Heaven's Flame Rekindled – Alter Joins the Divine War Council
The divine realm trembled—but not from fear.
Above the mortal planes, in a reality unbound by
time and gravity, the skies of the Celestial Expanse shimmered with converging halos. Wings of divine essence raced across the heavens, formation upon formation of radiant legions moving like constellations awakened. Trumpets of pure aether echoed across the high firmament.
The gods were preparing for war.
At the core of this realm, rising from a sea of flame and starlight, stood the Sanctum of Eternal Accord—a colossal temple carved from the husk of a dead sun and ringed with time-frozen draconic fossils. Inside, seated in a circle of elevated thrones, were the sovereigns of divine power:
The Divine War Council.
And for the first time in countless ages...
They waited for a mortal.
The temple doors opened without a sound.
And Alter entered.
He walked calmly across the mirror-polished obsidian floor, his silver-blue celestial draconic armor glowing with refracted halos. His presence was unmistakable—not a god, but something the gods could not ignore.
Behind him, his shadow stretched long and winged.
On his back, the blade Starsever pulsed quietly in its divine scabbard.
His golden, slit-pupiled eyes scanned the circle. He did not kneel. He did not ask permission.
And none dared to ask for it.
At the head of the chamber, seated upon the central throne of forged flame, was Solien—the Supreme God of Conquest and Flame, wielder of 83% Creator Authority, and commander of the celestial front.
His armor was molten gold threaded with crimson light. The divine blade Dawnbreak Oath rested across his lap like a trial waiting to be invoked.
Solien leaned forward.
"You came."
Alter nodded. "You summoned. I had twins to hold first."
The gods around the ring stirred slightly.
A dry smile touched Solien's lips. "Then you've already surpassed half this council."
Muted chuckles came from several gods.
Floating at the north quadrant was Valtherian, God of Gravity, surrounded by orbiting singularities that hummed softly.To his right, Zarion the Oathbearer, shrouded in living chains of truth, regarded Alter with piercing scrutiny.Auralai, Goddess of Judged Storms, leaned casually on her long double-ended spear, her eyes flashing like lightning caught in prayer.Beside her, the twin gods of Order and Reaping—Vashtar and Quenira—remained silent, their masks unreadable.
Solien rose from his throne.
"Your battle in the Forbidden Vein has broken the silence," he said, tone grave. "You slew one of the lesser demon gods—an abyssal bred for war, forged with partial Creator Imprint. His annihilation by mortal hands shattered their rhythm."
Alter remained still.
"I didn't catch his name," he said.
"Because he wasn't worthy of one," Valtherian murmured.
"But he was an anchor," Solien continued. "A seeded corruption node, meant to fracture the Vein and signal to the greater abyssal lords that the time had come."
Zarion spoke next. "The method of his death—Creator's Banishment—should not have been available to you. And yet it was."
Auralai smirked. "You surprised even us, Flameborn."
Alter glanced at her, then back at Solien. "I take it the real ones noticed?"
"They did," Solien replied. "Including Val'Zaruun."
The chamber tensed.
Even gods drew breath at that name.
Alter's eyes narrowed.
"So he watches from the Abyss."
Solien nodded slowly. "Still dormant… but now aware. And worse—interested."
Zarion's voice echoed like judgment. "Your actions accelerated the unraveling. The Abyss has begun piercing the upper boundary."
With a wave of his hand, Solien summoned a map of the divine-mortal continuum. Five breaches pulsed on the astral grid.
"Two in the mortal realm—Seraveth and Terravane. One collapsed after the retreat. One still active.""Three... reaching toward our own sanctums."
Valtherian's voice dropped. "They're coming for the divine thrones. Not to destroy them—but to corrupt them. Turn heaven into their abyss."
Auralai stood, spinning her spear once. "They want the realm of gods to fall by its own laws. And to do that… they need to make you the proof."
Alter tilted his head. "Me?"
"They'll argue you've already broken the laws of divinity," she said. "They'll say you trespassed. Killed a divine with mortal blood. Forged a strike that even the Prime Flame couldn't block. You're not a threat to them. You're their argument."
Solien stepped forward now, no throne between them.
"You've walked paths no other mortal has. Trained beyond logic. Killed what should not die. And your mere existence has become a crack in the heavens."
He drew his greatsword Dawnbreak Oath and planted it into the floor.
"That is why I say this to your face—not as a commander, but as a soldier:
We need you.
Not as a god. Not as a subordinate. But as a Warden of the Mortal Flame."
Alter blinked.
"Is that an official title?"
Solien cracked a half-smile. "It is now."
Alter stared at the divine map. At the scars bleeding across creation. He saw Seraveth burning. He saw Drakareth still holding.
He thought of Selene. Of Kaelion and Serenya. Of Ignivar soaring across crimson skies. Of the Veil he had forged.
And then he looked Solien dead in the eyes.
"I'm not here to play divine politics. I'm here to make sure my world doesn't burn."
He stepped forward.
"If that means standing among you—so be it."
He placed his hand on the hilt of Dawnbreak Oath.
"I'll fight your war."
A wave of energy exploded from the sword.
The gods around the chamber stood in solemn unison.
Chains of light coiled into the ceiling. The war map flared. The sanctum acknowledged his vow.
And Solien said, not loudly—but with absolute finality:
"Then let it be known.
Alter, Sovereign of Dragons, is now our blade.The flame has returned to heaven.And the war begins anew."
The war drums of the divine realm did not thunder.
They rang silently—through the folds of time, through the marrow of reality, through the pulse of every blade ever drawn in righteous purpose.
From the Celestial Sanctum's rising towers, divine legions took flight—armored angels, weapon-bearers, skyforged titans. Formation after formation drifted like galaxies in synchronized orbit. Aetheric gates ignited in all directions, each tethered to a breach pulsing in space-time.
Above it all, the clouds bled light.
And below, at the edge of the Sanctum of Eternal Accord, the First Flamefront was being assembled.
Alter stood upon a floating terrace—a platform of radiant stone suspended above the divine forge-pits. Dozens of divine blacksmiths moved around him, their bodies glowing with creator essence, forging wargear for the coming battle.
But their tools were not what held attention.
It was him.
He stood alone—armor half-sealed, body emanating a heat that distorted the nearby realm fabric. His draconic aura shimmered outward like a solar tide, and the very space beneath him was reinforced with triple runes of containment.
Behind him, the divine smiths were whispering.
"That's the one?"
"He forged the Veil? Alone?"
"I saw the record of his battle. He tore a god's imprint with his own hands…"
One of them reached out instinctively, curious—and immediately retracted their hand as Starsever's hilt flared, repelling all but its master.
Alter remained silent.
He wasn't preparing for battle.
He was listening.
The aether currents around the forge were humming. Every celestial platform hummed with tension. Every spiritual circuit buzzed with activation. The realm itself was tightening—readying itself for war.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
Solien approached, now clad in full warplate. His armor blazed with roaring sigils, and his helm—a horned crown of conflagration—rested in the crook of his arm.
He stopped beside Alter.
"Everything changes after this."
Alter didn't look at him. "I know."
Solien turned toward the central rift projection. "The first assault group is called Heaven's Blade. Composed of divine tier legions drawn from Stormguard, Radiant Dawn, and the Pyreborn Host. You'll lead the Vanguard."
