The world was quiet.
Not the fragile quiet of peace, nor the deceptive calm before a storm—but something deeper. A silence that existed beneath sound itself.
Raphael Arzenon sat cross-legged at the center of a sealed meditation chamber within the Atlas Institute.
The walls around him were inscribed with layered alchemical formulae—complex arrays designed not to amplify power, but to stabilize thought. Thin lines of pale blue light pulsed rhythmically across the surface, synchronizing with the faint currents of energy in the atmosphere.
Mana.
For six days, he had done nothing but sit here.
No battles.
No running.
No blood.
Just listening.
Breathing.
Enduring.
"…Too vast," Raphael murmured under his breath.
His eyes remained closed, but his brow tightened slightly. Sweat beaded along his temple—not from exertion, but from pressure. Invisible, suffocating pressure.
The Greater Source.
Mana was nothing like Od.
Od was familiar. Internal. Finite. Like a flame you could control in your palm.
Mana… was an ocean.
No—
It was worse than that.
It was an ocean that didn't acknowledge you.
Every time he tried to draw from it, it slipped through his grasp. Not resisting. Not rejecting.
Just… existing beyond him.
Cielux's voice echoed softly within his mind.
> "Your synchronization rate has increased by 3.2% since yesterday, Master."
Raphael exhaled slowly.
"…Only 3.2%?"
> "Correct."
Her tone was calm—as always—but there was a faint undercurrent beneath it. Not dissatisfaction.
Expectation.
Raphael opened his eyes.
Gold met blue light.
"…At this rate, I won't reach full integration in ten days."
> "That is correct."
Blunt. Honest.
He clicked his tongue softly.
"…I hate when you agree with me."
> "I prioritize accuracy over comfort."
"…Yeah, I noticed."
He rolled his shoulders slightly, feeling the subtle resistance of his Spiritron Reflection Body adjusting to the strain. Even now, his body was adapting—refining, optimizing—but the gap between him and the Greater Source still felt… absolute.
Raphael closed his eyes again.
"Then I just need to—"
He stopped.
Something felt… wrong.
Not within him.
Beyond him.
A ripple.
Faint—but unmistakable.
Like a disturbance in a perfectly still lake.
His eyes snapped open.
"…Cielux."
There was already silence waiting for him.
Not the usual responsive calm.
A pause.
Then—
> "…Master."
Her voice was different.
Sharper.
Focused.
Raphael's expression hardened instantly.
"What happened?"
A brief moment passed.
Then—
> "A deviation has occurred outside of projected probability lines."
"…Speak clearly."
> "Omega Heinriel is in danger."
Silence fell.
Raphael blinked.
"…What?"
For a moment, the name didn't connect.
Then it did.
His posture straightened immediately.
"Omega… Heinriel?"
Confusion crossed his face.
"What does he have to do with anything happening right now?"
Cielux didn't answer immediately.
Instead—
Information unfolded.
Not as words.
As understanding.
> "Six hours ago," she began, "a high-grade conceptual artifact manifested in the region known as Britain."
Raphael's eyes narrowed.
"…Manifested?"
> "Yes. Not summoned. Not constructed."
Her tone sharpened slightly.
> "It appeared."
A bad feeling settled in his chest.
"What artifact?"
There was no hesitation this time.
> "The Golden Sword—Caliburn."
Raphael's breath stilled.
"…You're serious."
> "Completely."
He ran a hand through his silver-white hair, mind already moving.
"Caliburn appearing out of nowhere isn't just an anomaly—that's a full-scale disruption of historical continuity."
> "Correct."
"And Omega…?"
> "He and Yukio moved to retrieve it."
Raphael clicked his tongue.
"Of course they did."
No hesitation. No backup. No preparation.
Typical.
"…And now they're in danger?"
> "Yes."
A pause.
Then—
> "They were intercepted."
Raphael's gaze sharpened.
"By who?"
The answer came without emotion.
