Diablo had never intended to let a single enemy escape.
The command from King Atem had already been delivered. The moment Diablo received it, he entered the battlefield with genuine delight. His first move was simple—track Krishna's presence, follow the thread of fear and ambition, and locate the enemy's command center.
And there they were.
2 single digits had already arrived.
Diablo observed them calmly, measuring their presence, their distorted power, the imbalance in their souls. The conclusion came instantly.
They must die.
Their resistance was stronger than he had initially expected.
"Well, well… so even when a Unique Skill is pushed to its absolute limit, it still falls short," Diablo mused. "Borrowed power, then. Unstable. Unripe."
That explained everything.
Borrowed strength always cracked under pressure.
Diablo adjusted his approach—and ended the fight with ease.
The margin was comfortable. Too comfortable.
Misha, witnessing the outcome, immediately revealed her allegiance to a hidden faction working in parallel with the Empire. Since King Atem had already permitted limited cooperation for the sake of a larger design, Diablo did not interfere further.
He simply let her go.
"Hmm… an Ultimate-class phenomenon?" Diablo thought briefly. "So that's what Guy once bragged about. Annoying—but intriguing. Worth studying."
Diablo had long since stopped measuring his own growth against others. Pride meant nothing. Effectiveness was everything.
If power served the King, it was worth mastering.
That belief defined Diablo.
His curiosity did not distract him from his duty.
He returned to the battlefield and entered the imperial camp as if walking into an empty hall.
There was no resistance worth mentioning. No alarms. No warning.
Anyone who met his gaze simply… died.
The End of the World descended quietly.
Efficient. Absolute. Final.
Not a single scream lingered.
And then—
Calgurio stood before him.
"Interesting," Diablo said, smiling.
Calgurio had crossed a threshold.
Pushed beyond human limits by despair, guilt, and the weight of nearly a million dead soldiers, his soul had cracked—and through that fracture, power surged.
Ah… an awakening born of despair.
His guilt became fuel. His regret, a catalyst.
That was why Diablo acknowledged him.
You are finally worth fighting.
For the first time in a long while, Diablo felt something stir within him.
Not excitement.
Purpose.
To be useful—to truly serve King Atem—that was Diablo's creed.
A tool that did not prove its worth was meaningless.
That belief was why Diablo had never kept subordinates. Weak tools were unnecessary. He had always stood alone—and refined himself endlessly to remain worthy.
Now, before him, stood a man who had shattered his own limits.
Calgurio roared as power flooded his body.
The world blurred.
His flesh was overtaken by spirit, cell by cell. He felt it clearly—this was no illusion. This was ascension.
Sainthood.
A realm beyond Sage.
A power comparable to an awakened demon lord surged through him.
"So this is what His Majesty wanted…" Calgurio whispered.
He remembered Emperor Rudra's words—spoken long ago.
I have great expectations for you.
At last, he understood.
Not command. Not glory.
Awakening.
This was the path Rudra had wanted him to walk.
Divine light wrapped around Calgurio as mythical-grade armor manifested upon his body—the sacred armament reserved only for the Empire's highest authorities.
The armor accepted him.
Recognized him.
Responded.
"I will destroy you, demon!" Calgurio roared. "I will right everything!"
"Kufufufu…" Diablo laughed softly. "That resolve makes this worthwhile."
They clashed.
Calgurio struck first—without hesitation, without restraint.
His fist shattered sound itself. The shockwave tore through matter, crushed molecular bonds, and pierced spiritual defenses. It was a blow capable of killing even astral beings.
A perfect strike.
A killing blow.
And Diablo… casually brushed it aside.
"…How?" Calgurio gasped.
"What is there to wonder about?" Diablo replied calmly. "You don't understand your own power."
"You're saying… I can't control it?"
"Exactly."
Diablo's smile did not fade.
"It's too early. You awakened late. The others were stronger—because even borrowed power still leaves traces in the soul. If you had awakened sooner, this might have been entertaining."
The words were merciless.
True.
Unavoidable.
Calgurio understood.
Borrowed power was hollow unless mastered. The Empire's strongest warriors had relied on power lent from above, never truly their own.
That was why they fell.
That was why he would fall.
Still—
Calgurio screamed and attacked again.
Even knowing he would lose, he refused to stop.
To do nothing would render every death meaningless.
But this was no longer a battle.
It was an execution.
His mythical armor had a will—but there had been no time to synchronize. Tool and wielder remained strangers. Power slipped through his grasp like sand.
And Diablo… never once needed to unleash his full strength.
At last, Calgurio collapsed.
The final general of the Imperial Army.
Defeated.
Diablo stepped forward.
"A pity," he said quietly. "You could have become something… if fate had given you time."
His hand reached out.
And Calgurio's soul was reaped.
Silently.
Absolutely.
Thus ended the Empire's war—
Not by chance.
Not by numbers.
But by the unchallenged will of King Atem,
and the shadow that served him.