Alter's brow furrowed slightly.
"You're putting me in front?"
"You're not just a weapon anymore, Alter. You're a signal. The first wave must show the demons that their time of ascendancy is over. That even the gods of this realm are no longer their ceiling."
Solien paused.
"And… the mortal flame must stand above ours."
Alter let out a quiet breath. "And the rest of the council?"
"They will follow. But we need someone to open the breach."
Elsewhere – Divine Foundry of Threads
Within a sealed starforge, beings of creation gathered around a blackstone crucible that had not been used since the War of the First Sun. Floating above it—half-bound in gravitational chainlight—was a spear.
It was being reforged.
The Spear of Origin's Severance—once wielded by a fallen prime god—now reformed under Alter's specifications, infused with sovereign dragon scales and layered dimensional threading.
It pulsed violently.
Two warforged celestials struggled to stabilize its bindings.
A divine smith cursed in old tongue. "His aura's still embedded in the weapon. It won't listen to us!"
"Then don't fight it," came a new voice.
Solien entered the forge.
He stepped to the crucible and pressed his gauntlet to the swirling weapon.
"You were born to cut gods," he said, eyes burning. "Now serve one who was never meant to be one."
The weapon stilled.
Solien exhaled. "Deliver it to Alter."
Back on the Flamefront Platform
Alter now stood before a gate of immense design—the Rift-Spear Breach. It spiraled upward like an inverted divine tree, glowing with compressed star light and containing within its base a portal locked onto the uppermost Abyssal incursion point.
A host of divine vanguard knights stood at attention behind him, bearing sigils of the Flamefront.
Solien walked up and offered the weapon.
The re-forged spear floated in the air.
Alter took it with one hand—instantly, it flared with golden-blue lightning, then quieted like a hound recognizing its alpha.
"It's yours now," Solien said. "Name it."
Alter's eyes narrowed.
"Stormrend."
Solien nodded.
"Then rend the storm."
The Horn of Flame is Blown
Far across the divine towers, a massive bell rang—twice, then thrice, then ceased.
Heaven's Blade was ready.
The gods watched from their sanctums.
The demons watched from their rifts.
And Alter walked to the edge of the portal—cloak billowing, sovereign aura igniting like a comet around him.
He looked back only once.
Solien met his gaze.
No orders. No speeches.
Only trust.
And then Alter stepped through the portal—
—and the war began.
The skies above Drakareth were unnaturally still.
No storm dared roll.
No wind stirred the obsidian spires of Veyr'Zhalar.
Even the banners atop the great domes of the Aetherflame Palace hung motionless—suspended in a silence so absolute, it felt as though the very heavens had drawn breath and refused to exhale.
Within the palace's highest sanctum—a chamber woven from living dragonglass and etched mirrorsteel—the golden light held not warmth, but reverence. This was no mere illumination from the sun. It pulsed. Living. A heartbeat of celestial origin echoing through walls etched with the sovereign sigils of a dozen dynasties.
Selene sat at the chamber's center atop a crescent-shaped dais, bathed in that sacred glow. One arm held her newborn son, Kaelion —swaddled in copper silks etched with flame-thread. The other cradled her daughter, Serenya —wrapped in gossamer cloth traced with azure aetheral runes.
Both slept.
And yet… not in stillness.
Their breath, barely audible, had aligned in rhythm. Inhale. Exhale. In perfect unison. It was too precise to be coincidence.
Selene's gaze held steady, trained forward with sovereign focus. But her fingers trembled slightly upon the silks. Her aura, normally serene, flickered faintly around her—an ethereal blend of starlight and divine flame. Something had touched her senses beyond comprehension.
A hum moved through the chamber.
Soryn Vael'Zarion stood to her left, posture firm yet alert. Though still clad in his artisan-forged robe, the divine thread woven through his collar caught the strange golden light, reflecting it with a faint pulse of authority. The crafting scrolls on the nearby table—open, ink still fresh—remained untouched. His eyes, once fixed on their diagrams, had long since turned skyward.
The ceiling had begun to shift.
It moved not as stone or wood should move, but as mist yielding to heat. The very lattice of enchanted crystal above them now bore a swirling sigil—gold on gold, a spiral turning within itself, growing with every breath.
Soryn said nothing.
But he stepped forward.
Princess Alyxthia stood near the chamber wall, her ceremonial blade at her hip. Her hand drifted to the hilt—not in fear, but on instinct. Her eyes, deep with second-sight, reflected the same swirl now dancing above.
She whispered. "That's not… Drakarethian."
The air groaned.
Then it began.
A spark ignited in the center of the chamber. No larger than a grain of golden rice, it flickered once—then unraveled.
A spiral formed.
A veil of light—thin, translucent, humming with power so ancient it predated even the shrines of old.
The Veil widened.
But no one stepped through.
It was not a gate for travel.
It was a vision.
It carried no voice. No image. No thought.
Only presence.
Selene inhaled sharply.
Her eyes turned silver-gold, and the Veil of Origin upon her ring finger blazed once with a soft pulse—synchronizing with the infants in her arms.
Kaelion fingers twitched.
Serenya's eyelids fluttered, though she did not wake.
From the spiral light bloomed a warmth—radiant, immense, sacred.
The golden hue deepened.
Elsewhere, in the lower wings of the Aetherflame Palace—the War Council Chamber stirred.
The fourteen Commanders of Mythral Dawn stood around the massive arcane war table. Their armor gleamed with readiness, their expressions tense as formations were reviewed and border plans debated. Selene had summoned them here in preparation for the unified offensive. But now…
Silence cut across the hall like a divine blade.
Finn Whiteshadow stiffened, his posture rigid.
Beside him, Mira raised her head sharply, sensing something bleed through the very fabric of the room. Her hand slid toward her wrist charm—an old habit from celestial training—but the pressure in the air wasn't hostile.
It was reverent.
Selene's father, King Elarion Virellia, lifted his head from the table, his silver-trimmed robe brushing softly against the stone floor. His wife's absence echoed more keenly in that moment—but beside him stood Alendra, his younger daughter, eyes wide with awakening intuition.
She stepped closer. "That feeling… it's him, isn't it?"
Selene rose from her seat at the head of the council.
"No one speak," she commanded softly.
The golden glow bled downward through the ceiling—not crashing or bursting, but descending in silence, like a celestial flame falling through water. The trail shimmered, arcing like a burning comet, and entered the council chamber… without breaking so much as a tile.
The golden trail passed through the map table—phasing gently through projection stones, magical constructs, and vision mirrors—leaving not destruction, but illumination.
It imprinted something upon them all.
Back in the sanctum, Serenya stirred first.
Her tiny hand lifted toward the spiral—still asleep, but reaching, as if her soul had glimpsed something no infant should comprehend.
Kaelion's fist opened, fingers flexing slowly.
The Veil on Selene's hand pulsed again, brighter this time.
Then it happened.
The Vision was born.
Not in words.
Not in sound.
But through light and pulse and flame.
They saw him.
He stood alone—at the edge of a realm that defied all natural law. Behind him, the gates of the divine realm burned open in formation. Celestial soldiers hovered mid-air, poised with discipline and dread. Around them swirled the architecture of gods—hewn from clouds, command lines etched in sunlight.
Before him?
