The battlefield had gone silent.
Mor'gan — the so-called butcher of borderlands, the greater demon who had razed settlements without hesitation — was on his knees.
His great frame trembled.
His sword lay discarded.
His breath came ragged.
Before him stood Sora.
Not as prey.
Not as saintess.
But as judgment.
The pressure of her presence alone crushed his will like a weighty shroud. A soft light gathered around her, not in violent bursts, but in a quiet, unyielding manner that spoke of undeniable fate.
Mor'gan's eyes darted about, panic flickering in his gaze.
"I—I surrender!" he croaked, his powerful voice now nothing more than a whisper..
The voice that once barked commands across battlefields now cracked like a cornered animal's. "Spare me! I was only hired! I'm a mercenary — nothing more! I don't care about the village, the ritual, any of it!"
He crawled frantically, claws scraping the dirt as he edged closer to her.
"I'll disappear! You'll never see me again!"
"Please… I don't want to die…"
Pathetic.
Sora watched him without expression.
The great demon who had once reveled in slaughter now cowered in the mud, trembling in the shadow of death.
Silence stretched between them.
Then, quietly—
Then, at last, she exhaled softly. "Answer my questions," she said, her voice steady and calm, "and I may consider sparing you."
Hope flared violently across Mor'gan's face.
"Yes! Yes—ask! I'll tell you everything!"
Her gaze sharpened.
"Why does your client require the sacrifice of an entire human settlement?"
"I—I don't know! I was only told to gather them alive!"
His panic-stricken response came far too quickly.
Sora's cyan threads pulsed once.
"You accepted a contract of mass slaughter without knowing its purpose?"
"I am paid for outcome, not intent."
She narrowed her eyes, the light around her fizzling with tension. "What motivates a demon like you? Surely you must have thought twice before attempting something in the territory of the Divine Sanctum."
"Just doing my job!" he pleaded, his voice trembling now. "I… I didn't think it would go this far! I thought… I thought it would be easy!"
Her stare sharpened.
"Who is your client?"
"…Anonymous. I've never seen them! We deal through magical contracts! Intermediaries!"
Her aura tightened.
"You expect me to believe a greater demon entered divine territory for an unknown employer."
He shifted.
"The intermediary handled identity shielding. Payment was made in advance through abyssal channels."
"What name did the intermediary use?"
"I do not know."
"What sigil?"
"I do not know."
"What realm?"
"I do not know."
Each answer is thinner than the last.
Evasive.
Cowardly.
Empty.
Sora's Life Authority brushed lightly against him, sensing fluctuations in his heartbeat, the tremors of fear, the subtle distortions of deceit.
Sora sensed his cowardice—a hollow shell of honesty that concealed vital truths.
After several more futile questions dissolved into the same rehearsed ignorance, she exhaled softly.
This had reached its limit.
"I see."
The warmth left her voice.
Mor'gan felt it immediately.
The shift.
Her presence transformed—not louder or harsher, but with an inevitability that sent shivers down his spine.
Sora felt her resolve crystallize. "You've done enough harm. You've inflicted pain upon innocent lives. You deserve to face judgment."
She stepped forward.
He flinched violently.
"W-Wait! I can find out more! I can bring you names! Give me time!"
"You were given time."
Her eyes held no hatred.
Only judgment.
"And you squandered it."
Mor'gan's terror peaked.
He felt it now.
Death.
Certain. Unavoidable.
And the pathetic mercenary mask he wore shattered.
His trembling ceased.
His spine straightened.
The groveling expression twisted into something sharp and vicious.
If he could not survive—
He would take her down with him.
As Sora lifted her hand to end him, Mor'gan slammed his palm against the ground and barked a guttural activation phrase.
His discarded greatsword hummed ominously.
Runes etched along its obsidian blade ignited crimson.
An artifact.
A relic he had unearthed in an ancient ruin during one of his earlier mercenary tasks—a weapon of considerable power—unstable and volatile. Its core lay cracked, its enchantments bound with self-destructive contingencies.
He had always kept one final escape.
The blade launched into the air, spinning toward Sora.
Not to strike—
But to detonate upon proximity.
Life screamed in warning.
The air warped.
The surrounding vegetation recoiled as the artifact's destructive curse awakened.
Sora sensed it instantly.
Her Life Authority perceived the collapse point.
The radius.
The lethal inevitability.
But she did not panic.
With Light as motion itself—being caught off guard was impossible.
Time stretched thin as silk.
She could step aside.
Become a streak of brilliance and let the explosion consume only empty air.
She prepared to sidestep—
"SORA!"
Null's voice tore through the battlefield.
She turned her head slightly.
He was running toward her.
Desperate.
An arrow left his bow mid-stride—not aimed at Mor'gan, but at the incoming greatsword.
To deflect it.
To protect her.
Right…
Null-san doesn't know about my current prowess.
He must think I'm in danger.
