The sky above Arcana darkened, echoing the storm within Kar'Thael's chest. His eyes burned—no, blazed—with rage, grief, and the scorching fire of revenge. Arslan lay behind him, lifeless and bloodied, a crimson pool beneath him as the broken shards of his once-bound strength flickered weakly around his motionless body.
Kar'Thael's breaths came sharp, fury humming in every vein.
"Jobul," he growled, voice like thunder scraping through the mountains. "I will kill you."
Jobul stood before him, still cloaked in the thick dust of his firestorm. He laughed, slow and venomous, a sound that chilled the hearts of even the bravest among the surviving Arcanians.
"You are broken, Kar'Thael," Jobul mocked. "Your vessel bleeds. Your kingdom lies in ruin. You've already lost."
"Not until you're ash," Kar'Thael snarled.
With a fierce warcry, Kar'Thael launched forward, blades swirling in a dance of vengeance. Flames burst from his palms—Blazing Gale—mixed with violet arcs of ancient magic. His sword sliced through the haze, aiming for Jobul's throat, but Jobul blocked with his obsidian blade, the clash sparking waves of red and blue light.
Kar'Thael twisted, flipped into the air, activating Solar Carve mid-spin. But Jobul vanished in a blink—Shadow Evasion—appearing behind Kar'Thael and slamming him with a shockwave of corrupted flame. The blast hurled Kar'Thael to the ground, armor scorched, mouth bloodied.
"You're nothing but a child trying to play god," Jobul sneered, raising his blade.
Kar'Thael coughed blood, but rose again, shaky but defiant. "Better a child than a traitor."
Jobul's eyes glowed red. He summoned Infernal Rings, launching them at Kar'Thael like spinning saws. Kar'Thael erected a Soulfire Barrier, blocking most of them but the last shattered through—tearing through his side.
Kar'Thael dropped to one knee, gasping.
Jobul slowly approached. "Now it ends."
He raised his sword, placing it coldly against Kar'Thael's neck.
The battlefield lay in ruins, a wasteland of blackened concrete and cracked stone. The smoke thinned for a moment. The giant Lion-faced demon lay on its knees, gashes and burns scarring its monstrous body. The Mythics, Apex, Zeniths—stood in circles around it, ready.
Tharion Vale's eyes narrowed. "Let's finish this."
But before anyone moved, Nirela Quen stepped forward.
"No," she said, breathless but steady. "It was me whose strike he escaped. I will end it."
"Nirela—" Ismere started.
"Let her," Vaelith said, eyes fixed on the demon. "She deserves this."
Nirela summoned her lance, its crystal blade glowing with a sunlit hue. She sprinted forward, boots crackling with light. The Lion demon's eyes flared.
She leapt high, driving her weapon down—but the demon's claw surged upward in a blur. With a sickening crack, the nails pierced Nirela's chest. Her eyes widened, blood spurting from her mouth.
"NO!" shouted Ravik.
Before they could react, the demon unleashed a Roar of Poison—a pulse of venomous sound that slammed Nirela midair, tearing through her magic shields.
Her body hit the wall, limp, coughing blood. The toxin spread instantly, darkening her skin, veins turning purple.
Vira Lysaria's fury exploded. She activated Aether Slash, a divine arc of energy that cleaved the Lion demon's head clean off.
The battlefield fell silent.
The moment Nirela collapsed, the world seemed to tilt.
"Mythics, to her—now!" Vaelith barked, but panic already surged through the group.
Yuna dropped to her knees, gently cradling Nirela's blood-soaked head in her lap. "No, no, no… stay with me," she whispered, her voice cracking. Her hands glowed with frantic healing light, pouring into Nirela's broken body.
Beside her, Norwan and Rohi unleashed waves of divine restoration. A golden radiance shimmered across Nirela's chest—but the wounds were too deep. Her breathing was shallow, rattling.
"Please, you're strong," Seris choked, tears streaming down her cheeks as she knelt beside them. "You've always been strong… You'll survive this, okay?"
Nirela's lips trembled. She coughed, blood spilling down her chin. "Stop… it's okay…" she murmured, eyes fluttering open. She gave a faint, tired smile. "Time's come…"
Tharion turned his back to them, shoulders shaking. His fists clenched so tightly they bled. He couldn't watch her fade.
Nirela's gaze wandered to the sky above, where faint clouds drifted—peaceful, as if mocking the storm below. Then she looked at each of them: Yuna's desperate face, Seris's tears, Rohi's trembling hands.
"Thank you… for giving me a family," she said slowly, each word weaker than the last. "For the laughter… the fights… the purpose. And—tell Arslan…"
Her voice cracked. She inhaled sharply—then exhaled.
"…I always…"
Her hand slipped from Yuna's.
Her chest stopped rising.
Her eyes closed.
"No!" Seris screamed, collapsing forward, sobbing against Nirela's body.
Elyra wept silently, arms wrapped around herself.
Ravik slammed his fist into the earth with a thunderous crack. "Damn it!"
Even Tyrus, stoic and cold, bowed his head and whispered something only the wind heard.
The battlefield, once roaring with chaos, now fell into utter silence.
A soul was gone.
A Mythic had fallen.