The forces of Ishtar clashed against the royal family's unity, their strength drawn not just from their abilities but from their unshakable bond.
Arthuria stood at the heart of the battlefield, her golden armor gleaming as if it reflected the very light of the heavens.
Excalibur burned bright in her hands, its radiant energy slicing through the hordes of celestial beasts sent by Ishtar. Each swing of her blade seemed to part the very skies, carving paths of golden fire that left nothing but ash in their wake.
Gilgamesh stood at her side, the Gates of Babaloniya opening all around him. Swords, spears, and treasures of unimaginable power rained down like a storm, obliterating entire ranks of enemies.
Eugene darted through the chaos, leaping from wall to wall with a precision and speed that left the monsters disoriented.
Portals opened and closed at his command, each one a gateway to another vantage point.
He had mastered the art of mobility, a skill Rhyssand had imparted to him.
From these portals, Eugene launched devastating spells, bursts of arcane energy that tore through enemy lines with surgical accuracy.
"Elaine!" Eugene shouted over the din. "What do you need?"
Elaine, perched on a high vantage point, had her bow drawn, her golden hair fluttering in the wind. Her sharp eyes scanned the battlefield, calculating trajectories with precision. "I need a portal," she called back. "One that gets me closer to the city gates but keeps me out of reach!"
Eugene complied with her request, opening a shimmering gateway just above the battlefield.
Elaine did not hesitate; she leaped through, emerging high above the fray, where she nocked three arrows at once. Her strikes were true, piercing through multiple monsters with every shot. From her elevated position, she rained death upon the battlefield, her arrows glowing with an ethereal light.
Arthur's strikes were precise, calculated, each one carrying the weight of his determination.
Beside him, Rhyssand was a blur of motion, his wings shimmering like a celestial comet. He appeared and disappeared across the battlefield, his attacks striking from unexpected angles. His own kin could not keep up with his speed, their confusion leaving them vulnerable to his relentless assault.
Artizea fought with the same determination as her family, her spear whirling in arcs of deadly elegance.
Her dragon-infused strength allowed her to hold entire groups of monsters at bay. Each thrust and sweep of her spear left trails of energy that exploded on impact, thinning Ishtar's monstrous ranks.
"Elaine! Cover me!" Artizea shouted, plunging her spear into the ground to send a shockwave through a cluster of enemies.
"On it!" Elaine replied, losing another volley of arrows from her portal vantage point.
Ishtar's monstrous legions began to falter under the onslaught—divine beasts fell, corrupted angels scattered, and the skies trembled as mortal will met godly fury. But then Excalibur grew heavy in Arthuria's hands. The very air around her trembled, the sword humming like it no longer wished to be held. Her arms shook. She dropped to one knee.
Gilgamesh caught her before she could fall. His voice was soft—softer than she'd heard in years. "Arthuria… It is time."
She looked up at him, wide-eyed. Then turned her gaze to Arthur—their firstborn son—across the battlefield, pulling a bloodied sword from a celestial corpse. "He's not ready," she whispered, "He still carries guilt… fear… of what he could become of him should he choose a path of violence—"
Gilgamesh gave a half-smile. "So do you." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "So do I." She lowered her gaze. A tear slid down her cheek, falling into the dirt. He gently nudged her chin toward the battlefield. "Look at them, my love." Below, across the torn and bloodied plain, Arthur and Cesealia fought side by side—young, determined, reckless with the kind of hope only the brave carried. Their blades danced through chaos. Their movements, though unpolished, held unity.
Gilgamesh's voice softened. "It is time for them… to face their future battles, without the past."
And then Stolas reared by the sound of lightning bolts. She fell hard, rolling across the dirt.
"Cesealia!" Arthur called out, panic flashing in his eyes as a towering celestial brute descended toward her, spear poised.
Arthuria did not hesitate. She turned and hurled Excalibur across the field."Arthur—" she shouted.
The sword soared, spinning like a streak of starlight.
Arthur leapt forward, catching it mid-air just as the brute raised his weapon. And in that moment, the sword recognized him. The blood of kings. The will of heroes. Excalibur's magic coursed through his veins, whispering purpose to his soul.
And something changed.
His vision sharpened.
His movements are faster.
His instincts honed. His mind? Filled with Clear. And Efficient ways to kill a celestial. He looked to his mother. Arthuria—smiling faintly through exhaustion—nodded.
In one fluid motion, he brought Excalibur down, the radiant blade cleaving through the enemy in a burst of divine energy.