A small, fleeting warmth bloomed in her chest.
He was afraid for her.
Even now.
Even against that.
How sweet of him.
But she reconsidered the trajectory.
If she simply dodged, the detonation would engulf the area from which he was charging.
No.
She would not allow that.
Sora gathered her thoughts.
Light devoured her silhouette.
Her physical form dissolved into incorporeal brilliance—radiance untethered from flesh.
The artifact detonated.
A sphere of catastrophic force erupted outward. The ground inverted. Shockwaves shredded stone. Demonic mana exploded like a collapsing star.
But at its heart—
Brilliance.
Sora.
She weaponized life itself.
The forest answered her call.
Roots surged upward, weaving into barriers. Vines spiraled into stabilizing lattices. Ambient vitality condensed under her command.
She seized environmental life force—not to drain it into death, but to redirect and reinforce.
Offensively, she transmuted life energy into opposing force, counter-rotating the destructive surge.
The explosion roared against her.
Every second was strain.
Every second piled strain upon her, her Life Authority trembling.
Still, resolutely, she compressed the detonation inward—contained it.
Her body screamed from the strain, but she stood firm, unwavering.
Veins burned.
Vision blurred.
Limits approached.
Still—
She compressed the detonation inward.
Contained.
Resolved.
When the light finally faded, the land was scarred—but intact.
Sora stood at the epicenter.
Her glow flickered.
Her breathing was uneven.
Mor'gan stared, horror overtaking him.
Impossible.
His final escape.
Gone.
Failed.
With trembling anticipation, Sora raised one hand, summoning life force anew—recklessly pouring from her veins.
She converted an overwhelming quantity into pure mana.
Her body screamed under the strain.
But she did not falter.
Above her, the heavens ignited with brilliance.
*Heaven's Verdict*
The invocation resonated through sky and soil alike.
A pillar of divine judgment formed—condensed, absolute.
Mor'gan staggered backward.
"N-No… that artifact— it should have—"
The beam descended.
There was no explosion.
No spectacle.
Only pure, annihilative Purification.
His infernal form disintegrated layer by layer—flesh, flame, core—until nothing remained but dissipating motes of inert ash.
Silence reclaimed the battlefield.
Sora swayed.
The mana backlash surged through her weakened form.
Her legs gave way—
And before she struck the ground—
Arms caught her.
Null.
Breathing hard.
Hands trembling.
"Sora…!"
She couldn't answer, barely managing to lift her head.
But she felt him—his warmth, his unwavering presence, his fear, and his overwhelming relief.
And, for now, that was enough.
That was enough.
****
Death should have been the end.
Mor'gan felt it.
He remembered the descending radiance—that merciless pillar of Heaven's Verdict—how it peeled him apart layer by layer until even his demonic core degenerated
There had been no pain at the end.
Only dissolution.
Yet he found himself… aware.
He opened his eyes.
There was no sky.
No ground.
No air.
No darkness.
Even darkness implied contrast.
This was something deeper.
It denied definition.
A void not of shadow—but of sheer absence.
Mor'gan looked down at himself.
His form flickered faintly before him—no flesh, no armor, no infernal core.
Just a thinning outline of himself, composed of fading purple-black essence, unraveling thread by thread.
"…What…"
Fragments of memory returned.
The beam.
The Saintess.
The impossible light.
He staggered back—though there was nothing to stagger against.
"I should be—"
Silence.
His breath—if it could be called that—hitched.
"No. No. I— I should be dead. Purified. Scattered."
He had felt the end.
He clutched his head, confusion swirled.
"Then, Why am I still aware? Where is this? What is this place?"
A voice answered.
Calm.
Close.
Everywhere.
"Indeed."
Mor'gan froze.
"You are dead."
The words were not loud.
But they carried absolute certainty.
He spun around wildly.
"Who—?!"
There was nothing.
Only that endless, featureless expanse.
Then—
A ripple.
Not in space.
But in absence itself.
A figure began to take shape before him.
Like reality reconsidering its shape.
At first, only a silhouette.
Then—
Form.
Humanoid.
Familiar.
Mor'gan's eyes widened.
His soul trembled violently.
"…..You?"
Mor'gan's fading pupils constricted violently.
"No…"
The figure stepped forward.
It wore the face of the boy.
The one partly responsible for his death.
The companion of the saintess.
"It's you…"
He stopped.
Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
The face was the same.
But the details—
The hair was Pitch-black.
Not dark.
Not shadowed.
It absorbed the concept of light.
And the eyes—
There were no irises.
No whites.
Only jet-black depths.
Endless.
Bottomless.
Something in those eyes made Mor'gan's soul recoil instinctively.
Not demonic.
Not divine.
Not abyssal.
Not celestial.
Beyond categorization.
He stumbled backward.
Each step dissolved beneath him.
"What… happened to you?" he stammered. "What is this place? Where are we?!"
