The Eternal City, Rome, roared.
This was no mere figure of speech.
Countless citizens within the city raised furious cries, hurling themselves at the Huns who had defiled their sacred ground with blood. Even without the deceitful illusion veiling the world, they would still have risen like this.
"Kill him!"
"He is a demon!"
Countless faces, twisted and vicious, spat these words.
Yet all of that chaos, all of those voices, were drowned beneath thunder that split the heavens and the earth. Truly—it was the end of heaven and earth.
Upon the blackened sky, fire and ice streaked like blades, while with each lightning strike, storms swept through the firmament.
And as body after body fell to the earth, their lifeless eyes still seemed to carry lingering malice.
"It is enough now."
The silver-haired youth lifted his gaze.
Ignoring the sea of blood beneath his feet, he spoke softly to the countless distorted souls that circled him.
"To seek out every sinner of the past—there would be no end. There are many kinds of sin: deceiving, betraying, envying, stealing life. These are evils borne only by mankind."
No one answered.
But when he stepped forward, a blazing radiance surged forth, rising hot and bright above Rome's skies, so dazzling it seemed to burn the world itself.
Within every heart there lies a beast.
Faithful or faithless, it makes no difference.
For the sake of gain, man tramples others without hesitation. Toward those deemed beneath them, they scorn without pause. They sully not their own hands, but wound the hearts of those bound to them—harvesting nothing more than petty vanity and hollow self-satisfaction.
It is as if countless people live solely for these trivial returns.
From such roots, small hatreds are born. Not enough to warrant killing, no, but enough to fester. And so, they live on, idle and unrepentant.
Across the world, there are few villains of unmatched evil. More often, there are only those who follow instinct, praising their own lives as if it were only natural.
And from the perspective of the world itself—no matter what happens, the future of the world does not change for the life or death of a few insignificant souls.
If such people live, they wound those around them. If they die, their story ends there.
To know this clearly, and yet allow the rot to spread until it is far too late—whose responsibility is that? Of course—no one's.
But is that reason enough… to simply watch and let them die?
"It is enough."
His voice was gentle.
"Who among you can claim never to have fallen? So then—leave all this to me. Your lives belong to you alone."
The cries of the Holy City fell silent.
And yet, instinctively, its people wept. They sobbed in grief.
"I told you—we are the same," he said. "You should return to the world of men with the faces of men—"
Behind him, from the deepest roots of authority, the branches of the World Tree descended. They washed clean the wandering, fallen souls, dissolving them within merciful darkness. And what remained was only pure radiance—untainted, restored to its origin.
"So then—let me be the one to kill you."
The Demon Blade, True World, swept wide, expanding inch by inch through the city of Rome.
It brought forth endless bloodshed—yet also left behind the light of salvation.
In the blackened Eternal City, the marble saints smiled faintly. Under the radiance, they shimmered with a pale silver glow.
Avia lifted his eyes toward the Papal Hall—and began to walk.
"…How beautiful."
"…Indeed."
The man inclined his head, and to Typhon he said:
"After all, this is born from the collective spirit of humanity. There is much beauty within it. You should look upon it more often."
"Kind-hearted people ought to find happiness. The just ought to receive their due reward. That is what the world of humankind should look like. If it is not so now, then I wish for it to be so in the future… For that has always been the way of humanity—realizing ideals, little by little."
One day, may there come a world of justice and goodness.
Hearing this solemn declaration, Typhon could not utter a word. She believed it to be an ideal forever beyond reach—
Something that sounded noble, but was in truth nothing more than empty, unrealistic delusion.
That truly was her conviction. Dismissing it with scorn should have been simple—yet for some reason, the words would not leave her lips.
Because Typhon understood that Avia knew it as well.
The instant they entered Rome, Avia had realized—this was no longer the Rome of the earthly realm. It had been transformed into a domain within the human spirit, wrought by Mabel Kiara through an ability resembling a Reality Marble.
Simply put, Mabel Kiara had made use of the symbiotic link between Alete and humanity's spirit, so that the moment one set foot into Rome, they were stepping into her personal inner world.
Typhon wished to say more—but in the very next instant, the blood-red world erupted with boundless radiance, and she and Avia found themselves upon a single, narrow path of darkness, treacherous and long.
