Kaelan's golden blade—wreathed in dark element—met Lareth's silver sword, rimed in pure light.
Their clash tore the air; shockwaves erupted, hurling geysers of lake water skyward and ploughing trenches into the lakebed.
Lareth's expression darkened with each exchange.
He was supposed to be the Light Peacock Clan's strongest of the younger generation; to be stalled—and twice surprised—by an unknown demon stung his pride like salt.
He could feel the demons' eyes on him, the faint curl of mockery in the crowd, and it fed a growing, hot hatred.
*I will kill him,* he told himself, and his next strike came harder, a brutal arc meant to break Kaelan's defence.
The blow shoved Kaelan back across the roiling surface, water exploding in his wake.
Then Lareth drew back, breathing hard, and raised his sword in a slow, deliberate clockwise arc.
Soraya, engaged with Serina, saw the motion and cried out, "Kaelan, be careful!"
Serina only smiled cruelly and hissed, "Stand aside and watch your friend die beneath the Divine Magics of our clan—the Sun-and-Moon Sword."
As Lareth's hand traced the circle, Kaelan watched, unease flickering through him—then behind Lareth, like the hours on a clock, thirty-six swords coalesced in the air.
Each blade was half sunlight and half moonlight: thirty-six radiant spokes poised and then unleashed as a barrage of searing, whistling missiles.
Kaelan responded without hesitation. He drew a pair of wings from his dark core—one formed of pure night-darkness, the other of cold death-smoke.
They unfurled and wrapped about him, folding into a cocoon of shadow and bone-cold mist.
The wings condensed into an energy shield that swallowed the first volley, the light-blades splintering and singing against the shroud of darkness.
The thirty-six swords strike again and again, relentless and merciless.
Each blade tears through Kaelan's dark barrier like molten steel through ice, the shield groaning before shattering under the divine pressure.
The energy wings follow, shredded to tatters as light and moon essence slice through them, carving burning wounds across his chest and arms.
Despite the pain, the two layers of defence dull much of the attack's might, scattering the full force that would have otherwise obliterated him.
But Kaelan knows it cannot last. His breath grows shallow as divine energy gathers again around Lareth's sword. If he continues defending like this, defeat is certain.
He clenches his fists, teeth grinding.
He cannot draw upon his true, forbidden strength—the moment he does, the Twilight Protoss and the high-ranking demons observing from the shadows will sense the alien laws within him.
His existence would be exposed.
The shield flickers. The remaining feathers of his dark wings dissolve into smoke as the twin forces within him—dark and death—move separately, colliding instead of merging.
Each pulse sends cracks through his barrier.
He tries to fuse them, again and again, but the opposing natures refuse to align, rejecting each other violently.
A blade pierces his shoulder. Blood splashes on the lake's surface.
Then, in the chaos of failing control, a spark ignites in his mind.
He seizes the death energy, moulding it with his will, while deep inside his spirit space, the holy fetus stirs—its hands lifting, guiding the dark energy that writhes around him.
Together, they push, forcefully binding the two streams into one.
The explosion of resonance shakes the lake.
Darkness compresses into a sphere around him, the surface shifting into a honeycomb pattern.
Each hexagonal cell glows faintly—some with the stillness of death, others with the hunger of darkness—and the connecting lines weave into a vast, living array.
When the next volley of thirty-six swords falls, they crash against the new structure and ricochet off, light scattering into fragments before vanishing.
The honeycomb sphere hums, unbroken, absorbing the echoes of divine force as Kaelan stands within—his blood dripping, eyes cold and calm.
Lareth doesn't stop. His silver sword dances again, sending another rain of radiant blades crashing down, but this time his gleeful sneer fades.
Each strike scatters harmlessly across Kaelan's renewed defence, and no matter how fiercely he channels his divine art, the barrier doesn't yield.
The divine magic of the *Sun and Moon Sword* draws upon the world's light—but under the night sky, only the moon answers.
The sun's power must come from him alone, and as he continues, his vitality drains faster, his aura flickering between gold and silver.
The lake ripples with the pressure of their clash, and the spectators around the battlefield whisper in awe.
To endure the Light Peacock Clan's divine art head-on—it was unthinkable.