Oblivion.
The sky was bleeding ash.
The stars had cracked.
From the void surged demons beyond description. Shapes coiled in screaming geometries. Limbs that shifted between flesh and metal. Wings of shadowfire, eyes of consuming silence.
The storm wasn't merely alive.
It was aware.
The land beneath their feet disintegrated not from weight—but from meaning. The laws of existence—gravity, memory, cause—buckled beneath the surge.
And Alter stood at the breach.
His hair streamed behind him, lifted by divine winds. His Sovereignborn Draconic Armor was aglow—each layer pulsing with elemental resonance.
In his right hand: Starsever, humming with a note that split planes.
In his left: Stormrend, newly forged, spinning once before he planted it deep into the fractured earth.
He exhaled once.
Then—he moved.
Not toward the enemy, but through the air. A blur. A streak of celestial intent.
Behind him, gods had not even drawn breath.
But Alter had already leapt.
Light consumed the screen of vision. Radiance poured into the sanctum.
The children screamed—not in terror, but in spiritual overwhelm. Their cries carried no pain. Only intensity. Selene held them close, whispering words even she didn't hear.
Alyxthia was already beside her, one hand on her back, whispering, "They saw it too, didn't they?"
Selene's eyes glistened.
"Yes," she whispered. "They felt him. The moment before he struck."
Soryn's breath was tight. "That wasn't a memory. That was real. That was now."
In the council wing, Mira gripped Finn's sleeve with white-knuckled fingers.
"He's already in the warfront," she breathed. "We're behind."
The war map reactivated on its own.
None touched it.
But at the center, where before had been a seal of Drakareth's legions… now hovered a new emblem.
A sword wreathed in flame. A dragon's eye above it. A symbol etched in no archive.
A mark from no mortal hand.
Heaven's Blade – Initiated.
The words burned into the map, into their minds.
King Elarion stepped forward, voice quiet.
"Then it has begun. The war beyond the veil. And the one they feared most…"
He let the silence speak.
Selene did not respond.
Instead, she lowered her forehead gently against her children's.
Eyes closed. Hands steady.
And in a voice only the air could carry, she whispered—
"Fight well, my love. The twins are watching."
The light lingered a moment longer.
Then it vanished.
The Rift of Aural'Shaal – Where Mortality Shattered Heaven's Gate
They said the Rift of Aural'Shaal could not be reached by mortals.
They were wrong.
Beyond the veil of the upper divine strata—beyond even the sanctified starpaths of the Celestial Highways—existed a breach not formed but wounded into the realm of law and creation. It was not a place, but a tear in what should not break—a rift of raw abyssal intention, pulsing like a god's open wound.
And into that wound, the gods had sent their first blade.
Alter.
Moments Before the Breach
The sky above the forward divine staging ground was painted with warlight—curtains of gold and red aether coiling with storm-bent arcs of lightning. Floating warships carved from cloudsteel drifted like airborne temples, housing thousands of divine combatants—celestial legions, seraphic stormriders, and radiant oathsworn.
But the air was silent.
Because all eyes watched the central platform, built directly atop a divine ley-point where the rift pulsed visibly through layers of reality.
The Rift of Aural'Shaal was no portal.
It was a maelstrom of negation, swirling violently across both horizontal and vertical axes—a storm that devoured light, logic, and history. Rings of inverted time flared out of it, pulsing in unnatural rhythms.
And at the edge of it—stood Alter.
He stood alone.
No army behind him.
Only his armor—Sovereignborn Draconic Plate—glimmering beneath a sun that could barely stay alight in this space. On his back, Starsever hummed. In his right hand, the newly-forged spear—Stormrend—spun once, then stopped in a perfect vertical line.
He stepped forward.
The first to pierce the rift.
Inside the Rift
The moment Alter crossed the threshold, reality changed.
The air burned backwards. Gravity stuttered. Time snapped forward, then reset. The clouds beneath him were bones. The sky above him—a bleeding membrane of abyssal ink.
And ahead—they came.
Demons.
Not the howling, chaotic beasts of the mortal world. These were refined horrors, shaped by the Abyssal Thrones for one purpose—to kill divinity.
Each one was armored in soul-forged plating, carrying weapons that drained the very laws of motion. They moved in unison, silent and fast, forming a vanguard spearhead of a hundred thousand. Eyes without lids. Blades without hilts.
They surged toward him.
And Alter… smiled.
He leapt.
And the First Divine Battle began.
The Dance of War – Heaven's Blade Drawn
His spear struck first.
Stormrend, when thrown, did not travel in a line—it fractured the field. The very space it passed through cracked like ice, then detonated in a dimensional lightning implosion, vaporizing five rows of demon vanguard in a straight instant.
Before their remains hit the ground, Alter blinked forward.
And Starsever sang.
He drew it once in a wide arc—Starfall Variant – Chain Flash Barrage—a technique modified from his Dragoon drills. Golden slashes, hundreds of them, traced across the battlefield in three-dimensional rings, cutting clean through dozens of high-class abyssal knights.
The demons countered with corrupted mana artillery—arc-beams that stitched across the sky like spears of anti-light.
Alter vanished.
Ghost Step.
He moved like an absence.
Their formation collapsed before they understood what they were fighting.
Above him, two elite-class Eidolon Generals descended—each with four arms and layered armor, bearing divine-killing glaives.
The first struck.
Alter parried with Stormrend in reverse grip.
The second lunged.
He let the glaive pierce his side—then grabbed the haft with one hand, twisted under it, and drove Strike VII – Hellpulse Eruption into its exposed gut.
The demon exploded from the inside out—its armor vaporizing in a spiral of internal combustion.
He didn't pause.
He dropped low, dragging his palm along the fractured ground, placing Runic Marker – Lightning + Time.
The moment the second general landed, the marker detonated—not with force, but rewind. Its body snapped backward ten seconds, locking it in a lethal loop of its last failed strike.
Alter took its head before it could scream.
Divine Forces Arrive
Above, the warhorn sounded.
The divine army surged in—golden banners raised, halberds glowing, wings of flame spread across the fractured battlefield.
But none landed where Alter fought.
Because they realized—
He had already cleared a corridor through the front ranks.
Solien's voice echoed through the divine relay.
"Let him lead."
"Heaven's Blade is drawn."
The Rift Reacts – Emergence of the Abyssal Lord
A pulse.
The Rift of Aural'Shaal shuddered—as if recognizing the threat.
And from the inner horizon… a new form approached.
Not a soldier.
Not a beast.
A Lord of the Abyss, cloaked in inverted flame, bearing seven concentric rings of writhing will. Its mouth opened across its chest. Its voice cracked sky strata:
"You should not exist."
Alter raised his blade.
"I get that a lot."
The Rift did not breathe.It held its breath—frozen between collapsing dimensions, trembling realities, and a silence so total it pressed against the bones like crushing gravity. The horizon no longer curved, it fractured—splintered geometry spiraling outward in jagged halos of unformed time.
And at the eye of this storm—
The battlefield was silent.
Until existence twitched.
Time stuttered like broken glass beneath the weight of a crawling monstrosity. The Abyssal Lord of Aural'Shaal no longer walked—it poured forward, each step a suggestion rather than motion, as if space attempted to repel it and failed. Its crown was no symbol of rule, but a diadem of mouths—whispering backwards into language that unmade thought. Chains woven from anti-divinity wrapped its limbs like war tattoos, each link unraveling the light around it.
