White fire licked the torn sky.
"Naahhhhh…" Loki's voice boomed, hollow yet triumphant.
His body—once human—was now a pillar of white flame. It burned not outward but inward, a consuming inferno that radiated power. The heat rolled across the battlefield like a wave, boiling sweat on armor, blistering flesh unseen beneath crests. Soldiers gulped air thick with ash and fear.
Beside him, Veil fell from the sky in a puddle of pure dark mana. No wings, no shape—just void. But then the darkness bled upward, forming limbs, a torso, and a head. Where Loki was light, Veil was absence. Together, they painted the sky in stark contrast: light and void in furious motion.
It was the fall of gods.
One god of light, one god of darkness, standing among mortals, bending the world to their shape.
The battlefield stilled.
Flags drooped. Horses whimpered. Even the many mages— under Merlin's binding magic—trembled, their skin quivering like a frightened child.