> "Two Dead Apostles."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Raphael stood up immediately.
No hesitation this time.
No more meditation.
No more patience.
"…Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
> "You were in the middle of mana synchronization."
"That's not an answer."
> "…You would have interrupted your training regardless."
Raphael didn't deny it.
He was already moving.
"Location."
> "Britain. Coordinates have been mapped."
He walked toward the edge of the chamber, grabbing his coat from a nearby stand.
Not armor.
Not robes.
A black business suit.
Clean. Fitted. Sharp.
Completely out of place for a battlefield.
And yet—
Perfectly suited for him.
As he adjusted the collar, his voice remained calm—but tight.
"…How bad is it?"
There was a pause.
Then—
> "Omega Heinriel's probability of survival is currently below 40%."
Raphael froze for half a second.
Then continued dressing.
"…And Yukio?"
> "Worse."
A quiet exhale left his lips.
"…Damn it."
He rolled his shoulders once more, grounding himself.
Then—
"Cielux."
> "Yes, Master."
"…How much Mana can I actually use right now?"
Silence.
Not hesitation.
Calculation.
> "You have completed six days of training."
"I know that."
> "Your current Mana synchronization is incomplete."
"Get to the point."
A brief pause.
Then—
> "At best… you can currently access a Mana pool equivalent of approximately 400 units."
Raphael stopped.
"…400?"
Disappointment flashed across his face immediately.
"…That's it?"
> "Yes."
He let out a long sigh, dragging a hand down his face.
"…After six days of hell, I get 400?"
> "Your expectations are misaligned."
"…My expectations are completely justified."
He clicked his tongue again, clearly dissatisfied—but not stopping.
"…Is it usable?"
> "Yes."
"Stable?"
> "Moderately."
"Enough for combat?"
A pause.
Then—
> "…If used efficiently."
Raphael smirked slightly.
"…That's all I needed to hear."
He stepped forward.
The air around him began to distort.
Not violently.
Not like before.
This time—
Controlled.
Precise.
"…Prepare teleportation."
> "Warning: Your current reserves will be significantly strained."
"I know."
> "There is a 37% probability of system overload if you engage in prolonged combat."
"…Then I'll just end it quickly."
A faint silence followed.
Then—
> "…Understood."
The leylines beneath the Atlas Institute responded.
Not violently severed like before—
But gently bent.
Guided.
Aligned.
For the first time—
Raphael Arzenon did not force the world to move.
He asked.
And the world… responded.
Light began to gather around him.
"…Hang on, Omega," he muttered quietly.
His golden eyes sharpened.
"I'm coming."
And in the next instant—
Space folded.
Back at The battlefield did not move.
It did not breathe.
It simply… watched.
Omega Heinriel lay broken at the center of the clearing.
His body—cleanly severed at the waist—rested in two lifeless halves upon the shattered earth. Blood spread beneath him like a dark mirror, soaking into the soil that had once stood witness to legends.
Caliburn remained embedded through his chest.
The golden blade that had once shone like hope now stood silent, its radiance dimmed—as if mourning the one who had drawn it.
For a moment—
No one spoke.
No one could.
The mages stared in horror, their minds refusing to accept what their eyes clearly saw.
"…No…"
One of them dropped to his knees.
"That's… impossible…"
A knight staggered backward, his grip on his weapon loosening.
"He… he was winning…"
Another whispered, voice trembling.
"…He had him at the edge of death…"
And yet—
Here he was.
Defeated.
Destroyed.
Erased.
Standing above the fallen knight—
Azravael Karture laughed.
A deep, distorted laugh that echoed unnaturally through the mist.
"Ah… hah… hahahahaha…!"
His voice twisted with something far beyond amusement.
It was exhilaration.
Madness.
Vindication.
"You see it now, don't you?" Azravael said, spreading his arms slightly as if presenting a grand performance. "The difference between you… and me."