Its central torso-mouth exhaled—and the air recoiled. Waves of reverse causality peeled across the field, turning once-solid ground into undetermined moments.
Opposite it, stood Alter.
Blood traced a thin crimson line down his side—residue from a glancing strike that had pierced the plates of his Sovereignborn Draconic Armor. The wound hissed with divine regeneration, but he didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.
Instead, he exhaled slowly.
And lowered into stance.
His grip on Starsever tightened—both hands firm, right foot sliding back against the war-torn terrain, tracing a half-circle through molten dust.
The air cracked.
Then—
He vanished.
A bolt of golden lightning shattered the silence.
"Divine Heavenly Sword Style – Sky Piercer: Celestial Thrust!"
A thunderclap detonated midair as Alter reappeared mid-lunge, Starsever drawn like a divine spear. His thrust shattered layers of corrupted magic—piercing through fields of entropy, anti-light, and distortion veils meant to dissolve form.
But the Abyssal Lord was waiting.
Its claw—webbed with threads of unmaking—caught the thrust in open space.
The recoil was immediate.
A wave of negation blasted outward, silencing magic, distorting cause. Reality blinked—and inverted. For a breathless heartbeat, the world forgot itself.
Alter was hurled backward—spinning violently, blood scattering in an arc of crimson and gold.
But he didn't yield.
While spinning mid-air, his left hand dropped like a hammer—
"Runic Marker – Fire + Wind!"
A spiral glyph erupted into being behind him, combusting the void into a blast of propulsion. A flaming burst kicked him forward again, faster than any teleport could manage. His form blurred, trailing flamewinds in his wake.
The Lord blinked—a ripple in its stolen god-flesh.
Alter was already upon it.
"Starfall Sword Style – Crescent Cyclone Slash!"
He twisted in mid-air, each movement releasing golden arcs—blades of compressed sovereign light that did not travel forward, but folded inward, striking from impossible angles. They sheared through entropy fields and broke the Lord's defensive rings.
One. Two. Three—gone.
The monster's defenses cracked.
Alter landed low, boots skidding across molten stone. A shallow trench etched in his wake.
He stood tall.
"Did that get your attention?"
The Abyssal Lord responded not with voice—but with agony.
Its torso-mouth screamed.
A thousand tendrils of darkened despair exploded outward—barbed spears formed of broken memory, blades wrapped in soul-thirst.
Alter narrowed his eyes.
"Demon God Killing Martial Arts – Strike II: Heaven-Piercer Step."
He vanished.
Not through motion—but by refusing to exist in the interval.
He blinked into being above the creature, divine chi coiling in his foot.
CRACK!
His heel crashed into the Lord's shoulder—snapping bone, warping the terrain beneath. The monster sagged from the impact.
Combo Initiated:
Strike III: Void Fang Rend.
His clawed palm slammed into the side of its ribcage, not with force—but intent. Space tore open. A seam of blackness unzipped its innards, collapsing in on itself.
Strike V: Soulbreaker Dive.
Mid-air rotation. Elbow down. He crashed into the exposed back, dragging the Lord's form into a crater of spiraling divine stone.
Strike VII: Hellpulse Eruption.
Starsever ignited—white flame surging from its edge. He plunged it deep into the rupture in its chest, twisting once—then detonated a burst of internal combustion straight into the heart.
BOOM.
The Lord convulsed—vomiting black ichor and shattered code.
But it did not die.
It rose again, reshaping itself using stolen fragments of divine matrices, bone forged from fallen deities, and cries stitched from murdered heavens.
"You are not of the heavens!" it howled—its voice both blasphemy and accusation.
Alter exhaled, twirling Starsever once—its tip dragging sparks from the air.
"You're right."
Then his legs bent.
"Divine Heavenly Sword Style – Thunderclap: Skybreaker."
He launched upward—high into the broken sky. Lightning screamed across the Rift, summoned by the authority in his blade. Time slowed.
Then he fell—like judgment descending from the throne of creation.
Starsever struck the Lord's chest.
The sound didn't echo—it devoured sound.
The blast cratered the terrain. The Rift's edge buckled, folding inward. Waves of divine thunder rippled through the battlefield—shattering the Rift's northern plane.
Still… the Abyssal Lord endured.
Its core split into fragments—seven in all—each rotating around its body in a desperate survival pattern. Divine rings of corrupted resilience.
It screamed again:
"I CANNOT DIE WHILE THE RIFT REMEMBERS ME! I EXIST SO LONG AS REALITY KNOWS YOUR NAME!"
Alter's voice was cold.
"Then I'll erase the memory of you."
His eyes lit with sovereign fire.
He activated everything.
Divine Heavenly Sword Style.Demon God Killing Martial Arts.Elemental Runic Markers.
"Final Combo – The Sovereign Chain."
He leapt—climbing fractured towers of divine steel. Each landing shook the Rift.
"Runic Marker – Earth + Gravity!"
He slammed it into the terrain.
The battlefield began to fold downward—compressed by weight far beyond mortal limits.
Strike XI: Seraph Shatter Palm!
He appeared behind the Lord—then detonated the space it had just escaped, collapsing it in on itself like a divine sinkhole.
Strike XIII: Voidlock Spiral!
He spun—drawing the Rift's unstable edge into a cyclone. Each rotation added momentum. The Lord's core fragments were caught—locked into a stasis of blinding stunlight.
"Starfall Sword Style – Omni Chain Spiral!"
Dozens of golden clones erupted from his form. Each moved independently—each a sovereign echo.
They struck in perfect unity—blades forming a rotating spiral of precision.
And at its center—
Alter raised Starsever one last time.
"Dimensional Slash – Omni Wave."
No scream. No roar.
Only a whisper.
He cut.
The blade released a beam of layered dimensional slashes—dozens deep, spaced only five millimeters apart. A convergence of realms compressed into a single, silent vector.
The Abyssal Lord did not move.
It didn't have the chance.
Each of its seven core fragments was sliced perfectly, ruptured in their own dimensional chamber. Not even ash remained.
Silence.
The Rift pulsed once—reflexively.
Then stilled.
A dead silence swallowed the void.
At its center, Alter stood—golden aura rising around him, sparks of divine resonance flickering through the air like dying stars.
He did not speak.
He did not move.
He only breathed.
The first Abyssal Lord… was dead.
And across the collapsing planes of Aural'Shaal—
The true war had only just begun.
The bells of the Divine Realm did not ring—they shuddered, vibrating across skybridges spun from aethersteel and citadels of dreaming stone. Their tremors reached every plane of divinity, from the lowest sanctums to the vaults of eternity.
Even time hesitated.
Above the Prism Spires of Aevara, the Celestial Loom stuttered—its weavers crying out as golden threads snapped mid-tapestry. The rivers of law beneath the skyplateau surged backward for three breaths, then froze in stillwater silence.
And then the sky ruptured.
From far below.
A rift bloomed upward through the World Axis like an inverted scar, ripping through the cloud-floor that separated realms. Crimson-black lightning surged through the breach, painting the firmament in a sickened glow.