When she gathered her wits, another figure now stood before the Primordial Dragon. Instinctively, she suppressed her urge to flee.
"How hideous," Mabel Kiara sneered. "Another mimic, just like Francesca?"
For one who had long since seen through Francesca's true nature, Kiara, even without glimpsing Novia's face in the illusion, could feel the same strange resonance from Avia standing before her. Yet she did not believe them to be the same person—merely another 'inhuman imitator' who, at some point, had begun mimicking Francesca.
"Francesca… So you've read the Lalaye Manuscript, haven't you? And used it as well."
"Indeed. And because of that—!"
The Savior spread his arms wide.
"The planet shall welcome the revelation of its end, and once more behold Eden—the paradise where humankind was always meant to live!"
That bewitching voice reverberated between heaven and earth, echoing far beyond—
Out into the void beyond the planet, resounding among the stars.
The man beheld it: the being known as the Outer God, roaring as it cast countless shadows to shroud the starlit heavens—
Toward the Moon. Toward the Earth. Flaunting its desire with not the slightest concealment, proclaiming its terror, displaying the brilliance of chaos.
And as he had most feared, the planet—bewitched by the Savior—had wholly abandoned its will to resist. Only the Moon's Lunar Spirit Core yet acted to suppress and bar the descent.
Meanwhile, Avia felt something—familiar, yet alien—stirring above him, calling to him. It seemed that should the Outer God descend, he would be compelled to act, to choose something against his will, and do what could not be undone.
Forcing that compulsion down, knowing there was no need for further words, the man unleashed all of his power.
In that endless world of radiance, the only darkness left was filled with the rolling of thunder.
Then the thunder surged. With a resounding roar, a piercing noise that shook both heaven and earth welled forth from infinite arcs of lightning.
Seeing this, Mabel Kiara's lips curved into a slight smile. There, within that darkness, amidst the countless beliefs and holy scriptures that supported him, he invoked his power—
"The gods have long since turned to dust. What tie remains between this world and you? The Age of Gods has long ended."
Around them, the sea of silver motes erupted with terrifying magic, as though infinite ether cannons manifested at her back, while the phantoms of the Moon appeared high above.
Mystery's might and endurance meant nothing before these scriptures. Like the death throes of an aging star, it devoured the surrounding spirit. Before it, the only outcome should have been utter annihilation—
Yet in that briefest instant, the holy scripture's power, the strength of faith, collided with the savage outlines drawn by thunderous light, producing a sound that seemed to tear the world apart.
Then, amid the roaring clash of scripture with holy and cursed blade, a blazing fell star seemed to rise, as a vast rift spread outward from the combatants.
But the very next moment, with a tightening of the wrists, both holy sword and cursed sword thrust forward again, striking the Savior amid the thunderous din. The scripture groaned with a heavy sound.
At that same moment, Avia shuddered, bending unwillingly at the waist—Kiara had struck his abdomen with the power of scripture.
The man staggered back from the blow, panting for but an instant before swiftly regaining composure, his eyes unwavering.
The battle was joined anew.
BOOM!
How much time had passed? How many days and nights in this world of altered flow? Such things could no longer be distinguished. In truth, here, they hardly mattered.
Kiara reached out, seizing the twin blades Avia swung down. Slowly, her fingers tightened, her smile a mask of horror:
"So this is the holy sword that was meant to be mine."
Once more, endless ether cannons and lunar phantoms burst forth with the Savior's sweeping arms.
The power was inexhaustible, a source without end. Even Yggdrasil itself could scarcely compare now that the Age of Gods had passed. This was the power by which she had defeated both the Second Magician and the Moon King, by her strength alone.
Against such power, the man resisted with all his might. But then came her foot, lifted high—stomping toward his face.
He rolled, dodged, staggered to his feet, gasping violently, dizziness and darkness pressing in at the edges of his vision.
"You mimic—you cannot wield the sword's full power."
She laughed, raising her hand. With a violent sweep, her terrible strength erupted, hurling Avia into the walls of the Papal Hall.
"You dare wound me with the sword that is mine?"
Kiara advanced slowly, her gaze fixed upon his face.
"Where did you find the confidence for that?"