His crimson eyes gleamed as he looked down at Omega's shattered form.
"Power. Experience. Existence itself."
A mage clenched his fists.
"…How?"
The word escaped him involuntarily.
"How did he lose…?!"
Azravael turned his head slightly, the smile never leaving his face.
"Oh? You still don't understand?"
His tone became almost mocking.
"Very well. I'll educate you."
He stepped forward, his boots pressing against the blood-soaked ground as he looked down at Omega.
"Simple," Azravael began.
"I used my trump card."
The air grew heavier.
Even the mist seemed to recoil slightly as he spoke.
"Soul Destruction."
The words fell like a verdict.
A few of the older mages froze instantly, their faces draining of color.
"…That's—"
"…No…"
Azravael's smile widened.
"It allows me to bypass both physical and spiritual defenses," he continued calmly. "It does not target the body… nor the spirit."
He tapped his chest lightly.
"It attacks the conceptual layer of the soul itself."
Silence.
Complete.
Utter.
"So yes," Azravael said, glancing briefly at Omega's severed body, "Omega Heinriel did dodge my attack."
A pause.
A slight tilt of his head.
"But that doesn't matter."
His eyes sharpened.
"Because I combined it with Spatial Severance."
A faint distortion rippled in the air around him, as if reality itself remembered the technique.
"I simply cut the space between us."
He extended his hand outward.
"Distance became irrelevant."
His voice lowered.
"Speed became meaningless."
And then—
He smiled.
"The attack reached him regardless."
The mages trembled.
"…That's…"
"…Unavoidable…"
Azravael nodded slightly, pleased.
"Exactly."
He looked down again.
"And now…"
His voice softened.
"…he is nothing."
Omega Heinriel did not respond.
His eyes were barely open.
Dim.
Fading.
His body refused to move.
His mind drifted at the edge of consciousness.
And yet—
He could still hear.
Still feel.
Still exist.
Barely.
Azravael crouched slightly.
"…Still alive?" he muttered, amused.
His gaze shifted to Omega's lower body.
"Let's fix that."
From within his coat, Azravael pulled out a weapon.
A sleek, black firearm.
But it was no ordinary gun.
The moment it appeared, the surrounding mages recoiled instinctively.
"…That's… anti-bullet thaumaturgy…"
"No…"
"…That's designed to destroy circuits…"
Azravael smirked.
"Correct."
He raised the weapon casually.
And fired.
BANG.
The shot echoed sharply across the battlefield.
The bullet pierced through Omega's leg.
And in that instant—
Something inside him shattered.
Not flesh.
Not bone.
But something deeper.
His magic circuits.
They collapsed.
One by one.
Like a network losing power.
The connection to mana—
Gone.
The flow of energy—
Silenced.
Omega's body twitched slightly.
But no scream came.
No cry.
No resistance.
He simply… endured.
Because he no longer had the strength to do anything else.
Azravael exhaled softly.
"There."
He lowered the weapon.
"Now you can't even feel mana."
His smile returned.
"Pathetic."
Omega's vision blurred.
The world dimmed further.
The sounds around him faded into distant echoes.
So this… is the end…
His thoughts slowed.
Heavy.
Distant.
Yet strangely—
Calm.
His eyes began to close.
Not in fear.
Not in regret.
But in quiet acceptance.
The battlefield faded from his awareness.
And for a moment—
There was peace.
Azravael raised his hand again.
Dark energy gathered rapidly, swirling into a concentrated mass of destruction.
"Let's finish this," he said coldly.
The power intensified.
The air trembled.
The mages flinched.
No one moved.
No one could.
Omega Heinriel—
The knight who had stood at the edge of victory—
Was about to die.
Azravael thrust his hand forward.
The attack launched.
A direct strike.
Unavoidable.
Absolute.
And then—
It stopped.
No—
It didn't stop.
It changed direction.
The energy twisted mid-flight.
Distorted.
Reversed.