The voice of the Divine Accord broadcast across all sanctified space:
—"Demon God-class anomalies confirmed. Mortal Realm breach in progress. Terravane and Seraveth compromised. Five descents confirmed. Two initiating threshold anchoring."
—"Leylines under siege. Celestial Gate Network: destabilized. Code 14: Accord Violation."
The Council of Heaven erupted.
At the center of the Celestial Assembly Hall, the gods convened.
Deities of war, judgment, fate, flame, and sky stood not as mere figures of legend—but as living forces of order. Armored titans whose auras bent gravity. Veiled figures whose words changed the laws of mortality. For the first time in nine thousand years, the Circle of Divinity had been recalled in full.
Aetherian, Wargod of Thunder Hosts, pounded a fist upon the table of constellations. "This was not sanctioned! The Accord forbids Abyssal descent unless we breach balance—we have not!"
"They act outside permission," answered Solien, his voice colder than winter's edge. His white battle robes swirled with lightstorm sigils, hair like lunar silk flowing with ethereal winds. His gaze pierced straight through the shifting projections above the war table. "They move now because they feel his shadow approaching. Because they know the Sovereign draws near."
Beside him stood Seraphina, her expression unreadable beneath her crystalline veil of light. Her presence radiated serenity—yet her hands, folded at her waist, shimmered with restrained judgment. "They aim for Terravane and Seraveth first," she said quietly. "Because that is where the legacy of mortals still resists. Where our voices still echo."
"And where the Sovereign's children walk," Solien murmured.
The others fell into silence.
A moment later, the Voice of the High Realm—a crownless figure of searing fractal light—appeared above them in the form of a starlit sigil. Its tones echoed in thirteen-layered harmony:
"Call the Sovereign. Call the Flame That Shattered the Abyss."
The bell tolled.
And in a chamber between realms, Alter heard it.
He was hovering above the outer veil of reality, watching the scars form across the mortal sky—when the call reached him. The mark on his hand, linked to the Veil of Origin, blazed to life.
Without a word, he moved.
Golden energy surged, and the heavens bent around him.
A breath later—he stepped into the Divine Realm.
He arrived upon the marble landing stones of the Celestial Bastion. His aura ignited the skies in rippling halos. Even the gatekeepers of eternity stepped aside, heads bowed, as the Sovereign walked past—his Sovereignborn Draconic Plate gleaming, his presence shaking the winds of Heaven itself.
He entered the Assembly Hall with silence as his herald.
Solien turned. "You came fast."
Alter's gaze swept the room. "Because I knew the day would come."
Seraphina stepped forward. "The seals have failed. Demon gods walk the mortal realm. This is no longer a border breach—it is a full descent."
Alter's jaw tensed. "Then we take the war to them."
Aetherian growled in approval. "We've assembled the Divine Vanguard—thirty war gods across flame, lightning, judgment, and light. If you lead them, we strike back now."
Solien unsheathed his silver staff, its length glowing with old command. "I go with him. No demons cross my watch again."
Seraphina raised her hand—already calling her divine spear. "I will burn their footholds from the mortal plane. One by one."
Alter nodded, stepping forward as the war table reformed. His voice was calm—but iron lay beneath every word.
"We form three strike wings. Seraphina, purge and anchor. Solien, intercept and contain. I'll confront the gods directly."
A divine silence followed.
Then the starlit sigil above them pulsed.
Authorization granted.
Sovereign Ascension Status: Engaged.
Divine Warfront—Activated.
Alter drew in a slow breath.
And whispered:
"Open the gates."
Outside the citadel, a thousand war banners unfurled in flame.
The march of gods had begun.
The sky fractured like stained glass under the weight of impossible pressure.
It began with a shudder—barely a tremor in the wind. Then came the sound: a low, groaning resonance that echoed through the leylines of the world. Across the continents of Drakareth, Seraveth, and Terravane, every divine-sensitive being turned toward the heavens… and felt them break.
A scream thundered through the sky—but it was not one voice. It was many. Endless. Ancient.
And from the wounds above the clouds, they descended.
The Demon Gods.
Each emerged wrapped in their own twisted domains, crowned by halos of entropy and clothed in blacklight. They did not fall—they reclaimed. Their descent was a violation. Wings torn from nightmares, horns carved from reversed time, voices layered with contradiction.
Cities below screamed in unison.
Skyharbor's towers shook.The wards of Celestia glowed like burning suns.Even Aetherreach's stone bridges began to weep flame.
And yet—
There was one name the mortals whispered.
"Alter..."
A gate of light opened within the halls of Solien's fractured sanctum, hovering between planes. Wind, heat, and distortion pulsed from it as if the world itself was resisting the idea of what came next.
Alter stood at the gate's threshold, armored in his fully ignited Sovereignborn Draconic Plate, his right hand wrapped tightly around Starsever, and his left glowing with elemental script from the Runic Marker system. Around him stood seven War Gods, their divine mantles flaring in disciplined silence.
He didn't look back.
"We descend. All of us."
"Hold the line. Burn them out."
One of the War Gods, a massive being of stone and smoke, growled in anticipation.
"And if they've already overrun the cities?"
Alter answered without hesitation.
"Then we take them back."
He stepped into the gate.
And the Mortal World screamed open.
The sky exploded as the gods descended.
Flame burst first. Then light. Then presence.
Alter emerged in a beam of cascading gold, breaking the sound barrier ten times over as he streaked across the lower atmosphere. The War Gods followed in a radiating spiral, each streak a comet of divine will crashing into the airspace above the Demon God incursion zone.
Below them, the Dragoons were already in motion.
A ridge of shattered skyglass and lightning-charged peaks served as the last defensive line before the demon gods could reach the mainland cities.
The Dragoons held that line.
Selene was not there. She was protecting the twins. But her teachings remained. Her commands burned into the minds of her chosen.
Rhed Velgroth stood at the center of the formation, hammering Runic Marker: Earth + Flame + Lockdown into the shattered terrain, causing tectonic upheavals that forced even abyssal giants to collapse.
Talia Fenreith danced between the peaks like a wild flame, throwing herself from one sky bridge to another, using mid-air detonations to launch herself into enemy formations.
Selin Varrow moved unseen, his Sky Piercer: Celestial Thrust reducing demonspawn generals into flickers of ash.
Vellmar stood like a wall, absorbing hits that would level cities, then retaliating with a point-blank Zero Distance thrust that sent shockwaves across the range.
All 300 dragoons fought on without resting.
The sky beyond Veyr'Zhalar was stained with burning smoke and the bruised hues of war. Though the capital remained untouched for now, the horizon cracked like an open wound—bleeding flickers of corrupted flame and abyssal pressure into the sky.
From the high sanctum tower of Aetherflame Palace, the royal family stood in grim silence.
King Vael'Zarion stood at the fore of the terrace, flanked by his sons. His silver cloak stirred in the high winds, eyes narrowed against the glow in the east—watching the unnatural storms forming above the battlefield.
"The gods have not yet arrived…" he murmured.
Prince Kaelen, standing just behind him, nodded. His hands glowed faintly with scrying magic, the live-view crystal hovering before them capturing flickers of the ongoing warfront.
"No," Kaelen said. "Not yet. But they're holding… Somehow."
Queen Elanra, further back with Princess Alyxthia, whispered a quiet prayer beneath her breath. But even divine-souled queens could not mask the tension in their voice.