Silence fell around them. Then—
He turned and knelt beside Cesealia, extending his hand.
She took it, wincing but grinning through the pain.
"Nice upgrade," she teased, glancing at the sword.
Arthur gave a breathless chuckle, tightening his grip on her hand.
"You alright?"
She stood beside him, brushing dirt from her shoulder. "Takes more than a fall to stop me."
EUGENE
The golden light of the setting sun cast a halo around him, making him seem almost otherworldly. Unlike his warrior siblings, he was no swordsman—but his strength lay elsewhere.
Reaching the summit, Eugene turned to face the battlefield below.
From this vantage point, he could see it all—the ebb and flow of the fight, the moments of victory and despair. Closing his eyes, he extended his hand, and his book answered his call, as it elevated, channeling his will.
The sky above the city shifted, the stars themselves seeming to tremble in anticipation. Around the city, the ancient constructs that had protected the walls of Babaloniya for millennia—awakened.
Even thou his father did not give him the okay, he secretly worked on them. Now—All 360 of them will protect the kingdom and people.
Eugene's voice rang out, steady and powerful, echoing across the battlefield:
"By the authority of the second prince of the human realm, born from the blood of kings, I command thee. Dingirs of the great wall, heed my call!"
The constructs aligned in perfect formation, their energy converging into a singular, devastating force.
The air screamed.
From the heavens descended a torrent of celestial light—a purging force meant to erase anything touched by divine corruption.
Arthur reacted first, his instincts taking over, "Everyone—down!" he roared, thrusting his sword into the earth.
Runes flaring along the blade as a massive golden barrier over the Pendragon line. But beyond the barrier—Rhyssandstood exposed. The celestial light turned toward him, recognizing the mixed divinity in his blood.
He looked up once, saw the descending flare.
"Rhys!" Artizea shouted, but the sound was drowned in thunder.
Before the light could strike, Arthur's blade shifted. With a growl that tore through his throat, he stepped out from the barrier's reach, sword flashing as he intercepted one of the constructs charging toward Rhyssand. The impact sent him skidding through the dirt, sparks blazing where steel met light. The construct shattered under the force.
Arthur turned, chest heaving, as he met Rhyssand's gaze, shock flickering for the briefest instant.
Arthur spat onto the ground, lowering his blade. "Don't get the wrong idea," he said hoarsely. "I did not do it for you." He then looked up, his sword lowering slightly as he took in the sight. "He finished it, really finished it…"
Beside them, Gilgamesh stood with his arms crossed, a proud smirk forming on his lips. "That's my boy," he said, his voice filled with unmistakable pride.
With a single, fluid motion, Eugene's book of spells opened, and The Dingirs fired in unison, a cascade of golden energy raining down upon the enemy.
The force was immense, shaking the very earth and leaving the enemy ranks in utter disarray.
As the light faded, Eugene lowered his staff, his chest rising and falling with exertion.
Though he was exhausted, a small smile played on his lips.
For once, he had proven himself—not just as a mage, but as a son of Gilgamesh and Arthuria Pendragon.
From the battlefield, Artizea and Arthur looked up at the palace, their expressions a mixture of awe and pride.
"That's our baby brother up there," Arthur said with a grin.
"And he just saved all our asses," Artizea added, her tone soft with admiration.
The battle wasn't over, but Eugene's intervention had turned the tide.
And for the first time, he stood not in the shadow of his legendary family, but as a legend in his own right.
They could not be prouder.
The sight of his children fighting alongside Rhys, the celestial, was truly awe-inspiring.
But then, the ground beneath Gilgamesh wavered. His mighty stance faltered as the toll of the curse took its grip once more. He staggered, clutching his side, and Arthuria was instantly at his side, her face a mix of concern and determination.
"Gil!" she called, steadying him.
"I am fine," he growled, though his pale complexion betrayed his words.
Gilgamesh fell to his knees, the curse surging through him like wildfire. Arthur and Rhys rushed to his side, while Artizeaheld the line.
As they laid him on the grand bed, Eugene resumed his efforts to contain the curse.
Arthuria sat at her husband's side, gripping his hand tightly, her usually unshakable demeanor cracking.
"Rest, Father," Artizea said softly, her voice carrying both authority and tenderness. "I will handle this."
She looked over at the battlefield, her jaw tightening. She gave orders with swift precision. "Arthur, hold the city's defenses. Protect the people."
Arthur hesitated for only a moment before nodding. He gave a sharp look at Artizea. "Do not get yourself killed. Or him," he added, glaring at Rhys.
