and closed her eyes. She raised a hand, tracing symbols in the air — not with magic, but with memory. Lines of light appeared like cracks in reality, and slowly, a circular tear began to spin in midair — a portal between worlds.
Daytona stepped forward, tied her hair back into a knot, and plucked a single strand. It glowed faintly with pulsing energy — the same essence Paimon had entrusted to her.
She raised the strand between her fingers, whispered something inaudible, and released it into the air.
The instant it touched the atmosphere, it dissolved into glittering particles that swirled like enchanted dust. Saravia's portal expanded violently and then froze, locked in a static state. A passage… but not yet open.
Ghost stepped closer, his sharp gaze evaluating. — It's sealed. Clever. It will only activate once all markers are ready.
Martin shivered. Something in this place made his spine crawl.
— Where would this portal lead us?
— Back out again, Daytona answered, narrowing her eyes.
And then, before the suspended portal, the four fell silent.
The Ring of Pride around them no longer seemed to breathe.
The sky above tore open, revealing a glimpse of the upper world: not Paradise… but Earth.
Through the fractured vision the portal offered, they saw the peak of a mountain in Chile, covered in ash and surrounded by silence.
The portal to the mortal world lingered in the void like a dormant eye. But Daytona was no longer looking at it. Her fingers gripped the Kōken — the Crimson Carbon blade hummed with heat and inner light, as if it already knew where they were going.
She inhaled deeply, lifted the sword, and carved a circular cut into the air before the group. At the exact point where Paimon's Essence had been released, the blade resonated, echoing a low hum like thunder vibrating in each of their chests.
Space tore open with a silent white light. No explosion, no wind. Just a peaceful opening — perfect, harmonious.
— That is… Saravia whispered, eyes wide.
— Paradise, Ghost replied firmly. — And it's not a metaphor.
On the other side of the portal lay a world of silent brilliance. Monumental structures of pure White Quartz and sculpted gold floated upon platforms upheld by pillars of solid light. The sky shimmered with a static aurora of golden and soft rose hues. There was no sun — the world was lit by something intrinsic, radiance woven into the very fabric of reality.
As they crossed through, the stench of Setealem's flesh and blood vanished. Daytona felt exposed. She was used to the grotesque density of Hell, but here… there was weightlessness.
The ground beneath their feet was white crystal, etched with golden lines forming symmetrical, precise paths. Suspended gardens grew with jade-carved trees, fountains spilled with shimmering waters, and celestial beings in humanoid form — clad in pure robes and ornate armor — watched them. Not with fear or hostility, but with respectful curiosity.
— Do they know who we are? Martin whispered. — Weird no one's attacking.
— This place is the opposite of Setealem, Ghost said. — Paradise thrives on order. Conflict here doesn't begin with violence. It begins with purpose.
— Then why did they always say Paradise was worse than Hell? Martin asked. No one answered.
For the first time since arriving, Saravia looked unsettled. — Leviathan despises this place. I can feel it burning in me. Every inch of my body wants to run.
Daytona's eyes fixed on the massive central tower, built of spiraling layers of white gold. There was something there. More than architecture. A focus. A calling.
They walked wide streets, passing angels with golden, white, and azure wings. Some had three eyes, others four arms. Some levitated; others moved with steps that never touched the ground.
But every gaze turned to Daytona. Not with suspicion. With something else… recognition.
— I think they know about the Mark, she said suddenly. — But they don't have much detail.
One angel approached. Its face was ageless and without gender, shining faintly, dressed in a long robe with arcane symbols. It stopped before them and bowed slightly.
— Welcome to Paradise. I am the receptionist here. Do you need assistance?
Daytona frowned. — Receptionist?
— The cycle always completes. Light and Flesh, Spirit and Blood. Each layer interlocks when the center awakens, the angel continued cryptically.
Martin muttered to Ghost: — Too poetic for my taste…
The angel went on:
— You may stay as long as you wish. There is no danger here. But know this: truth is not a gift. It is an open wound. And in accepting it… you can never return to what you once were.
The group pressed forward, reaching the top of a crystal bridge linking the main tower to a circular plaza. From there, they could see floating cities, rivers of light, and beyond… a wall of clouds glowing faintly with hidden lightning.
— Is that where the Archangels live? Daytona asked.
Saravia lowered her gaze, thoughtful. — Amoriel… Metatron… they're like celebrities and gods here. But I don't think they're there.
Ghost stared at the tower and murmured:
— And God?
Silence fell among them.
They all knew: this season had only been preparation. The Mark of the Beast had not yet awakened. The Essence was in their hands, but the purpose… the purpose was still to come.
Daytona turned toward the still-shimmering portal behind them, floating like a window in the air.
— Not yet, she said. — We're not leaving. Not until I find my parents.
She stepped forward and touched the crystal floor with the Kōken's blade.
A faint vibration rippled through the ground, as if Paradise itself were listening.