"Yes, Sylus… we shall see," Arion Vale spoke, his voice low but vibrating with the hum of suppressed power. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the armrest of the Throne of Light.
His golden eyes burned with a quiet, terrifying fury. "I will not allow the sanctity of this realm to fracture. I will protect my throne, no matter the cost in blood. And I thank you for the warning… because now, we know we must extinguish the mortal's life before his body learns to harmonize those two cursed powers."
Sylus stepped forward from the shadows of the hall, the darkness clinging to his robes like a loyal pet. A low, rumbling chuckle escaped his throat, echoing like thunder rolling over a broken mountain range.
"You cannot, Arion," Sylus said, his voice dripping with amusement. "I will protect him. He is no longer just a boy; he is my vessel. I used his fragile human flesh to cultivate the Flower of Askaroth. Once it blooms once it reaches its zenith I will harvest it by consuming the mortal ."
His lips stretched into a cruel, jagged grin that showed too many teeth. "Do you understand now? He is livestock."
Arion's gaze sharpened, disgust warring with anger in his expression.
"How vile," Arion whispered. "To you, a human life a soul is nothing more than soil for a garden?"
"Precisely!" Sylus roared, spreading his arms wide as if embracing the absurdity of the question. "The fleeting breath of a human is dust compared to the absolute power of the universe! Why mourn the candle when you can become the sun?"
Arion rose slowly from his throne. The air around him chilled.
"You forget one thing, Sylus. Han Jiyul already holds the Blood Ember. Do not mistake him for a simple vessel. We will unmake him before your flower ever has the chance to open."
Sylus sneered, looking at the Prince of Heaven with pity. "Struggle all you wish, Little Prince."
The tension in the room snapped like a dry twig.
One of the gods in the lower court stepped forward, slamming his fist against his armored chest. His voice rang out, sharp as a command.
"Heavens, hear me! I summon the vanguard!"
The Golden Hall trembled violently. Outside, the pristine skies darkened as if ink had been spilled across the sun.
A storm of blazing clouds began to swirl above the citadel, thunder cracking like the beat of war drums.
BOOM.
From the churning heavens, two hundred soldiers descended—the Heaven Guards. Their armor was forged from star-metal, gleaming brighter than diamonds, and their formation was flawless. They landed in unison, the impact shaking the very foundations of the palace.
They knelt as one, weapons glowing with holy intent.
The god who had summoned them smirked, turning his gaze back to the intruder.
"You declared war, Sylus. How ambitious. You may be strong, but these are high-ranking Heaven Guards, hand-picked to defend the Throne against threats like you. The Vale family appointed me their commander… and today, I declare your execution."
Sylus grinned, tilting his head as if listening to a pleasant song. "Is that so? Alright then, my man. Entertain me."
Outside the Golden Hall, the courtyard burned with the light of the storm. The white stone ground cracked under the sheer weight of the army's pressure.
The soldiers stood like a living wall of steel—shields interlocked, spears leveled, killing intent radiating in waves.
And facing them was Sylus.
Barehanded.
No armor. No sword. He stood tall, his black cloak swaying gently in the gale, looking less like a warrior and more like a predator inspecting a meal.
He walked forward slowly, his steps casual, as if strolling through his own garden.
Inside the hall, the gods watching felt their chests tighten. It wasn't his power that terrified them; it was his expression.
The smile on Sylus's face was more dangerous than the two hundred soldiers combined.
Arion Vale said nothing. He simply watched, knowing that the true depth of the Ashborn monster was about to be revealed.
The clash began.
"ADVANCE!"
The soldiers raised their shields as one, their spears thrust forward in a phalanx of death. The wall of diamond-steel marched, thundering footsteps shaking the earth.
Sylus closed his eyes. He lifted one hand lazily, flicking his wrist as if shooing away a fly.
BOOM!
Physics shattered.
The entire front line exploded into the air. Bodies were tossed like dry leaves in a hurricane. Shields bent inward, armor crumpled like paper, and spears snapped into splinters. Sylus hadn't even touched them.
"Telekinesis…" one of the gods whispered, his face draining of color.
Sylus opened his eyes. He moved.
He was faster than sight. A blur of shadow weaving through the light.
He gripped the empty air and clenched his fist.
CRUNCH.
An entire row of soldiers was crushed by invisible pressure, their armor folding in on itself. Screams were cut short, drowned out by the howling storm. Blood sprayed across the pristine white stones in a gruesome arc.
Still smiling, Sylus twisted his fingers.
Weapons ripped themselves from the hands of the living and the dead. Spears, swords, and halberds floated into the air, spinning around him like a whirlwind of steel.
The sky turned silver with blades.
Then—SHHHK!
Sylus snatched a long golden sword from the air.
He swung once.
It was a casual, horizontal slash. But the force behind it was absolute.
Thirty soldiers fell in silence, their bodies severed cleanly at the waist. Top halves slid from bottom halves, blood staining the gold of their armor crimson.
The remaining guards roared, their formation broken but their spirit unbroken. They charged, spears glowing with desperate divine energy.
Sylus stepped into the fray. He didn't fight; he danced.
Spears shattered against his skin as if striking a mountain. He spun—one arc, two arcs, ten arcs. Each swing reaped a harvest of lives. Heads rolled. Helmets split.
He was toying with them. With a mere thought, he froze a dozen guards in mid-air, holding them helpless while he dismantled their comrades. Then, bored, he released the invisible grip, letting their broken bodies rain down onto the stone.
"Is this the army chosen to guard Heaven's Throne?" Sylus mocked, his voice calm amidst the screaming chaos. "Pathetic. Is there no one who can make me sweat?"
The soldiers screamed, trying to reform their line, but Sylus raised both hands.
The ground beneath them cracked open, throwing them off balance. In that heartbeat of vulnerability, he moved.
A flash of steel.
Another thirty lives extinguished. Blood pooled around his boots, reflecting the lightning above.
Arion Vale stood unmoving in the hall, his face stern, but inside, a cold weight settled in his stomach. Sylus's power… it defied reason. It defied the laws of their world.
The storm roared louder, feeding off the violence.
Sylus lifted his stolen sword high. With a wave of his hand, hundreds of weapons on the battlefield—from the dead and the living—lifted into the air.
Blades hung above the survivors like brilliant, deadly stars.
Sylus whispered one word.
"Fall."
The sky rained steel.
The screams of the Heaven Guards were deafening. Armor shattered, flesh ripped, and the courtyard became a grinder of meat and metal. The soldiers tried to shield themselves, but no shield could block a storm that came from everywhere.
In less than three minutes, the proud army of two hundred had been reduced to silence.
The ground outside the Golden Hall was no longer white. It was a sea of broken bodies and shattered dreams, red rivers flowing toward the gutters.
And at the center of the graveyard stood Sylus.
Unharmed. Breathing evenly. Smiling.
His sword dripped a steady rhythm of blood onto the stone.
He looked up at the hall, locking eyes with the Prince. His crimson eyes glowed like the fires of hell.
"Arion Vale," Sylus called out, his voice cutting through the wind. "This… is the difference between a ruler and a conqueror. Do you still think you can protect your throne?"
The gods inside felt a chill crawl into their bones. None dared to answer. The silence was absolute.
Only Arion's voice, cold and brittle, broke the spell.
"This is not the end, Sylus. The Heavens will not fall to your madness."
Sylus raised his bloodied sword and pointed it directly at the Throne of Light.
"Then let them all come. I will cut them down… one by one."
The storm outside raged on, washing the blood into the earth.