Because the only line standing between the demon gods and the cities…
Were the Dragoons.
Scrying Vision – Battlefront: Ashen Ridge
The crystal expanded—clarity sharpened. The vision shifted into full detail.
They saw it all.
A fortress of scorched stone and fragmented ley platforms had become the last fallback point before the great river. And from its shattered cliffs, three hundred warriors in blackened silver-blue stood defiant against an endless tide of demonic forms.
Dragoons.
Not gods. Not immortals.
Mortal-born. Trained under the Sovereign Flame. Loyal to one voice, one standard.
And they fought as one.
The royal family could see the distinct styles of their leaders.
Selin Varrow appeared like a phantom. He struck from the shadows with blade in reverse grip, his footsteps silent even as the ground quaked. He flowed behind a greater demon—a winged monstrosity crowned in writhing bone—and drove his blade upward, carving a lightning-lined Sky Piercer strike that severed the head in a flash.
Talia Fenreith leapt from platform to platform like an unleashed comet, laughter wild across the battlefield. Her twin sabers flickered with active markers—Wind + Fire + Detonation—and with every midair twist, she launched radiant shockwaves into enemy clusters, exploding their advance with rhythmic bursts.
On the high ground, Jaris Tenvahl channeled runes across his arms at impossible speeds. He laid down explosive trap markers—Ice + Earth + Delay—and activated them with pinpoint precision. Demons pursuing weaker allies suddenly detonated mid-charge, frozen shards skewering their legs before collapsing under weight.
And then there was Vellmar Dreadmoor—the juggernaut. He stood alone before one of the minor demon god spawn, a twelve-foot colossus of plated hate wielding a hammer forged from shrieking obsidian.
The royal family held their breath.
But Vellmar didn't flinch.
He planted his left foot, drew his blade back low at the waist.
"Sky Piercer—Zero Distance."
He thrust.
The enemy's armor didn't shatter—it imploded, collapsing inward as the force ruptured from inside out. The demon staggered back… and collapsed in a heap of steaming gore.
Cheers erupted from Dragoon lines.
They pressed forward. They adapted. Each movement a reflection of techniques once taught only to gods.
Alyxthia's voice trembled with awe.
"They shouldn't… be able to win like this."
Elanra touched her shoulder, calm despite the storm.
"They fight with the will of the Sovereign, daughter. And his training."
Kaelen leaned forward, zooming in with the crystal. "But how long can they hold?"
A flicker of concern crossed even Vael'Zarion's stern gaze.
A moment before impact, the wind froze.
Not stilled—froze—as if time itself inhaled and held its breath.
Then the sky shattered.
A comet of sovereign gold and sunfire tore through the upper atmosphere, trailing a cyclone of prismatic flame and storm-bent light. The rift above Ashen Ridge yawned wider as the meteor crashed downward—blazing brighter than any sun, its descent not bound by physics, but by divine intent.
And at its center—
Alter.
Clad in full Sovereignborn Draconic Plate, his eyes glowed with vertical golden slits, burning through the veil of war like twin stars reborn. Around his form, seven elemental sigils rotated in synchronized orbit—Runic Markers already activated mid-flight. Starsever was in hand, radiant with a pulse that matched the heart of the world.
He did not descend.
He fell like judgment.
The ground erupted.
The impact crater swallowed an entire wave of demonspawn—ripping them to shreds before they could scream. A shockwave burst outward in concentric rings of blinding white-gold, uprooting corrupted terrain, nullifying infernal sigils, and stunning even the demon godspawn who had been preparing to strike.
The Dragoons watched in stunned silence.
Not just from awe.
But from the feeling—that anchor slamming into the battlefield.
Their Commander was here.
And the world knew it.
Following in his wake, five War Gods crashed down across the battlefield like radiant avatars of apocalypse.
One, cloaked in flame, incinerated an entire horde on contact—his mere presence evaporating infernal ichor into mist.
Another summoned a thundercloud that spanned the sky, raining down divine bolts with terrifying precision.
A third—veiled in starlight—slashed entire ley seams into the air, sending gashes of gravity across demon formations.
The battlefield changed.
No—shifted.
The balance of reality had tilted.
At the epicenter of it all, Alter rose from the still-settling crater, unscathed, cloak whipping around him in spirals of heat.
His gaze locked onto the towering demon godspawn that had been ravaging the line—a twenty-cubit brute with molten bone armor and a whip of sentient shadows.
It roared, leveling its weapon.
Alter raised his left palm.
The seven Runic Markers around him spun in blinding sequence:
Flame + Lightning + Acceleration + Gravity + Wind + Lockdown + Radiance — Cast.
The terrain beneath the demon imploded. Gravity reversed. Wind pulled its limbs off balance. Flame and lightning laced into its core. And then, as it tried to move—Lockdown Marker sealed its joints in place.
Alter's eyes narrowed.
"Sky Piercer—Heavenfall Rend."
He blurred forward in a single bound.
From his sword tip, a vertical spiral of divine lightning shot skyward, piercing the demon's chest in a streak of gold. It screamed, a sound that shattered glass in far-off villages.
But Alter wasn't finished.
His form duplicated—Life Sprinkler.
Three clones flashed into position.
They moved as one.
"Starfall Sword Style."
Golden slashes rained like meteors, carving through the frozen demon godspawn. The clones coordinated with perfect symmetry, forming a rotating helix of strikes. Each clone struck a Runic Marker mid-combo, triggering detonation effects as they struck bone, soul, and domain glyphs.
The godspawn's body began to break apart midair—bones cracking in geometric patterns, the light of its inner core flickering.
And then Alter appeared directly above it, high in the air.
One hand gripped Starsever.
The other clenched into a fist.
"Demon God Killing Martial Arts."
The moment the first strike landed—Fist of Ruin—the entire mountain ridge trembled.
Below, the Dragoons turned their heads skyward, expressions shifting from awe to renewed fire.
Jaris blinked through sweat. "He's using that...?"
Vellmar cracked a rare grin through bloodied lips.
Rhed Velgroth let out a hoarse laugh, eyes wide. "Told you he wasn't late—he was just giving them a head start!"
Selin stood still, his lips moving in silent count.
"One… two… three…"
They felt each blow.
Heaven-Piercer Step.Void Fang Rend.Bloodlash Howl.Soulbreaker Dive.
By the ninth strike, the demon godspawn was already shredded—a ruin of splintered divinity and cracked soul essence, held together by sheer domain force.
By the eighteenth—Creator's Banishment—the demon godspawn's core exploded inward, collapsing into a singularity of searing light before vanishing into nothing.
The rift it had emerged from—sealed itself.
Silence.
Only wind.
Only dust.
And then—**
"DRAGOONS, FORM UP!"**
Alter's voice rang like thunder, amplified by sovereign will.
"We push forward. The War Gods hold the flanks. My blade leads the charge."
And without waiting for breath or ceremony, he turned and sprinted across the battlefield—Runic Markers casting ahead with each step, carving paths through darkness.
The gods were here.
And the tide had turned.
The air was no longer still.
It howled—whipped into frenzy by the fury of the Sovereign's arrival, by the sudden pulse of dominance that shattered the balance of the battlefield. The Dragoons, weary moments ago, now surged forward with blades gleaming and breath returned—drawn up by the presence of the one who had forged them.
