The moon hung high above the battlefield—cold, unblinking, spilling silver light across the shattered plains. Dust drifted lazily through the air, settling around two figures at the center of the devastation. Both were panting, their powers dimmed by the grueling exchange, yet neither was finished.
The Angel King was the first to stand. His posture remained ramrod straight despite the strain in his breath, his flawless white armor reflecting the moonlight like polished marble. Every plate was smooth and seamless, crafted with divine precision. A silver blade rested in his hand, radiating a soft white aura that pulsed like a heartbeat, while his luminous wings shifted gently with every breath. Short white hair framed a calm face, where bright blue pupils glowed with a steady, unwavering focus. He looked like a statue carved from light—cracked, but unbroken.
Across from him, Yajin steadied himself. Golden hair fell over his forehead, catching the moonlight in warm flashes that contrasted with the cold intensity of his blue eyes. A white cloak draped over his shoulders, flowing behind him as the wind brushed past his shirtless torso. He wore simple, immaculate white pants and boots, appearing strangely untouched by the chaos.
In his hand, he held the Sword of Judgement. The blade was impossibly slender, forged from a metal that seemed to swallow the moonlight rather than reflect it. Its surface was smooth yet unsettling, etched with faint lines of pale gold that looked less like carvings and more like veins growing beneath skin. The hilt was wrapped in white cloth that fluttered in the still air, and the guard curved inward like a pair of wings folded too tightly. The blade hummed with a low, uneasy resonance—a sound that vibrated in the bones rather than the ears. Looking at it felt wrong, as if the sword itself had judged the world and found it lacking.
As Yajin tightened his grip, the hum deepened and the air around the steel bent, reality itself recoiling from its presence. The two kings stood in the moonlit dust, their auras flickering like dying stars.
Yajin exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I've gotta say," he began, his voice steady despite his heavy breathing, "out of all the people I've fought, you're the first to stand against me this long without being touched by this blade. I'm impressed."
The Angel King's expression didn't flicker. "Do not praise me, you devil," he replied, his gaze locked on Yajin. "You have no hatred toward me, no history, and no conflict that justifies this. You fight out of delusion."
Yajin began to circle him, his steps slow and deliberate while the Sword of Judgement hummed. The Angel King mirrored the movement, his wings shifting with each measured breath.
"Oh come now, Phsae," Yajin said lightly. "My power was granted by the gods themselves. I was chosen to do the work they would not—born to carry out their will and cleanse this world of the wicked."
"Do not speak my name as if we are friends," the Angel King snapped, his composure cracking for the first time. "You were not born for a divine mission; you were born to choose your own path. Yet you've spent centuries hunting people who simply wished to live in peace."
Yajin's smile vanished instantly. "Oh, shut the hell up," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave. "You are one of those 'bad' people, Phsae. I won't listen to your nonsense." He lifted the sword slightly, warping the air around it. "You and the Demon King wiped out the people who once lived on this land—the ones who spoke with the Three Gods and guided the world. I was the only survivor. Why? Because the gods knew I'd find a way to end the ones responsible."
The Angel King's breath steadied as he tightened his grip on his silver blade. "You spread utter nonsense," he whispered, his voice edged with restrained fury.
Yajin tilted his head, looking amused. "Go ahead. Spill your last words. Because at this rate, I'm about to go all out." He shifted his stance, gripping the Sword of Judgement with both hands and angling it outward. The blade's resonance intensified, blurring the moonlight. "Rise of—"
He stopped mid-sentence. His body snapped toward the sky behind him. High above, silhouettes drifted downward, cutting through the night like falling stars against the blazing moon. The Angel King glanced up at the same moment, and instinct overrode rivalry as both kings dashed backward.
Seven figures struck the ground with a thunderous impact. Four landed where Yajin had stood; three landed where the Angel King had been. Dust exploded upward, rolling across the plains in a thick wave that the moonlight turned into a drifting silver fog.
As the dust thinned, faces and auras emerged from the gloom. Yajin narrowed his eyes, then his lips curled into a wide, hungry grin. "Well, well, well," he said softly. "The gods have blessed me tonight with a fine meal."
The dust cleared fully to reveal Eiden, Vaelus, Selyndra, and Morvath standing directly before him. Each was poised and radiating the grim resolve of warriors who had already chosen their side. The night tightened, the battlefield shifted, and the balance of power changed in a single heartbeat.