She bent low, picking up the holy sword that had once been hers. Her gentle smile was twisted, malicious, grotesque:
"The end is meant to be beautiful. So why, then, do people like you still rise to obstruct Eden's return?" The Savior shook her head, disappointed. "This proves you are not truly human. Real humans would never stand in the way of this day. As Caubac Alcatraz said: 'There are many kinds of sin in mankind, yet this is the oldest evil of all—the sin of rejecting Revelation.'"
Kiara raised the sword, its blade flashing—yet in front of Avia's eyes, it halted.
The pommel had been caught—gripped tight by a hand that had suddenly risen, unmoving. From the man burst a light like the Rhinegold.
The sword screeched as it was forced back, upward.
Between his five upraised fingers, inch by inch, he pried it away.
Through haze and pain, he raised his hand—clenched it tight—then struck!
His fist smashed into the Savior's face. With a thunderous crash, Kiara was hurled backward, cast into the boundless radiance.
And as the man raised his head toward that direction, a great detonation rang out from within the light.
The brilliance wavered, thinning swiftly—yet from the deepest darkness, a voice of mocking laughter arose.
"Heh… Even so, how much longer can your strength last?"
The words fell—and once again, countless ether cannons and lunar phantoms burst forth with the Savior's sweeping arms.
…
Time slipped away—whether hours or days passed in this warped realm could no longer be discerned. In truth, such measures had lost all meaning here.
To Typhon, now transformed into armor, it was a spectacle beyond comprehension. She could not keep up with the blinding speed of the two combatants. Even as she pushed her molten power to its very limit, her body entered overdrive in an instant—yet still, she lagged hopelessly behind.
Then came a sound—
A cracking noise.
In her daze, Typhon realized fissures were spreading across the armor. Terror swept over her anew—fear of death.
"I don't want to die… I really don't want to die… I… I don't want to die…"
Her voice was so faint it was almost as if she hadn't spoken. But the man heard it.
And even in the midst of that frenzied clash, he gave her an answer.
"So this is your wish, then? Don't worry, Typhon. I won't let you die." His hoarse voice declared, "You've suffered enough. And I promised you long ago—Typhon Ephymilos, you will soar the skies."
"No! You'll die instead. And I was just saying it without thinking—you mustn't take it seriously…"
Even in her terror of death, she still resisted the thought of leaving—because if she left, this human would die.
Typhon could not accept that. After all… she hadn't even devoured him yet.
Avia understood. Typhon was still afraid. But that was natural. Death is terrifying for anyone. Himself included.
So, in that world, he made a choice—he released the armor, summoning forth Typhon's true form.
"Right! If the armor won't do, then use my body instead! Yes, that's it. There's no way this enemy is stronger than those Olympus bastards. Yeah, that's right—"
Yet the man, straining against the endless ether cannons and lunar phantoms with his Northern authority, only smiled silently, watching her.
Until Typhon, exasperated, let out a huff and scratched her head, as though struggling with what to say.
"Get in already! Do you want me to beg? Fine, you win—get in! Don't go picking fights with those guys either, okay?!"
The man froze where he stood, gazing at her as though seeing her for the first time.
When Typhon finally broke, shouting out her shame in anger, he could no longer hold back his laughter.
"Typhon… Do you know, when I first met you, you were exactly like this? But back then, you truly did despise the world." His voice softened. "And yes—I deceived you. Because I knew you longed for freedom, and I used that against you. In truth, our time together has been built on a lie. So you—"
"I don't care! You still did it! You made that wish for me! Now you take responsibility!"
Avia walked beneath Typhon's towering form, smiling.
"Alright, alright. Since you've said that, of course I'll take responsibility… So then—come."
He extended his hand—toward the Storm Maiden of Greece.
Having spoken those words, how could he stand by and let her be wounded further?
And so, as the cataclysmic roar bore down upon them, Typhon stared blankly at him. For a long moment she hesitated—until finally, she summoned her courage. She raised her arm, reaching through ash and dust, striving to touch his fingertips.
As if groping for salvation.
Yet the hand that awaited her was already reaching out—closing firmly around hers.
Typhon stared dazedly at him as he turned, as if at last understanding something.
"…What is this supposed to be…?"
"Just hold on." He smiled at her. "Melly will take you from here."
At that critical instant, within the Rhinegold, Melly broke free of illusion. She dimmed the radiance of the holy sword by force—buying Avia the chance to strike Kiara away. Then, the Flower Magus told him she could carry him out, away from this sealed spiritual realm—back to the world, even to Avalon if need be.
