The golden light of the Saintess's miracle had not yet faded from the horizon when Zero felt it—a shift.A tremor in the air so faint it almost hid beneath the clash of blades and the roars of dying devils.Aamon's aura faltered.
It happened like a crack forming across the surface of a black gem—small, almost invisible, but world-shaking to the one who truly knew how to see.
Zero stood in the shattered remains of the Devil King's courtyard, breath unsteady, body shaking from hours of nonstop fighting. His hands were numb from blocking Aamon's strikes. His veins felt like fire from sustaining Dragon Force earlier. Every muscle screamed.
But when the holy mana washed through the kingdom, even reaching this corrupted heart of the palace, he felt it.The devils had grown heavy.The air had thickened.And Aamon—Aamon was no longer walking like a sovereign of night.
He was… adjusting.Rebalancing his stance.Tensing his fingers in a way he never had before.
