Jhonathan knelt in the center of the broken battlefield.
What remained of his friends wasn't even bodies anymore—just drifting fragments, carried by wind like they were too tired to stay in the world.
He gathered them carefully in his hands.
As if dust could still be held.
As if it still meant something.
"…I promised…"
His voice cracked.
"…I promised to protect you all."
Silence answered him.
Not even the battlefield dared interrupt.
Tears fell, real and uncontrollable.
Not the tears of a warrior.
Not the tears of someone still fighting.
Just a boy who had finally run out of places to put his grief.
Then he stood.
Slowly.
Like something inside him refused to let the world end like this.
His abilities ignited all at once.
Phase energy. Lich authority. Brunhilde resonance. Everything.
The air collapsed around him.
He moved.
And the world failed to keep up.
Jhonathan appeared in front of Victoria and struck her with a single punch.
Not flashy.
Not dramatic.
Just absolute force.
She was launched into the sky.
Then—
thousands of light spears rained down from above.
A divine counterattack meant to erase him completely.
Jhonathan didn't dodge.
He endured it.
Every hit landed.
Every hit returned.
The damage rebounded through some unseen contract of existence and struck Victoria instead, forcing her descent back toward the ground.
She crashed.
The earth split beneath her impact.
Jhonathan stepped forward and kicked her across the field.
Brunhilde followed through the motion and struck the stone beside her, carving a line that marked the boundary of survival.
And then—
he stopped.
Not from exhaustion.
From betrayal.
Death stood behind him.
Calm.
Quiet.
Final.
"The art of killing is unpractical," Death said.
Jhonathan coughed blood and smiled faintly.
"…You're late."
A cane pierced through his side.
He looked down at it.
Then broke it with one motion.
Like it was nothing.
His red butlerwear tore in the wind, revealing silver eyes that no longer carried hope—but still refused surrender.
Inside them was sadness.
And something sharper.
Rage that had nowhere left to go.
Grimmy ran toward them.
Too late.
The battlefield shifted again.
Not by force.
By presence.
A figure appeared above Victoria.
Not human.
Not mortal.
Something that didn't belong in the concept of conflict at all.
Michael.
Servant of the Absolute Being.
Without a word, he grabbed Victoria's neck.
And she turned to dust.
Just like that.
No struggle.
No resistance.
No meaning left behind.
Jhonathan froze.
Then ten blades descended.
They struck him all at once.
Not as attacks.
As judgment.
His body tried to respond.
His strength surged.
But it wasn't enough.
Not here.
Not against something that wasn't fighting him like an enemy—
but like a system correcting an error.
Jhonathan fell to one knee.
Still breathing.
Still conscious.
Barely.
Above him, Michael stood silently.
Like the battle had already ended.
Like everything before this moment had been irrelevant noise.
And for the first time in a long time—
Jhonathan understood something terrifying.
Victoria wasn't the end.
She was just the beginning of what actually noticed him.