But she could only take one person.
"Why? Why does it have to be like this?!" Typhon's voice broke as she cried. "I just… I just don't want you to die! Why must you lie to me?!"
"Forgive me—for deceiving you."
He whispered it softly. A final farewell, an apology. Then, facing the phantom image of Melly, he forced a twisted villain's grin.
"…What's with that face?" she asked.
"This is the expression I promised you—the one warped by suffering."
"Wait, wait! That's nothing like it! That's just a plain villain's face!"
The man shook his head, smiling in self-mockery.
"This is only the second time I've shown someone this side of me. But after saying so many grand words, if at the very end I faltered, showed fear, and revealed something ugly… being seen like that would be disgraceful. Forgive me—even so, I cannot make that expression."
"…Then what kind of promise is that?"
Melly sighed, her gaze complicated as she looked at his back.
For an instant, she wished to let this human return—back to his own place, free from the burden of the world's end.
But at last, she raised her staff and said:
"You… really are boring. Since knowing you, there hasn't been a single memory worth keeping."
Yet even as she said it, sorrow welled within her.
"Is there truly no other way?" the girl whispered. "Must it be this way?"
Melly knew Avia's plan. Against the Savior, whose power drew from an inexhaustible source, he would use the Cursed Sword: True World—a blade that should not exist in this era—to seal her away until the time of its rightful birth. In other words, Kiara would be bound until the day the possible Steel-Earth would end.
It sounded simple—but how could such a feat be carried out? Could that sword truly hold such a power?
And even if it could—wouldn't he suffer endlessly within it?
She didn't know. She doubted it. But she lacked the courage to challenge him.
As the white-haired girl prepared to take Typhon and leave, Avia turned, his voice bright with encouragement:
"Don't worry. The future of the world is only just beginning."
That was his final farewell. With head held high, the man strode toward the Savior.
Behind him, Melly could no longer restrain the sorrow in her chest.
"Those who break promises ought to go to hell."
At that, the man glanced back at her indistinct shadow, smiling freely.
"You're right. I was always destined for hell."
And so he remained in the darkness, as though to bear everything himself—walking into hell, burning with his final light.
He said:
"And you… you will go on to the true paradise."
The moment the words fell, the Northern authority's lament rose from his body, like a mirage, piercing through the barriers and seals, reaching the Moon itself—to aid the Lunar Spirit Core in halting the Outer God's descent.
And now, upon him remained but one thing besides the Cursed Sword: True World, which was fusing with the holy sword—
The pact with Eltruche.
As Kiara had said, with the planet's blessing upon her, he could never wield the holy sword at full power.
Yet Eltruche—though a hybrid of True Ancestor and Dead Apostle—had received the White Hound from Gaia. Indirectly, that meant she too was acknowledged by the planet.
So Avia, by his own will, submitted to the pact, allowing himself to slowly transform into a Dead Apostle.
Thus, at the moment the covenant was sealed, mingling with Eltruche's power, he reached forward in a daze—
And grasped the holy sword before him, tight.
That brilliance—sharp and radiant as starlight—converged in his hand. In an instant, a torrent of power coursed along the blade, weaving itself into intricate, resplendent patterns that blazed with the radiance of the noonday sun.
"Oh?"
At the sight, Kiara seemed to realize something. The corner of her lips curved ever so slightly.
So—he intended to use the very strike that once felled the colossus Sephallu as his final resistance?
Utter folly. For after all, the planet had never regarded her as an enemy of the stars.
Through the storm of countless ether cannons and lunar phantoms, she advanced, raising her arm. And with a voiceless roar, she thrust forth her strike.
The full might of holy sword and cursed sword entwined—
The radiance trembled, then swiftly thinned, as if all was fated to vanish.
The Savior had thought it nothing more than an offensive technique—something unworthy of concern. But she had not foreseen… that this was a sealing strike. A blow that locked the very realm itself, ensnaring even her within. To the point where, so long as human will yet endured, she could never escape.
And so, for the first time in her existence, a voice of enraged humiliation rang out from within the boundless world of light.
"What have you done?!"
In the lone place untouched by radiance, Avia gazed at her calmly.
"The day you awaited—the coming of Eden—has already ended."