And at their head—
Alter, the Dragon Sovereign, carved through the demon lines like a blade through silk.
He moved faster than the eye could follow, each step marked by detonating Elemental Runic Markers—glyphs flaring with raw purpose.
He swept his hand low.
"Lightning + Gravity + Severance—engage."
The markers triggered in a flash. A dozen demons near the front lines screamed as the ground inverted beneath them, pinning them midair while arcs of forked lightning laced their bodies into silence. Alter didn't slow. He was already moving—Starsever a golden blur, the light of a dozen strikes converging into a single, fluid arc.
"Divine Heavenly Sword Style – Starfall."
The air ruptured. Light traced behind him like stardust flung across a dark canvas. His clones spiraled into being—Life Sprinkler activating mid-combat. Golden afterimages erupted outward, and the full force of the Starfall Sword Style shredded through enemy formations like a burning cyclone.
To his right, a loud voice rose through the chaos—raw, thunderous:
"DRAGOONS—SPEAR FORMATION, CRUSH THEIR FLANK!"
It was Takayoshi.
The Grandmaster of Seraveth strode into the battlefield like a living storm—long cloak tattered by wind, eyes aglow with blazing crimson. His steps cracked earth, and his halberd roared with divine chi. He didn't fight as a man. He fought as a legend remembered by the world itself.
He spun, cleaving three demons in a single arcing sweep, then lifted one hand.
"Flame Vein—BURST."
From his core, a column of flame surged upward, cascading into the sky like a beacon. Demons shrieked and stumbled back. The war godspawn nearby raised a claw—and had it shorn off cleanly as Takayoshi lunged.
Alter appeared beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
Their eyes met briefly.
No words passed between them.
They moved as one.
Behind them, the Dragoons surged.
Selin Varrow wove between shadows, reappearing behind a greater demon and driving a Sky Piercer: Celestial Thrust through its heart before fading again.
Talia Fenreith vaulted over fallen stone, unleashing twin saber arcs infused with Fire + Wind + Acceleration markers, erupting into directional flame tornadoes.
Jaris Tenvahl stood atop a broken obelisk, both arms glowing with sequential glyphs. "Area Lockdown—Quad Detonation!" he roared, activating four synchronized elemental traps beneath a charging horde. The resulting explosion scattered even flying enemies.
Vellmar Dreadmoor, the juggernaut, slammed shoulder-first into a demon knight three times his size and drove it to the ground, then lifted his blade and whispered—"Zero Distance."
The thundercrack that followed was felt across the ridge.
And then—
A sudden chill pierced the air.
From the fractured skies above the northern peaks, a presence stirred. The divine light dimmed, not from weakness—but from a shift in the heavens.
The Demon Gods were watching.
They were preparing.
Far to the rear, at a raised vantage overlooking the Ridge, the War Gods remained unmoving, forming a luminous circle of divine runes.
They didn't charge.
They didn't fight.
They waited.
Each War God—cloaked in divine authority—placed one palm to the circle at their feet. Their eyes closed. Their breath synchronized.
Back on the frontline, Alter raised Starsever once more, now glowing with a layered radiance that burned both inward and outward. He spun it once, drawing the blade behind his back, the hilt crackling.
He whispered:
"Demon God Killing Martial Arts…"
Takayoshi grinned as the air behind him bent in reverse pressure.
"Finally."
The battlefield shifted again.
They had crossed into the Abysslayer's Tempo—the rhythm of divine slaughter.
The battlefield pulsed.
It wasn't sound that swept across the warfront—it was pressure. An ancient, crawling presence that pulled at the lungs, scraped across bone, and whispered madness into the marrow of every being present.
Alter froze mid-strike.
Takayoshi lowered his halberd, his grin gone.
Across the ridge, the Dragoons slowed… one by one. Even Vellmar, fists coated in demon blood, took a step back. Selin stood utterly still, blade hovering mid-thrust. Talia turned, eyes widening.
And then—
The screaming stopped.
All of it.
Across the entire front—no demons moved. No generals barked commands. No spawn growled. They stood like statues, eyes rolling white, mouths slack, heads trembling.
And in unison—
They knelt.
Every remaining demon on the field threw themselves face-first into the earth, arms spread, trembling in anticipation… or fear.
Then the sky broke.
It did not crack like before—it peeled.
The clouds split like flesh pulled apart, unveiling a tear in reality that bled not shadow, but presence. A silence so vast it screamed.
Eight colossal shadows descended.
Not slowly. Not with ceremony. Like thunderbolts of living corruption, they slammed into the earth around the warfront—some close, some miles away—but all within perceptible domain radius.
Each landed with a shockwave that cratered miles of terrain.
And then… they stood.
Eight Demon Gods.
Each form incomprehensible—shapes folded between dimensions, bodies that twitched with fluid chaos, faces both grotesque and regal.
Their Creator Authority radiated in unmistakable tiers:
Four lesser ones hovered with unstable forms—each between 10% to 25% Authority. Their limbs shifted like spines dragged through magma. Though weaker, they emitted frenzies of madness and entropy that bent space in slivers.
Two greater beings emerged like celestial invaders, possessing 28% and 42% Creator Authority. Their forms were sharper—humanoid, armored in jagged obsidian plates with inverted halos spinning above horned brows. One dragged a scythe that whispered in every known tongue. The other floated, skin lined with abyssal runes that writhed like worms.
And the final three...
They did not touch the earth.
50%. 61%. 70%.
Their feet hovered inches off the ground, yet the terrain cracked beneath them just from their divine weight.
The first was a colossal demon king with six arms, each bearing a blade that mirrored the weapon of a god it had slain in ages past.
The second was wreathed in chains of null-light, and every god who looked upon him felt the loss of a memory.
The third, the most terrible, was a faceless queen draped in a veil of blood-silk. Her voice sang in reverse and her presence caused the most devout soldiers to weep.
They had arrived.
Not summoned by cult or rift—
But by sacrifice.
Far behind enemy lines, the last remaining Demon Generals knelt before a burning sigil circle—eyes glowing, mouths whispering unholy rites. Then, one by one, they offered themselves. Their bodies combusted into blackened pillars of flame, and the air tore open above them, anchoring the Gods of the Abyss directly into the mortal world.
At the Drakareth front, even the War Gods paused their ritual.
Auralai lowered her spear.
Zarion's glowing eyes narrowed. "…they didn't breach the veil. They were invited."
"The ritual was their own."
Alter said nothing.
He simply raised Starsever and let the seven Runic Markers revolve around him again—slower this time, each humming with divine anticipation.
Beside him, Takayoshi rolled his shoulders.
"…We doing this?"
But nothing moved.
No one attacked.
Not yet.
The Demon Gods stood.
And the world held its breath.
The air was thick—dense not with dust, nor magic, but with raw, staggering presence. The world itself held still, caught between what had come and what was to come. From the cracked plains of the Drakareth front, battle had ceased—not from truce, but from the sheer force of what stood on either side.
On one side: Alter, five War Gods, and a phalanx of battle-scarred Dragoons and Celestial Soldiers, halos scorched and blades still smoking from the last wave.
On the other: Eight Demon Gods, each pulsing with distinct Creator Authority—their bodies malformed reflections of divinity.