And in the next instant—
It shot back.
Straight at Azravael.
"…What?"
BOOM.
The explosion engulfed him.
The impact sent shockwaves across the battlefield as Azravael was forced backward, his body skidding across the ground.
Smoke filled the air.
Silence followed.
The mages stared in stunned disbelief.
"…What just happened…?"
A knight turned frantically.
"Who did that?!"
Azravael rose slowly from the smoke, his expression no longer amused.
No longer calm.
But irritated.
Angry.
"…Who is there?"
His voice echoed sharply.
"Show yourself."
The mist shifted.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
And then—
A figure emerged.
The moment he stepped forward—
The atmosphere changed.
Not violently.
Not overwhelmingly.
But… absolutely.
He stood at approximately five foot ten.
His posture relaxed.
His presence effortless.
He wore a perfectly tailored business suit, dark and refined, contrasting strangely against the battlefield of destruction.
His hair—
Pure white.
Not aged.
Not faded.
But radiant.
Almost… heavenly.
His eyes—
Golden.
Not the sharp gold of power.
But a warm, luminous gold filled with life.
Hope.
Certainty.
His face—
Strikingly handsome.
Perfectly structured.
Calm.
A natural charisma radiated from him, like that of a king who had never needed to prove his authority.
Even his presence alone made the surrounding mages hesitate.
"…Who… is that…?"
"…I've never seen him before…"
"…That aura…"
It was not oppressive.
Not heavy.
And yet—
No one dared to ignore it.
Azravael narrowed his eyes.
"…You."
His voice carried hostility.
"Who are you?"
The man smiled.
A gentle, confident smile.
Not mocking.
Not arrogant.
Simply certain.
"My name is Raphael Arzenon."
The name echoed across the battlefield.
A few mages blinked in confusion.
"…Raphael…?"
"…Arzenon…?"
But others—
Froze.
"…Wait…"
"…That Arzenon…?"
The man continued calmly.
"I'm seventeen years old."
He adjusted his sleeve slightly.
"A mage."
A brief pause.
His golden eyes lifted to meet Azravael's crimson gaze.
"And your next opponent."
Silence.
Heavy.
Unmoving.
Azravael stared at him.
Then—
He laughed.
Low.
Dangerous.
"…Another human?"
His aura flared slightly.
"Do you have any idea what you're facing?"
Raphael did not move.
Did not react.
His smile remained unchanged.
"I do."
His voice was calm.
Steady.
Certain.
Azravael's grin twisted.
"Then come."
Dark energy surged again.
"Die with the rest of them."
But Raphael—
Simply stood there.
Unshaken.
Behind him—
Omega Heinriel's fading vision flickered.
Through half-open eyes—
He saw the figure.
White hair.
Golden eyes.
A presence completely different from anything he remembered.
…Who…?
Recognition did not come.
Not fully.
Not yet.
But something—
Felt familiar.
Something deep within him stirred faintly.
Raphael did not look back.
His gaze remained fixed on Azravael.
But his presence—
Shifted slightly.
As if acknowledging Omega's existence without turning.
The battlefield held its breath.
Two figures stood at its center.
One, a monster of death and destruction.
The other—
A calm, radiant unknown.
And between them—
The fallen knight.
The stage was set once more.
For a battle no one had expected.
At Akane Tohsaka side of things The screen flickered.
Smoke cleared.
And the figure stood revealed.
Back at the Tohsaka Estate—
Silence consumed the room.
Akane Tohsaka stood frozen before the television.
Her breathing had not recovered from her scream.
Her hands still trembled.
Her eyes still burned from what she had just witnessed—
Omega Heinriel, cut down.
Broken.
Dying.
And yet—
Everything stopped.
Because of him.
The moment the white-haired figure stepped into view—
Akane's heart skipped.
Once.
Then again.
Harder.
"…No way…"
Her voice came out as a whisper.
Barely audible.
