The cosmos stretched endlessly above, a tapestry of distant stars bearing witness to what would be the final confrontation. Against that infinite canvas, a blade of pure starlight carved through the void, piercing the writhing mass of darkness and crimson that was the World-Devouring Disaster.
The creature's shriek tore through the silence of space—a sound of agony that carried centuries of hunger and malice. Its massive form recoiled, tendrils of corrupted energy lashing out toward the lone figure suspended before it.
Azrael moved with practiced precision, his sword deflecting the attack in a flash of silver light. He stood there in the void as if gravity itself bent to his will, the weapon steady in his right hand.
"Centuries," Azrael said, his voice cutting through the vacuum between them. "That's how long this war has raged. Today, it ends."
The World-Devouring Disaster's response came like thunder rolling across an empty plain. "You speak truth, human. Today marks an ending."
A pause, heavy with malicious intent.
"But when the dust settles, I alone will remain standing."
The declaration was followed by an eruption of twisted power. The Disaster's form split and writhed as thousands of demons poured forth from its depths—every corrupted soul that still drew breath on Earth, suddenly recalled to their master's side.
Azrael's expression remained calm. He raised his sword and drew it horizontally through the air.
Reality split.
A tear in space opened beside him, brilliant and humming with power. From that radiant gateway, countless cards emerged—each one a contract, a bond, a promise of strength. They spread out behind him like a constellation given form.
This had never been a duel. It was a war, and both commanders had just called their armies to the field.
The cards surged forward. The demons charged to meet them.
When they collided, the battlefield became a maelstrom of impossible forces. Incantations rang out in languages both ancient and alien as soul power manifested in devastating techniques. The fundamental laws governing reality itself flickered into visibility, painting the darkness with their radiance. Otherworldly energies shaped themselves into massive constructs that swept across the void, each one capable of leveling mountains.
Gradually, inevitably, the cards began to push forward.
Beneath his visor, Azrael allowed himself a small smile. "Your forces seem lacking."
It was no surprise. How could enslaved souls—beaten down, terrified, and resentful—stand against beings who fought by choice? The cards knew what this day meant. They knew that the Disaster's reign would finally crumble.
Some of the demons knew it too.
Azrael caught glimpses of hesitation in their movements, the first stirrings of rebellion in the ranks. Perhaps they were considering surrender. Perhaps they were weighing their chances of survival if they turned on their master.
They never got the chance to act on those thoughts.
The World-Devouring Disaster consumed them instantly—bodies and souls alike, erased as casually as one might brush away dust. The other demons froze, whatever treasonous impulses they'd harbored now buried deep beneath renewed terror.
Azrael didn't spare them any sympathy. Every demon here had bathed in human blood. They'd earned whatever fate awaited them.
The Disaster watched its forces dwindle, patience finally breaking. Dark crimson energy flooded across the battlefield, wrapping around each remaining demon and forcing their power to swell beyond natural limits.
"Azrael."
The faceless entity spoke the name with something like recognition.
"I find it almost poetic. My final opponent—someone I once consumed, whose world I devoured whole."
The Disaster's tone shifted toward mockery. "I can still hear them, you know. The screams that filled your dying world. I can still taste that exquisite despair."
Laughter rumbled from the massive form, deep and satisfied.
Azrael's expression didn't change. His grip on his sword remained steady.
History was not a chain binding him to the past. It was a foundation he stood upon. He would never forget what had been lost, but he refused to be paralyzed by it.
He was Azrael now—not the person he'd been before his world burned. But that didn't mean he'd abandoned his purpose.
For the Earth that once existed. For the blue planet spinning below his feet. For a future that had yet to be written. He would give everything.
Azrael exhaled sharply and pressed his hand against the tome secured at his belt.
Every card on the battlefield immediately disengaged, flowing back toward him in streams of light until they hovered at his back like wings.
He raised his sword slowly, deliberately, until it pointed directly at the massive entity partially eclipsing the planet behind it.
"Come," Azrael said. "Let's finish this."
The World-Devouring Disaster didn't bother with a reply. Instead, it opened its maw and began to consume—every demon, every corrupted soul still present on the battlefield, drawn into that endless hunger.
"Pathetic," Azrael muttered.
But he wouldn't underestimate the attack. He'd respond with everything he had.
Light erupted behind him—abilities from a dozen different systems, power inherited from countless cards, all of it merging into a singular devastating force.
Then he charged.
A comet of radiant energy tore through the darkness, Azrael at its center. Behind him, the cards followed, adding their strength to his.
The World-Devouring Disaster reshaped itself into something fundamental—a mouth large enough to swallow planets, positioned directly in Azrael's path.
The impact shook the Earth.
Two apocalyptic forces met in the void, and for a moment, the outcome seemed uncertain. Below, on the planet's surface, millions of people stopped what they were doing. They looked up at the distant explosion of light and darkness, and they prayed.
The stalemate stretched on. Neither Azrael nor the Disaster could overcome the other.
Azrael felt his strength beginning to fade. His muscles screamed. His vision blurred at the edges.
Then the World-Devouring Disaster's voice rang out—not in triumph, but in disbelief.
"No!"
"How dare you defy me!"
Its aura began to fluctuate violently, power destabilizing from within.
Azrael understood immediately. He roared with the last of his strength.
"BREAK!"
Light exploded outward from him—a final overwhelming surge that tore through the Disaster's defenses.
Then, slowly, the void fell silent.
The radiance surrounding Azrael dimmed. Behind him, the World-Devouring Disaster's form began to dissolve, its massive body breaking apart into scattered fragments of shadow and crimson that faded into nothing.
"Azrael."
The Disaster's voice came one final time, barely more than a whisper.
It seemed to consider saying something—some final curse or prophecy. But in the end, it simply let out a short, bitter laugh.
Then it was gone.
Azrael floated there in the emptiness, feeling the weight of what he'd lost along with the relief of what he'd saved. Victory, but at such cost.
"Finally," he whispered.
His strength gave out. He began to fall toward the planet below, unconscious before he even entered the atmosphere.
On Earth's surface, Lucian and the others had been watching the battle unfold with desperate hope.
When the World-Devouring Disaster finally vanished, a collective breath escaped from millions of lungs. Then came the joy—pure, unrestrained elation. The shadow that had darkened their world for centuries was gone.
But the celebration died in their throats when they saw the meteor.
"Azrael!" Lucian shouted, already running toward the impact site.
When they arrived, they found him lying in a crater, armor cracked, breathing shallow but steady. He wasn't dead—just utterly depleted.
Azrael's eyes fluttered open when he heard Lucian's voice. A faint smile crossed his face.
"Teacher," he said. "I did it."
Lucian stood there silently, looking down at the young man who had once been his most troubled student. He remembered the day Azrael had asked to train under him—desperate, driven, carrying wounds that ran deeper than flesh.
He'd never imagined that boy would become the savior of their entire world.
"Well done," Lucian finally managed, his voice rough.
Beside them, Earth's World Consciousness manifested—a shimmering presence that bowed deeply.
"Azrael," it said with profound solemnity. "Thank you for everything you've done for this world."
Azrael's smile widened slightly. "I'm from Earth too. This was always my responsibility."
He paused, exhaustion pulling at him.
"Now though... I think I've earned a rest."
His eyes closed.
For a moment, panic flashed across the faces of everyone present—but then they noticed the steady rise and fall of his chest. Just sleep. Nothing more.
"Good night," Lucian said softly. "Sweet dreams."