Artizea gave him a wry smile. "We'll handle it."
"Thank you, Arthur," she murmured, her head resting against his shoulder.
Arthur nodded and said with a grin, "What kind of little brother would I be if I did not save my big sister at least once?"
As Gilgamesh, supported by Arthuria, retreated to the palace, and Arthur stood firm to protect the city, the battlefield was left in the hands of Rhys and Artizea.
Together, they turned to face the remaining forces, their combined power a beacon of hope amidst the chaos.
They fought in perfect synchrony, their movements a deadly dance as they faced wave after wave of enemies. Yet, even amidst the battle, Artizea's heart felt heavier than the weight of her armor.
Ishtar unleashed a wave of divine energy, her wrath focused entirely on her fallen son.
But he stood firm, his spear meeting her assault head-on. The clash of their powers shook the earth, but Rhyssand refused to yield. Ishtar, though visibly worn, grinned maniacally.
"You may defeat my forces, but the curse will take your father. And when it does, I will return to claim what is mine."
With a heavy heart, Rhyssand turned to Artizea, his eyes locking onto hers.
"Artizea," he said, voice firm and steady despite the chaos around them. "I know how stubborn you are when it comes to listening or obeying anything. But right now I need you to hear me when I say—I need you to trust me."
"Then tell me what is going on, Rhys," she snapped, stepping forward, refusing to budge. "Or I'm not moving!"
Rhyssand closed his eyes for a moment. "Fin—" His hand lifted. "Let there be darkness."
A ripple of shadow swallowed the ground. Fin's small form burst with light—bones shifting, feathers erupting, muscles enlarging until a massive griffin stood where the childlike spirit had been. Half-lion, half-eagle, wings unfurled with a thunderous snap. Fin lowered his head, planting his claws into the earth between Artizea's collapsing body and the demons emerging from the dark horizon.
"I'm not telling you to move," Rhyssand said.
Artizea opened her mouth—ready to defy him as always. But his hand touched her shoulder. Celestial light exploded around her, wrapping her like a binding warmth she could not break.
"Fin," Rhyssand commanded, "Protect her with your life."
Fin's voice was deeper now, rumbling through the griffin's chest. "Got it."
"Rhys—Rhyssand—!" Artizea stammered.
"Yes, Artizea?" he replied calmly.
"I am talking to you!"
"I am listening," he answered.
Before she could step back, he wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her with surprising gentleness and placing her onto Fin's back.
"Release me this instant!" she yelled, struggling.
"No."
"What are you doing?!" she screamed, breathless.
"Hold on," he said, gripping Fin's mane and meeting her eyes, "and do not let go."
"Rhys—!"
He turned to her, his expression softening. "I need you to trust me, one more time."
The flames in her eyes are flaring as Fin leapt into the air with a powerful roar of wind, wings beating, lifting them above the battlefield.
The cold struck her face, the world shrinking beneath them—the demons, the horde, even Rhyssand becoming smaller and smaller.
"Eugene," Rhyssand's voice came through, strained yet steady, "Good Job, I am most proud of you. Now I need you to use the spell I taught you."
"Uh—thanks—But—" Eugene's voice trembled as he replied, "I kind of can't!" he panted, "I am not strong enough for something like this, especially not after that!"
"Yes, you can," Rhyssand said, his tone unyielding. "You are stronger than you think, Eugene. I believe in you." He paused, a faint smile audible in his voice. "It is been an honor knowing you, little mage."
Eugene's heart raced, but he closed his eyes, summoning every ounce of courage and magic within him. "Why does this sound like a farewell?—I am not doing this if it is!"
Rhyssand glanced at Artizea as she fought, "Then will you do it for your sister?"
Eugene's head snapped up. Realization kicking in, and with a reluctant sigh, "I will do it," he whispered.
"Thank you. Oversized raven out." Rhyssand sighed, "Mother," he bellowed, "Show yourself—" He needed her full attention span to be on him for a long enough time.
"You dare challenge your mother?" Ishtar's voice carried over the chaos.
"I made you a promise, did I not?" Rhyssand said as he stretched his free hand. A shimmering portal began to form, a gateway to the galaxy itself. The sky above them began to shift, the stars aligning in patterns too perfect for mortal comprehension. A portal tore open, revealing the infinite expanse of darkness. Shapes moved in the shadows. Dozens. Then hundreds. They circled the battlefield, teeth bared, fur standing like thunder in motion. From the darkness, a familiar presence tore through the ranks—
Azeraphel froze. "What the fuck is that?"