Her eyes widened, locking onto the screen as if afraid he might disappear if she blinked.
That face.
That presence.
That voice.
"My name is Raphael Arzenon."
The words echoed again in her mind—
And something inside her shattered.
"…Raphael…?"
Her lips parted.
Disbelief.
Relief.
Shock.
All of it crashed into her at once.
He was alive.
He was here.
He had come.
Her legs nearly gave out.
She staggered slightly, one hand instinctively reaching for the edge of the table to steady herself.
But her eyes never left the screen.
Not for even a second.
Because—
He looked different.
Not just older.
Not just stronger.
Different.
His white hair shimmered under the battlefield's dim light like something unreal.
His golden eyes—
She felt her breath hitch.
They weren't cold.
They weren't distant.
They were warm.
Alive.
And filled with something she couldn't even begin to describe.
Her heart began to race.
Fast.
Too fast.
"…W-what is this…"
Her cheeks flushed.
A faint pink spread across her face without permission.
She had always known Raphael was attractive.
Even when he was awkward.
Even when he avoided her.
Even when he tried to disappear into the background.
She had seen it.
Felt it.
But this—
This was something else entirely.
Her mind blanked.
Her thoughts stumbled over themselves.
Her heart—
Completely out of control.
"…He's…"
Her voice trembled.
"…too… unfair…"
Her fingers tightened against her dress.
Her gaze softened.
Then sharpened.
Then softened again.
Her entire being felt like it was spiraling.
Every small movement he made on screen—
Adjusting his sleeve.
Standing calmly.
Looking forward without fear—
It all struck her far deeper than it should have.
"…Idiot…"
Her lips trembled into a small, emotional smile.
"…Why do you always show up like this…"
Her chest ached.
Not from pain.
But from something overwhelming.
Something she had tried to bury.
Tried to suppress.
Tried to forget.
And yet—
The moment she saw him again—
It all came back.
Stronger than ever.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
Loud.
Relentless.
She didn't notice when she took a step closer to the screen.
Didn't notice how her entire world had narrowed to just him.
To Raphael Arzenon.
Standing there.
Alive.
Radiant.
Unreachable.
"…Raphael…"
His name slipped from her lips like a prayer.
And she didn't even realize she was smiling.
Softly.
Gently.
Beautifully.
As if everything else no longer mattered.
Behind her—
Samuel Arzenon watched.
And his expression darkened.
At first, it was subtle.
A slight twitch of his brow.
A tightening of his jaw.
But as seconds passed—
It became obvious.
"…Oi."
No response.
Akane didn't move.
Didn't react.
Didn't even acknowledge that he existed.
Her entire focus—
Locked on the screen.
On him.
Samuel's eye twitched.
"Akane."
Still nothing.
Her lips parted slightly as she continued staring.
Her cheeks still faintly flushed.
Her eyes shining in a way he had never seen directed at him.
Not once.
Not ever.
"…Are you serious right now?"
His voice sharpened.
Annoyance creeping in.
But Akane didn't answer.
Didn't even hear him.
Because Raphael had taken a step forward on screen.
And her breath caught again.
Samuel's smile disappeared completely.
"…You're ignoring me?"
His tone dropped.
Cold.
Dangerous.
But still—
Nothing.
To Akane—
He was no longer there.
He might as well not exist.
That—
That was what broke something in him.
"…Tch."
Samuel clicked his tongue sharply, irritation flashing openly across his face now.
"So that's how it is."
His eyes narrowed as he looked at the screen.
At Raphael.
At the man who had unknowingly taken Akane's entire attention—
Without even being there.
"…That bastard…"
His voice dropped to a mutter.
Annoyed.
Displeased.
Threatened.
But Akane didn't hear it.
Couldn't hear it.
Because in her world—
There was only one thing that mattered now.
And he was standing on that battlefield.
Facing death.
Without fear.
Her hands slowly clenched.
Her heart pounded harder.