The figure regarded him quietly.
Then—
A slow, dark smile curved across its lips.
"We are between." A tilt of his head.
"Between what?!" Mor'gan's voice cracked..
"Life and death."
The words held no weight, yet they crushed him nonetheless.
The appearance of the boy horrified him most, especially those black features, he....
"This isn't real," he rasped. "You're just a projection. Some devilish hallucination before dying—"
"You are indeed dying. See, You're soul is dissipating," the black haired figure pointed at his soul form.
He looked at himself again.
His outline was fraying faster now.
Thin threads peeling away from his silhouette and dissolving into nothing.
"No— no, this is wrong!" He pointed shakily at the figure. "What happened to you?! Your eyes— your hair— that isn't human—"
The void gaze sharpened.
"You are not seeing my entirety."
Mor'gan's essence recoiled instinctively.
His voice trembled uncontrollably now.
"What are you?"
Silence stretched.
Then—
"I am what remains when restraint is removed."
The smile widened slightly.
Null stepped forward.
There was no movement in the void.
Yet he was suddenly closer.
"Do not mistake her mercy for mine."
The temperature of nothingness seemed to drop.
Mor'gan's dread deepened.
Null's gaze darkened further.
The void seemed to constrict.
Mor'gan's fear deepened—not as a fleeting emotion, but as an existential dread that weighed heavily on him.
Null studied him quietly.
"Do you remember the vulgar words you spoke?"
It was not a question.
The words were soft.
Measured.
But something beneath them vibrated with restrained violence.
Mor'gan's soul quivered.
Fragments surfaced.
His crude mockery.
His leering insinuations.
Her.
"You described her as prey."
Mor'gan's essence quaked violently.
"It was strategy— I was provoking—"
"You described," the voice continued evenly, "what you would do to her if given the chance."
The pitch-black pupils glowed faintly now—an obsessive gleam, stark against the non-existent surroundings.
If I get my hands on her, I'll—
"You imagined touching her."
The void stirred.
Mor'gan's soul convulsed.
"And then," Null continued, softer now, "you had thoughts of profaning her."
"You said you would break her."
Each word carved into the empty expanse like law.
Mor'gan backed away, frantically.
"I-I was just taunting! Just words! Demons talk like that! It meant nothing!"
Null laughed softly.
There was no sound.
But Mor'gan felt it tear through him.
"Words are thoughts given breath."
His smile widened.
""You should have kept them inside your skull."
Another step.
"You should have played your part."
His voice thinned into something razor sharp.
"A minor villain."
A faint tilt of his head.
"Died like one."
Mor'gan's soul began hollowing from within.
Edges thinning.
Structure weakening.
"Dying," Null whispered, "is too much mercy for you."
Mor'gan's dread reached a breaking point.
He still had not processed Null's wrongness.
Those dark-black eyes.
That unnatural existence.
"I'm already dead! Isn't that enough?!"
The figure regarded him thoughtfully.
"No."
The void began to engulf Mor'gan's fading form.
"She is not yours to imagine."
Darkness—no, absence—wrapped around him.
"For spouting such vulgarities at the one who matters to me."
Mor'gan screamed as pieces of his soul began dissolving—not burning, not shattering—
Deleting.
"W-Wait! I'll repent! I'll—"
"There will be no next life."
"No reincarnation."
"No infernal echo."
"No parallel instance."
Null's smile widened, gentle and dreadful.
Like a yandere devotion carved into nothingness itself.
"With every vulgar word you directed at the one who matters to me," Null said softly, "you sealed your fate."
The possessiveness in Null's tone was suffocating.
At this rate—
The absolute fear and despair alone would hollow mor'gan out.
Null's monologue slowed.
His complaints ended.
He looked at Mor'gan's trembling soul—now frayed, thinning from despair.
And smiled even darker.
"For your repeated offenses against what is mine," he declared quietly.
"You deserve to die permanently."
The void moved.
Not like shadow.
Like erasure.
It engulfed Mor'gan's very source of being.
"NO—!"
"NO—!"
His form began to dissolve—not into ash.
Not into light.
But into oblivion.
"No, no, no—WAIT—!"
Across space-time—
Across parallel selves—
Across branching possibilities.
Across any plane where a version of Mor'gan had ever existed—
Threads snapped.
Erased.
Deleted.
"NOOOOOOO—!"
His scream fractured into nothing.
Layer by layer—
Concept by concept—
He was removed.
Like a miswritten line deleted from a manuscript.
Only one thing was preserved—
The memory of him existing.
That was his sole mercy.
Nothing else.
Silence reclaimed the void.
Null stood alone.
His pitch-black locks partially covered the left part of his face and his pitch-black eyes slowly dimmed.
He exhaled softly.
"…That was generous of me."
A faint, mischievous curve returned to his lips.
"Especially when it involves about what is truly mine."
The void folded inward.
And the scene dissolved.