The battlefield had fallen into a haunted silence.
Ash drifted through the air like snow, glowing faintly in the golden light of Arcana's twilight sun. Around Arslan and Kar'Thæl, the ground was littered with charred and twisted corpses of demons. Their black blood soaked into the cracked stone beneath. Smoke rose in curling tendrils. The scent of scorched flesh and ozone hung thick in the air.
Behind them stood the people of Arcana—wounded, weary, but alive. Watching.
Breathing heavily, Arslan lowered his hand, fingers still glowing faintly from the last pulse of Eclipture Surge. Beside him, Kar'Thæl stood tall and ominous, his aura still crackling—embers of infernal flame flickering around his horns, tail coiled like a serpent behind him.
They had come far.
And for a moment… it felt like victory.
But then—
A shift in the wind. A rupture in the atmosphere.
From the scorched horizon, a deep hum echoed—heavy like the roll of thunder. The air shivered. A rift tore through the space before them, and from it emerged a tall, monstrous figure draped in a dark mantle woven with arcane symbols: Jobul — Kar'Thæl's uncle.
Four shadows followed behind him.
His sons.
Each radiated the aura of powerful demon royalty. Cold eyes. Twisted grins. Hands wrapped in otherworldly energies.
Jobul's voice was a venomous growl that echoed across the plain.
> "This will be your last mistake, Kar'Thæl. You've made enough mess. I warned you once. But now… I won't just punish you—" He pointed a clawed finger at Arslan. "—I will erase your vessel."
Kar'Thæl stepped forward, unfazed. His voice was steel wrapped in fire.
> "You think you can defeat us? You miscalculated. This—" he lifted his hand, fire igniting from his palm, "—will be your day of ruin."
Jobul's eyes narrowed. Then slowly turned to Arslan. His lips twisted in something that resembled amusement.
> "Your face…" he muttered. "It's familiar to someone. Ah… yes. That human from another world. Seems he was your father."
Arslan froze.
The words hit him like a tremor beneath his skin. The battlefield, the noise, the breathing of the crowd—all seemed to fall away for a heartbeat.
> "That innocent human…" Jobul continued, voice soaked in mockery, "He was caught by demons too. And now… you follow the same path. But it ends here. With me."
Arslan's jaw tightened. But his voice was even.
> "Then let it end. Here. Now."
Without warning—
A roar. A blur. A son of Jobul hurled himself toward Kar'Thæl, blade forged of soulmetal aimed at his chest. Another—taller, armored in shadowbone—rushed toward Arslan, twin scythes glowing.
Battle ignited.
Kar'Thæl clashed with the first son mid-air. Their collision caused a fiery shockwave that rattled the heavens. Blades slashed. Fangs bared. Demonic auras rippled through space like torn lightning. Kar'Thæl spun, summoning his Volthren, the cursed blade of stormfire, and drove it downward—CRASH!—splitting earth and flame. The demon son screamed, body engulfed in hellfire as he was impaled and hurled into the wreckage.
Arslan dodged the spinning blades of his attacker with lightning precision. He rolled, summoned his Shadow Blades, and locked in a flurry of strikes—fast, surgical. The demon son growled, casting a Hell Spike at Arslan. But Arslan leapt above, activating Wings of Shadows, soared mid-air, and unleashed Veilbreak Annihilation—a blast that cracked through the demon's shield, tearing across his chest.
One final move—Dark Bow formed in Arslan's hand. A single arrow, wrapped in Noir Tempest, pierced through the demon's skull.
Silence again.
Both enemies lay lifeless. Burned. Broken.
Arslan landed beside Kar'Thæl. They stood, bloodied but unbroken. Behind them, Arcana's people erupted in renewed hope.
And ahead of them—Jobul, now snarling.
The war wasn't over. But they had sent a message.
They would not kneel.