"…Don't die…"
She whispered.
Soft.
Fragile.
"…Please…"
The television screen flickered again—
As the battle between Raphael Arzenon and Azravael Karture was about to begin.
And in that moment—
Akane Tohsaka forgot everything else.
The wedding.
The chains.
The fear.
The past.
All of it faded.
Because the person she loved—
Had finally appeared again.
And she could do nothing—
But watch.
Back at The battlefield trembled in silence.
Ash drifted like falling snow.
The air was thick with the scent of blood, burned earth, and something far more unnatural.
At the center of it all—
Raphael Arzenon stood.
Still.
Unmoving.
His golden eyes slowly shifted.
From the enemy—
To the fallen.
Omega Heinriel.
For a brief moment, time seemed to slow.
Raphael's gaze traced the scene in absolute clarity.
The severed body.
The unnatural stillness.
The golden blade—Caliburn—embedded through his chest like a cruel monument.
There was no panic in Raphael's expression.
No outward grief.
But something inside him—
Tightened.
"…So this is what you've done."
His voice was quiet.
Too quiet.
He stepped forward.
A Church knight nearby, still trembling, instinctively raised his weapon—a black key.
A sacramental blade.
Before the knight could even react—
Raphael reached out.
And took it.
Effortlessly.
The knight froze.
"…W-wait—"
Raphael didn't even look at him.
The black key rested lightly in his hand now, held between his fingers like a conductor's baton rather than a weapon.
A wand.
A tool.
A symbol.
Then—
He looked up.
At Azravael.
And his eyes—
Turned cold.
Not angry.
Not enraged.
Just—
Cold.
"…Why did you do it?"
The question was simple.
But it carried weight.
The kind of weight that silences a battlefield.
Azravael blinked.
Then—
He laughed.
Loud.
Unrestrained.
"Hah… hahahaha…!"
He spread his arms slightly, his expression twisting into something grotesque.
"Why?" he repeated mockingly.
His crimson eyes gleamed with madness.
"Because it's fun."
The words fell like poison.
Several mages flinched.
Some turned away.
Others clenched their fists in silent rage.
But Raphael—
Did not react.
Not immediately.
Azravael lifted his right arm lazily, as if preparing another attack—
And froze.
His expression changed instantly.
"…What?"
His arm—
Was gone.
Cleanly severed at the shoulder.
No blood spray.
No warning.
Just—
Gone.
Silence fell again.
He stared at the empty space where his arm should have been.
"…What is this…?"
The mages gasped.
"…When did that—?"
"…I didn't even see him move…!"
Azravael's pupils trembled slightly.
For the first time—
Confusion.
Then—
A voice.
Right behind him.
"You speak too much."
Azravael's body stiffened.
Too late.
Raphael Arzenon was already there.
No sound.
No presence.
Just—
There.
And then—
Motion.
Raphael spun.
His leg cut through the air with precise, controlled force.
At the same time—
The black key in his hand glowed faintly.
> Reinforcement — Applied.
The structure of his leg, his bones, his muscles—
Rewritten.
Strengthened beyond human limits.
The kick landed.
CRACK.
Azravael's jaw shattered instantly.
The force—
Unimaginable.
His body launched backward—
Not meters.
Not hundreds of meters.
Miles.
Fifty miles—
In a single instant.
The shockwave alone tore through the battlefield, splitting the ground and sending debris flying.
The mages could only stare.
"…What… was that…?"
"…That wasn't Reinforcement…"
"…That was something else…"
But Raphael was already gone.
The space he stood in distorted—
And vanished.
Fifty miles away.
Azravael's body slammed into the earth, carving a trench through forest and stone alike. Trees shattered. The ground ruptured.
Before he could even recover—
A shadow appeared behind him.
Raphael.
Already there.
Waiting.
His right fist ignited.
Not ordinary fire.
Not magecraft as they understood it.
This was something deeper.
Denser.
