A storm—born from Ziz's unfurled wings as it soared the skies—raged across the final battlefield. Meanwhile, not far off at the coast, two colossal beasts clashed amid surging floodwaters. The sound of their battle was shrill enough to burst eardrums, a screech that tore through the heavens.
Under Ziz's watchful gaze, Behemoth and Leviathan would fight to the death. And in the end, both would be served upon the sacred banquet table—alongside Ziz itself.
However—
At the heart of the battlefield, red shadows billowed and swirled around Novia. They danced like fire, rising and coiling around him in an ominous veil.
His "lance" now gleamed blood-red and obsidian. His eyes flashed with crimson light, and the left side of his face—stretching to his ear—was etched with veins of glowing red. Those crimson patterns raced along his body, wrapping him entirely. Magic surged explosively within him, far beyond what any human could normally contain—yet the power did not harm his flesh or soul. Instead, it flowed through him gently, protectively.
"Albion, you must be starving. Come—let me feed you."
Malignant magical energy blazed furiously. The flame's light illuminated Novia's face in a burning glow.
He released the name that had bound the appetite of the strongest dragon. In response, Albion—the Phantom Dragon—roared in delight. Mechanical wings burst forth from Novia's back, and in the blink of an eye, he became a red-and-black comet streaking through the battlefield. Thunder cracked; lightning roared. Then, from within Ziz's massive wingspan, a blast of crimson and obsidian light erupted.
Amid the battlefield of heat and torrential downpour, Behemoth and Leviathan both noticed something was wrong—the wind had vanished. They instinctively raised their eyes to the heavens.
And they saw it.
A colossal draconic apparition, a phantasmic dragon as vast as themselves, burning the very molecules of the air with its heat. An overwhelming magical vortex radiated from it—greater even than their own. From tail to crown, Ziz was engulfed in a single, massive gulp.
It was as though this bird, whose wings blotted out the sun, had been swallowed whole by an unimaginably terrifying dragon.
Ziz's flesh rained down, and the sound that followed wasn't wind—but the crackling roar of lightning.
Instinctively, Behemoth turned to the sky and unleashed a torrent of fire that turned everything around to ash. Beneath the waves, Leviathan shimmered with a deep, oceanic blue light and sent tsunamis crashing skyward.
At the core of the Phantom Albion, high above the battlefield, Novia stood suspended in the air like a figure framed in a sea of blood and fire. His draconic form blazed with overwhelming force, radiating outward in all directions—until the Beast's magic would be exhausted.
Raising his hand, the Phantom Albion mimicked the gesture, lifting its claw toward the heavens. Both Behemoth and Leviathan hurled their immense powers toward him. Gritting his teeth, Novia pointed at Leviathan. It was still far below—but he didn't need to get closer.
"This distance is good enough."
Magic gathered in his palm. A flash of crimson and black lightning pierced the empty space, diving into Leviathan—and tore something free from within.
It was pulsing.
It was rejoicing—for the devouring that had been destined since the beginning.
When love, of any kind, exceeds its limit... its final expression is to kill the beloved—or to consume them.
What Novia now held, in the Phantom's hand, was Leviathan's heart.
Without hesitation, the dragon devoured it whole.
Ziz was eaten.
Leviathan was eaten.
Only Behemoth remained—the creature that, according to the Old Testament, could be slain only by Yahweh's own sword.
But Novia didn't care.
The Phantom Albion plummeted from the sky like a meteor, crashing into the blood-and-flesh body of Behemoth. The two titans clashed in a frenzy of fang and flame.
Fueled by an unending stream of blood-sea mana, Novia's explosive power surged to new heights. His speed evolved into something monstrous. As he tore through Behemoth's flesh, momentarily lost in a madness of hunger and destruction—
A gust of wind swept past.
Without thinking, he raised his hand—and caught it.
A staff.
The same staff once placed beside Jesus on the Cross.
There was no time to ponder its presence. Acting on instinct, Novia thrust the staff upward. Perhaps empowered by the magic surging around him, the cross-shaped rod blazed with radiant flame—like the edge of a divine sword.
In one clean strike, it severed Behemoth's head—rending even its divine-forged scales and neck asunder.
The beast's head crashed to the earth. Blood fountained forth. But the rest of the titanic body was swiftly devoured by Phantom Albion.
Thus, the three Beasts who heralded the Great Judgment were slain.
No blood remained. No bones. All had been consumed.
Whether one called him a holy servant or an inheritor of Babylon's evil, Novia had devoured them all.
According to the prophecy, the next stage of the Apocalypse should now begin.
Yet—no radiant throne appeared in the sky.
No one opened the Seven Seals.
No Seven Trumpets were blown.
"Your soul should have entered Heaven long ago. Even if you weren't meant to exist in this world, your seat has already been prepared. You should have ascended. This... this is Babylon's sin, not yours. And once the Revelation begins—once Judgment is set in motion—nothing can stop it. You'll only hurt yourself by going further."
At that moment, the Gate to Hell slowly opened.
From within stepped a familiar figure—he who once parted the Red Sea with divine power. He gazed upon the world before him with pale eyes, filled with sorrow.
Moses, friend of Ramesses II, the prophet who led the Hebrews to the Promised Land.
From the opposite side, the Gate to Heaven opened—and a silver-haired man emerged silently. He said nothing. Only sighed in resignation. Around him flocked shadows of birds and beasts, loyal and innumerable.
He who obeyed God's will, who built the Ark to survive the Great Flood.
Noah, forefather of mankind.
Divine presence rippled across the battlefield, pressure crashing down like a tidal wave. These were not Heroic Spirits summoned by the Throne of Heroes—they were the real Moses and Noah, descended by the power of the one called humanity's savior's Father.
"...Is it just the two of you?"
"As you've already done, the Revelation has not followed its original order. The rest may arrive later."
"...As a teacher," Novia muttered, "I think I've failed."
Enveloped in dense, liquid-like mana, Novia stared up at the vast heavens.
"The future, the next life, the life after that... I don't care if they're worse. I don't care if I lose everything or am denied Heaven. As a teacher... I just wanted my student to live for herself. To find the things she loves or hates. To walk forward on her own two feet. That's all I ever wanted for her...
"But I couldn't do it myself."
He paused.
Then smiled bitterly.
"Still... according to the Book of Revelation—standing in your way now, I am undeniably...
'Satan.'"