Farther back, two figures from the Third-Eyed Lion Clan watch in silence. Axel, the second son of their clan head, narrows his eyes. "Do you know what type of demon that man is?"
His uncle, Borag, furrows his brow.
The name *Kaelan* lingers in his memory—he'd heard it through the spies their clan sent months ago.
His expression hardens. "He may be the crow demon who killed the elder of the Divine Puppet Sect."
Their conversation halts as Lareth's assault slows, then stops.
Lareth lowers his sword, his chest rising and falling.
Defeating Kaelan has become an obsession burning in his mind.
When he first saw the man beside Soraya, he dismissed him easily. Soraya, after all, was known to play with demons for a while before discarding them.
He had believed Kaelan was no different.
But now, seeing the demon stand unharmed against his divine power, his thoughts twist.
If Soraya truly intends to defeat Serina and reclaim her place in the clan, she might seek Kaelan's strength—and if she must, she will offer herself for it.
The thought drives a spike of rage into his heart. *No,* he vows silently. *She is mine.*
He raises his sword once more, his voice a low growl. "Then witness the next change of the Sun and Moon Sword."
The thirty-six energy blades behind him spin faster, merging into streaks of gold and silver before vanishing into a luminous blur.
What remains is a radiant wheel of divine light, revolving behind him, half gold and half silver.
As it turns, it draws in the moon's power, and under the night's glow, the entire wheel transforms into pure silver brilliance.
Kaelan's gaze sharpens.
He senses the gathering of lunar energy and knows this next attack will surpass the last.
This time, he doesn't wait. He spreads his fingers, manipulating the honeycomb array that surrounds him.
The pattern twists, condenses, and reforms—a twin cannon emerges before him, its surface engraved with glowing hexagonal lines.
He channels his energy.
One cannon hums with the depth of darkness, the other with the stillness of death.
Their twin maws begin to glow, black and grey intertwining in spiralling light.
Across the lake, the silver wheel rises behind Lareth, aligning with the moon above. Both powers face each other—divine and demonic, light and void.
In a single instant, they release.
Kaelan's cannons roar, spirals of dark and grey energy twisting together into a destructive beam.
Lareth's silver wheel flashes, releasing a concentrated ray of moonlight infused with divine law.
The two forces collided in midair, and the world trembled—dark spirals and silver light locked in a furious shove, neither willing to yield.
Kaelan's face stayed unnervingly calm.
Inside his mind, a war raged; he was split in two, guiding the twin cannons with surgical focus.
Every thread of his thought tugged at the honeycomb array, and the Holy Fetus inside his spirit space began to tremble—its runes flickering like a frightened constellation.
The strain bit at him; each moment holding both Death and Dark together pulled at the fetus's stability. If he lost control now, the feedback would detonate both energies and finish him.
He tightened his will and felt the pressure across the gulf.
Lareth's lunar wheel shuddered opposite him; the young peacock's breath came ragged, and the wheel's rotation stuttered.
Kaelan read the signs—Lareth was worse off.
The previous exchanges had leeched most of his borrowed light; he was running on the last of his reservoir.
The silver beam wavered as Lareth poured the last of himself into it, muscles and expression knotted with effort.
Choosing instantly from possibility and risk, Kaelan roared—a sound that was part command, part animal.
The Holy Fetus surged outward from his spirit space, taking form: the small crow-man image blossomed into a larger, harsher avatar above his head.
With that manifestation lending guidance, Kaelan's control sharpened.
The array-cannons inhaled, their mouths dilating as hexagonal lines hardened into gun-metal rims.
The twin beams—one night-black, the other ashen with death—swelled into torrents of compressed law.
The two beams collide with the lunar rays.
For a heartbeat, the clash held.
Lareth screamed and tried to force more moonlight through the wheel, but the wheel began to crack under the counterpressure—the very array meant to amplify his light failed and split instead of strengthening.
With a final, tearing shriek, the lunar beam collapsed under Kaelan's onslaught; Kaelan's dark–death spiral smashed through it and flew on, a spear of unbalanced law aimed up at the sky.
It detonated halfway to the moon in a bloom of grey-black fire that washed the clouds with sickly light.
The recoil tore back through the battlefield. Lareth's demon core took the worst of the backlash.
He swayed, staggering; blood ran from his mouth in slow, copper ribbons.
