The massive sphere of white magic descended like a falling sun, its radiance swallowing the sky. The plains groaned beneath the immense weight, the white grass flattening in rippling waves as if the land itself were bowing to an inescapable divine force.
The last four gods stood beneath the orb, their robes whipping violently in the localized storm of power. Their eyes glowed with a blinding, monochromatic light, their hands raised in a final, perfect synchronization. This was no longer a display of restraint. This was no longer judgment or arrogance.
This was desperation.
Civilar cracked his neck, his chains rattling behind him like approaching thunder. Yajin lifted the Sword of Judgment, the emerald aura spiraling around him in violent, predatory coils. Eiden stepped forward, black sigils blooming beneath his feet like flowers of shifting shadow.
The sphere descended. The Three Devils charged.
Civilar reached the sun-like mass first. He leapt into the air, chains snapping behind him like serpents of black lightning. His blades glowed with a dense, compressed darkness as he carved arcs of shadow through the atmosphere.
He struck.
The impact detonated in a shockwave that tore a massive crater into the plains and sent ripples through the sky. The sphere cracked, white fissures spiderwebbing across its surface. The gods staggered, their connection to the spell fraying. Civilar roared, swinging again and again, each strike sending black lightning deeper into the orb, destabilizing the divine construct until it groaned.
"HE'S BREAKING IT—!" one god shrieked.
Civilar's grin was feral. "Damn right I am."
He slammed both blades into the core. The sphere shattered. White shards of divine energy exploded outward, dissolving into ash-light as they scattered across the silver grass. The gods recoiled, their halos dimming into a dull flicker. Civilar landed heavily, dragging his blades through the dirt. "One of you is next."
The gods fired a frantic barrage of white magic at Yajin, beams thick enough to erase mountain ranges. They twisted and converged on him from every angle. Yajin didn't flinch; he simply stepped forward. Green magic spiraled into a vortex of execution aura around him. The beams touched the edge of that aura—and evaporated into nothingness.
The gods froze. Yajin blurred.
He reappeared behind the nearest deity, blade already mid-swing. The god teleported in a panic, reappearing a hundred meters away, but Yajin was already waiting. The god threw up a barrier of light, and Yajin tapped it with the tip of his steel. The barrier evaporated. The god stumbled back, his divine form flickering as he screamed in terror.
"Don't touch the blade," Yajin said, his voice a chilling calm.
He swung once. The edge grazed the god's arm.
The deity froze. White cracks raced across his body like fractures in cooling glass. His eyes widened as his soul began to unravel. He collapsed into ash-light, his essence dissolving into glowing dust that drifted toward the stars.
Seven down. Three remained.
The survivors turned their collective wrath toward Eiden. They raised their hands, weaving a massive sigil beneath him—a divine seal of absolute erasure. The ground glowed a lethal white.
"DIVINE ERASURE—!"
Eiden vanished. He reappeared behind the trio, blades already in motion. His longsword, locked into the metal sleeve of his glove, glowed with ancient black runes. He slashed once, and a wave of black energy tore through the sigil, erasing the erasure.
Eiden advanced—calm, silent, inevitable. A god thrust a spear of light; Eiden redirected it with his sleeve, sending it spiraling into the heavens. Another fired a beam; Eiden sliced it in half. When the third tried to teleport, Eiden appeared behind him mid-flash.
"Too slow," he whispered.
He slashed. The god's form cracked, light leaking from his fractures. He reached out in a final, desperate gesture before collapsing into ash.
Eight down. Two remained.
The final two gods stood side by side, halos sputtering and divine pressure unstable. They joined hands, forming a combined spell—a sphere of white magic larger than the castle they once ruled.
"LIMITERS RELEASED—LEVEL THREE!"
The sphere detonated. A tidal wave of white magic surged across the battlefield, swallowing the world. Civilar braced himself, his boots carving deep trenches as he was pushed back. Eiden's sigils flickered under the strain. Yajin stood unmoved.
The wave touched the Sword of Judgment—and was simply gone.
Yajin lowered the blade. "You're done."
He vanished and reappeared behind the first god. The deity teleported; Yajin was there. The blade touched the god's shoulder. He dissolved instantly.
Nine down. One remained.
The last god screamed, firing beams of light in every direction. The sky turned white, the air vibrating with his dying shrieks. Civilar appeared behind him, chains snapping around the god's limbs like a trap. Eiden appeared in front, blades crossed. Yajin appeared above, the Sword of Judgment raised high.
"No—NO—"
The three struck simultaneously. Black lightning. Black sigils. Green judgment.
The god's form shattered and collapsed into ash-light, his remains drifting upward like the embers of a fallen star.
Ten down. None remained.
The battlefield fell silent. The white grass was scorched and torn, the sky streaked with the fading trails of divine magic. The air was thick with the drifting ash-light of ten dead deities.
Eiden stood with his blades lowered, his aura fading into the wind. Civilar rested his heavy chains on his shoulders, his breathing steady. Yajin sheathed the Sword of Judgment, and the world seemed to exhale as the blade disappeared. The Three Devils stood alone.
Reia, Uzak'me, and Ou'weii approached slowly, their eyes wide with a shock that transcended words.
Civilar smirked. "See? Easy."
Yajin cracked his neck, looking at the sky. "They held back too much."
Eiden watched the last of the ash-light vanish into the clouds. "No," he said quietly. "They underestimated us."
The wind carried the remnants of the Council into the sky, and the world would never forget the day three devils unmade ten gods.