The space between them—the no-man's land of crushed earth and blood-slicked stone—hummed with impossible pressure. Here, time dared not move without permission.
Alter stood forward, the Sovereignborn Draconic Plate gleaming faintly under layers of dried blood and shattered runic ash. Around him, the seven Elemental Runic Markers rotated slowly, each one glowing brighter as they synced to the battlefield's elemental pulse.
He narrowed his gaze at the Demon God hovering closest to the ridge. The one with 42% Authority—its eyes were endless spirals, its crown forged of impaled angelic wings.
To Alter's left, War God Inzareth—Divine General of Aether and Flux—held a spear of celestial wind compressed into a single vibrating thread. Beside her, Varkuun, the War God of Earth Judgment, pulsed with gravitational resonance, his steps cracking the plates beneath him.
Further back, Ithelion, Kaeriel, and Zhon-Makar spread out in formation, each pairing off silently with one of the advancing Demon Gods, their divine resonance adjusting to mirror their foe.
"Five of us," Inzareth muttered, her voice like wind pulled through a canyon. "Eight of them. Creator Authority uneven."
"Then we match them through will," Alter answered. "The rest are mine."
A quiet hum began in his throat.
The gold in his dragon eyes flared.
"Until Solien descends... we hold the sky."
Takayoshi stood just behind, arms crossed, watching the formations settle.
"I'll take the ones that breathe too loud," he muttered. "Just tell me which one's bleeding first."
Across the battlefield, the Demon Gods moved into position—no words passed between them, no roar of challenge. Just shifting power.
The 42% Demon God hovered above the ridge with clawed toes dipped in shadow.
The 28% one flanked him, holding a scythe of living bone.
The four lesser Demon Gods—chaotic creatures of 10% to 15% Authority—skittered, shivered, or unfolded like puzzles never meant to be solved.
The final three—50%, 61%, and 70%—remained unmoving. Watching. Waiting. Hovering like judgment itself.
They knew this was the threshold.
Not battle.
War.
Across the ridge, the Dragoons formed behind Alter. Vellmar planted his massive blade. Selin whispered her combat mantra. Talia chewed her lower lip, wild eyes flaring as her runes ignited. Jaris loaded six new elemental patterns on his forearms. Elira adjusted her stance, already vanished from mortal sight.
And all of them stared ahead—
At the monsters that had shattered heavens and corrupted time in ages past.
Then, for a breath, the wind stopped.
A pulse passed through the field.
Like a heartbeat.
Not yet a strike.
But the signal of a coming collapse.
The earth could no longer hold them.
With a shuddering pulse, the battlefield shattered—space folding like fractured glass as Alter and the three highest Demon Gods launched skyward. The Sovereign's cloak snapped in the updraft, wings of light unfurling behind him as he surged toward the stratosphere, dragging behind him the three calamities born of the Abyss.
50%. 61%. 70% Creator Authority.
Each of them pulsed with enough power to rupture continents. Alter's eyes flared like twin golden stars. He said nothing. The sky would speak for him.
They vanished into the heavens, leaving only a streak of incandescent flame trailing behind.
And then the rest began.
The mid-level Demon Gods—those with 15%, 28%, and 42% Authority—split off toward the horizon, where War Gods Ithelion, Kaeriel, and Zhon-Makar flew to meet them in combat. Their descent cracked the very ground into plates, divine impact cratering mountains miles away. Their battle would unfold distant—cataclysmic—but not here.
Not now.
Here, beneath the shattered clouds, four lesser Demon Gods had descended.
And they howled.
Sinewed forms—bent, distorted, half-seen through layers of flickering curse sigils—burst into the fray with teeth like scythes and limbs that stretched unnaturally. Their Creator Authority hovered around 10% to 15%, but their presence warped the very field, twisting sound and breaking shadow.
They did not wait.
Neither did Takayoshi.
He moved first.
A blur of indigo light as he vanished from his perch, reappearing with his halberd already cleaving through the first demon's claw, the impact ringing like temple bells in reverse. The ground detonated under their feet, rippling with suppressed force.
The Dragoons followed behind.
Three hundred warriors. Each handpicked. Each carved by battle, bound by fire, ice, and sovereign oath.
"SPLIT INTO DIVISIONS!" Takayoshi roared. "Three squads per demon! We hit them like thunderclaps! GO!"
The Dragoon command glyph burst into the sky—streaks of light erupting from his hand, each squad's emblem shining across the battlefield.
They surged.
Vellmar, encased in layers of sovereign-forged draconic armor, led the first charge—his hammer slamming into the ribcage of a slithering demon god whose body split into spines and needles. Sky Piercer: Zero Distance detonated inside its chest, and it screamed as runes burned through its skin.
Behind him, Selin Varrow cut through the demon's extended ribs like paper, vanishing and reappearing with every step, carving out internal runes and planting elemental markers with every precise strike.
To the east, Talia Fenreith soared into the air, her speed amplified by wind resonance, trailing crackling arcs behind her. "Mine's the ugly one with the tentacle tongue!"
"Which one's that?!" shouted Rhed Velgroth, just before plowing his fist into another demon's face.
Jaris Tenvahl stood near the lesser War God—Arvalen, Warden of Crystal Pulse—coordinating a web of elemental runes and synchronizing detonation patterns across squads. The battlefield shimmered with runic veils, amplifying Dragoon movement, shielding formations, and allowing real-time elemental fusion attacks.
"Marker Three set! Five squads rerouting to assist Squad Raven!" he barked, blasting a wall of flame laced with crystal shrapnel into the second demon's flank.
Above, Elira Mistshade struck from behind enemy perception—silent, merciless, chaining Sky Piercer: Heavenfall Rend with ghost-step vanish loops, dragging her target out of phase and disorienting its spatial sense.
The demons retaliated.
One snapped its arms into spears of entropy and impaled six soldiers in a heartbeat.
Another screamed, sending out a pulse of inverted divine sound—melting armor, splitting ears. Dozens fell, blood running from their eyes.
Then the resonating crystals activated.
Placed across the field days before, hidden beneath layers of combat glyphs, they flared to life—amplifying divine combat parameters by 20% across all aligned forces.
A golden pulse lit the Dragoon brands.
The battlefield surged.
Takayoshi twisted mid-air and slammed his halberd downward, invoking the full force of Thunderclap: Skybreaker. Lightning crashed from the heavens, splitting a demon god's shoulder open, revealing its twitching core beneath layers of infernal sinew.
The Dragoons responded in formation—thirty streaks of coordinated strikes converged on the exposed core.
"DETONATE MARKERS!" Jaris screamed.
A spiral of synchronized elemental explosions tore through the demon's torso—light, flame, ice, and storm folding into one. The impact blasted it backward, limbs flailing.
Two of the four demon gods were wounded. One was half-blind. Another had lost a third of its body to Vellmar's seismic punch.
But still they came. Still they howled.
And still—the Dragoons held.
Blood stained the ground. The sky split from overlapping divine clashes. Celestial soldiers soared overhead, their formation breaking through demon ranks to protect the Dragoon flanks. Above them, divine glyphs unfolded like wings, revealing Arvalen's full power—Warden of Crystal Pulse becoming a beacon of radiant amplification.
One by one, the demons screamed.
And the battlefield answered.