Hotter.
> Temperature: Comparable to solar core output.
The air screamed.
The forest ignited before the attack even landed.
Raphael's voice was calm.
Too calm.
"Stay down."
And then—
He struck.
The punch drove directly into Azravael's chest.
BOOM.
Fire exploded outward.
Not burning—
Consuming.
Azravael screamed.
A raw, inhuman sound as his body was engulfed in solar-level flames.
"AAAAAAAH—!!"
His flesh burned.
His regeneration struggled—
Failed—
Restarted—
Only to be burned again.
Desperately, he pushed himself away, tearing free from the inferno, his body half-charred, barely holding form.
"Damn you—!!"
His voice cracked with fury and something new.
Fear.
"I refuse to lose to a mere human like you!!"
His hands trembled as he raised them.
The air warped.
> Atomic Manipulation — Activated.
Reality itself began to shift.
The structure of matter around Raphael distorted.
Atoms destabilized.
Rewritten.
Erased.
But—
Raphael didn't move.
Didn't dodge.
Didn't react—
At least, not visibly.
Inside—
Everything moved.
> Absolute Appraisal — 0.0001 seconds
Analysis complete.
Cielux's voice echoed calmly.
> "Atomic structure manipulation identified."
"Replication possible."
Raphael's lips curved slightly.
"…Got it."
And in the same instant—
> True Mimicry — Executed.
His own atomic structure stabilized.
Locked.
Rewritten to resist interference.
Azravael's attack—
Cancelled.
Completely.
Azravael froze.
"…What…?"
His voice shook.
"…How is this… possible…?"
His eyes widened.
"This is madness… a human shouldn't be able to do this!"
Raphael stepped forward.
Slowly.
Calmly.
A faint smirk appeared on his face.
"…Human?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"Is that what you think I am?"
The air changed.
Elemental forces began to gather around him.
Fire.
Water.
Earth.
Lightning.
Plasma.
Solar energy.
All of them—
Converging.
Not clashing.
Not unstable.
Perfectly synchronized.
Perfectly controlled.
Even Cielux paused for a fraction of a second.
> "Master… this output—"
Raphael's expression turned serious.
Completely.
"…I'll end this now."
Azravael's body trembled.
His instincts screamed.
His mind broke.
"No… no—!"
Tears formed in his eyes.
"I don't want to die—!!"
Raphael looked at him.
And spoke—
Without emotion.
"You won't die, Azravael."
A pause.
Then—
"You'll simply be erased."
Something inside Azravael shattered.
He turned—
Ran—
Desperately trying to escape.
But it didn't matter.
Raphael raised his hand.
The black key in his grip burned with energy, acting as a focus point for the overwhelming convergence of elements.
Then—
He spoke.
"Ultimate Nubia."
The world disappeared.
Light consumed everything.
A detonation beyond scale.
The forest—
Gone.
Not burned.
Not destroyed.
Erased.
Not even ash remained.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Absolute.
Where Azravael once stood—
Nothing.
No body.
No soul.
No trace.
Complete annihilation.
Raphael lowered his hand.
The light faded.
The black key dimmed.
His expression—
Unchanged.
"…That was easy."
Miles away—
The mages and knights stood frozen.
Their eyes wide.
Their bodies unmoving.
"…What… did he just do…?"
"…That wasn't magecraft…"
"…That was… something else…"
A knight dropped to his knees.
"…He erased him…"
Another whispered.
"…Not killed…"
"…Erased…"
Their gazes slowly turned toward Raphael.
And what they felt—
Was not relief.
Not gratitude.
But something far deeper.
Awe.
And fear.
Because standing before them was not just a mage.
Not just a savior.
But something they could not understand.
Something that did not belong within their world's rules.
And yet—
Had just saved it.
Raphael Arzenon stood alone in the aftermath.
Calm.
Silent.
Unshaken.
As if what he had just done—
Meant nothing at all.