Serina, who had watched the arrogance of their plan curdle into disaster, shoved Soraya aside and dove to Lareth's side, propping him up with frantic hands.
Soraya, breathless, shot forward and hovered beside Kaelan; their eyes met across the wrecked lake—calm steel against frantic heat.
Serina's voice trembled with fury and fear. "Soraya—stop! We're of the same clan. You can't kill us here."
Soraya's lips were a thin line. "Don't flatter yourselves. You set traps for me once; I'll cripple both of you before I die."
Serina's gaze flicked toward the onlookers, then snapped to a trio of Black Tiger Clan warriors moving through the crowd. Her tone turned sharp with urgency. "Heiyu—help me. I'll get you what you want."
The three Black Tiger members exchanged brief glances before taking flight.
In moments, they landed before Serina and Lareth, their forms half-shadowed by the flickering light above the ruined lake.
They spread out, forming a living wall of muscle and killing intent, each releasing a beastly aura that rippled the already trembling air.
Behind them, Serina steadied Lareth's limp form while keeping her cold gaze locked on Soraya and Kaelan.
Tension wound tighter with every breath.
The lake hissed as residual magic burned off the surface; the moonlight and lingering death energy painted everything in shifting silver and grey.
The battlefield had gone still—too still. Every demon watching could feel it: one wrong move, and the fragile balance would break into chaos once more.
Toward the far bank of the river, movement stirred. Four life-like female puppets stood perfectly still, holding aloft a black carriage draped in crimson silk.
Their glassy eyes reflected the silvery moon. Inside the carriage, a man reclined lazily, as though the destruction before him were nothing more than a passing play.
In his palm lay the first of the final three auction treasures—the Indestructible Metal Ore.
Yet the name no longer suited it.
The ore glowed a molten orange, dripping like wax as it melted under the heat radiating from the man's hand.
The fire-colored light spilt through the carriage's curtains, casting his silhouette in gold and blood.
Then, without warning, the air warped beside him.
A cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, its life aura carrying the same alien resonance Kaelan had once sensed from the three figures that attacked him at night in the ancient battlefield ruins—a new and unknown race to this world.
The man in the carriage looked up, a faint, knowing smile curving his lips.
The cloaked figure bowed slightly. "Lord, I failed to obtain the Heavenly Heart, and the three Heavenly Officials were sealed by the head of the Red Swan Clan."
The man's gaze shifted toward the fading battle near the lake. "Doesn't matter. I didn't come for it." His eyes glimmered faintly under the firelight. "Saren, tell me—which clan was the first to betray me?"
"The Black Tiger Clan," the cloaked one answered without hesitation.
"And what about the Light Peacock Clan?"
"They didn't betray you," Saren replied, his tone cautious. "But they also didn't inform you when the two gods contacted them."
A low chuckle escaped the man's throat. "Ah… silence is often the worst betrayal."
His fingers flexed, and the molten ore in his palm turned to ash. "This time, I won't allow it. I will refine every living being in this world into perfect puppets and grant them immortal life. But traitors—" his voice dropped into a whisper that carried across the air like a curse—"traitors do not deserve my gift."
Kaelan quietly withdrew his holy fetus into his body, and his eyes met Soraya's.
She frowned, whispering, "Heiyu, are you really going to help them? If I become the heir, I'll help you get what you want."
Heiyu stood between his two protectors, his expression conflicted. "Soraya, do you know what I want? If you did, you'd never let me have it." He sighed, lowering his claws slightly. "Let's stop the fight. I don't wish to battle you—or your exceptional friend."
Soraya exhaled softly, ready to respond, when Heiyu suddenly groaned, clutching his head. His protectors stepped forward, alarmed. "Young Master! What's happening?"
Heiyu's body trembled, veins bulging under his skin, and then—he went eerily still. When he raised his head, his eyes were empty, stripped of emotion. His voice came hollow and mechanical. "Attack them."
Before anyone could react, he turned sharply, his hand twisting into a beast's claw. With a single motion, he drove it through Lareth's chest and tore out his heart.
Lareth's body crumpled lifelessly onto the lake's surface, blood spreading across the shimmering water.
The world seemed to stop. Every gaze—Soraya's, Kaelan's, Serina's, and the watching demons—fixed on Heiyu in stunned disbelief.