Rhyssand clenched his jaw.
The death hound growled, then unleashed another deep, bone-rattling howl. A howl split the sky. Not human. Not celestial. Something older. A massive bloodhound stepped from the smoke. Its fur rippled like liquid shadow, and its eyes burned a violent magenta.
Across the field, the celestials descended in perfect formation—blinding figures of light, their armor forged from starlight, their blades singing with holy resonance. When their wings unfurled, the world itself seemed to bow beneath the radiance.
And then—impact.
Chaos swallowed order.
A celestial warrior met a demon beast head-on, their collision sending a shockwave of divine fire and shadow dust spiraling outward. The beast snapped its jaws around the celestial's arm, only for the angelic figure to burst into a flare of pure gold, burning the creature's mouth from the inside.
Another demon—an Ashen Howler—lunged at a cluster of celestials, its scream distorting the air like torn metal. The celestials formed a shield wall, their wings snapping forward, feathers razor-sharp. The Howler skidded as its own reflection shattered against the divine barrier, then a spear of light pierced its chest, pinning it to the ground. Both sides fought with the savagery of creatures. But the celestials resurged and regenerated again and again. But they could bedriven back. Forced to retreat. Forced to yield.
A tremor shuddered through the ground as more celestials descended in burning arcs, their blades singing with divine fury. The demons buckled under the onslaught.
Rhyssand stepped forward, raising his hand to the sky.
Back on the balcony, Eugene stumbled but quickly steadied himself, his fingers trembling as he traced the spell's runes in the air. The magic orb Rhyssand had given him flared to life, showing Rhyssand's face for a fleeting moment, giving him a wink.
"You can do this."
Eugene took a deep breath, his determination hardening. "For my family." With that, he unleashed the spell, a golden barrier erupting around the city, shielding it from the devastation Rhyssand was about to unleash. Streams of light cascaded around them, wrapping Rhyssand in a radiant aura that burned brighter than the sun. The energy coalesced into a sphere in his hand, pulsating with unimaginable power.
Below, Ishtar raised her hand. Her voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
Rhyssand's grip tightened. With one final chant, he hurled the stars' might. The explosion that followed was cataclysmic, a blinding cascade of light and sound that tore through the battlefield. In a split-second decision, Ishtar used all her authority to send her enemies back to their realm, to retreat, while she stayed, taking the breath of the stars.
Azreaphel crashed into the rubble, one wing mangled, the other pinned under a fragment of shattered spire. The Blood-Hound—Rhyssand's summoned beast of smoke and bone—lunged with a guttural snarl, jaws opening wide enough to shear straight through the angelic wing. But before it could bite down.
"No— that was not what we agreed to.", Rhyssand barked.
The Blood-Hound skidded to a halt, hackles raised, growling low and resentful, but it obeyed.
Azreaphel glared up at Rhyssand descended, landing amidst the devastation. He turned to see Ishtar, the once-radiant Queen of the Heavens, now trembling in defeat, her body barely upright. Her divine light flickered like a dying flame.
"Your Grace—" Azreaphel rushed to her, still wounded, refusing to leave when she commanded, he felt her pulse, weak. "Oh… You are a dead man now, Rhys…"
But he was met with nothing but silence. Then there was lightning. Rhyssand had known this moment was coming since the first time he crossed the boundary between heaven and earth.
Just then, A shadow of clouds swept the earth's surface. There was thunder, it roared unlike any storm known to man.
Azreaphel mocked. "Our dearest Rhys here is going to be the first Prince of Heaven to fall from grace…", his voice dripping with venom. "Poetic, is it now? Your time is running out," he taunted, "The price to pay is now yours to bear. It will bring me nothing but great joy to do so, and when I take everything that is yours… your throne, your destiny… everything!"
"You have always wanted this, haven't you? If you wish it so badly," Rhyssand hissed, raising his spear, "Then take it."
Azreaphel lunged as the two clashed, their weapons sending shock waves that tore through the celestial plane. Rhyssand'sstrength, born from centuries of inherited battle experience, pushed Azreaphel back, his strikes growing more ferocious. He was ready to finish the fight.
As Rhyssand raised his spear for the final blow, a radiant figure stepped between them. Lighting flashed between them, hard enough to crack the ground. By the time he got up, he was frozen stiff. Massive wings flared, burning with raw celestial wrath.
The King of the Gods had returned. The battle had now turned. For the worse.