Nero's space-rending slash slammed into the barrier. She could feel it—the transparent shell was softening, its rebound growing weaker. If she kept up the pressure, not giving the Pope a moment to breathe, she'd shatter it in no time.
The Pope knew it too. Channeling the demonic power of the Sparda blade, he aimed its tip at Nero. A crimson-black torrent of energy erupted, a cannon of light roaring downward.
"Shut up…"
Her hymn seemed to stab at the shame buried deep in his heart. Teeth gritted, he unleashed a stream of silent, abyssal darkness.
This was likely the last time he'd hear that hymn as the Pope. In Sanctus's original plan, he'd listen to it one final time as a human, as the Pope, during this year's Sword Festival. After that, he'd ascend to godhood. From then on, the hymn would be sung for him alone.
"With mortal eyes, I could never glimpse even one of your thousand sparks!"
Nero swung her blade forward, the lingering slash glowing like firefly trails in the air. She followed with a second slash, then a third, weaving a radiant curtain of light that clashed against the black tide of demonic energy.
The slashes crumbled under the torrent's onslaught, but Nero kept swinging, each strike splintering the cannon's beam into thinner streams. They scattered, searing the blood-and-flesh ground below, leaving blackened scars.
Nero's voice rose higher: "May your divine grace let me gaze unyielding until my sight fails!"
Sanctus, enraged, gripped the demonic sword tighter. Why? He alone in the Order held such grand ambitions. This world was filthy, broken. He, chosen by the heavens for a sacred mission, should be standing atop the Savior, revered by all.
Where had it gone wrong?
Seeing Nero distracted, Agnus slunk behind her, firing two flaming skulls.
Nero didn't even glance back. She summoned Gilgamesh, morphing it into sleek silver armor that hugged her fists, feet, chest, and abdomen. Liquid metal flowed from her core, encasing her red dress, making her frame look even slimmer. The fiery projectiles struck her slender back, failing to pierce the armor but knocking her off balance, interrupting her slashes.
The cannon tore through her light curtain, barreling toward her face. Unfazed, Nero spun, charging forward with Yamato. Her blade carved a rift through the beam like a whirlwind, letting her break free. She dashed beneath the Pope, leaping upward again.
"Let my spirit be sealed from all evil, devoted solely to this perfect light!"
The Pope could take no more. The hymn praising divinity now sounded like biting mockery in his ears. "Shut your mouth!"
No one deserved that song's praise more than him—not even Sparda! Just a demon wielding a magic sword—what right did he have to be compared to Sanctus, to the great Sanctus, who would soon wield unmatched power to cleanse the world of all sin and filth?
Defeating the Demon Emperor? A mere demon? Sanctus could do better—flawlessly. He'd claim the Emperor's throne, achieving what even Sparda couldn't!
So—
"A heretic who dares raise a blade against the true god dares sing my hymn?!"
He swung the sword's aim, locking onto Nero, leaving a trail of acrid, scorched air.
"My hymn?" Nero's lips curled into a fleeting smirk. Even at death's door, he refused to see it.
All his talk of an "ideal world," of a world "sunk in filth"—the only thing truly filthy was his own heart.
How could a heart blinded by corruption ever see true kindness or virtue?
The cannon was about to fire again, but Nero, mid-leap, stepped on the air, shifting direction to appear behind the Pope. She hurled a massive sword forged from demonic energy.
"And so I know: all the goodness in this universe is woven by your love into one!"
The spinning sword shattered the Pope's barrier, halting his attack and sending him crashing to the ground. Nero didn't pursue. She landed softly, arms spread, eyes closed.
This was the end.
"And so I know: there is but one truth in this universe.
"Only love can ignite the sun and set the stars in motion."
In this demonic realm of blood and flesh, ethereal shadows rose like stars, forming a shimmering veil that sealed the world in nine layers.
The nine celestial walls locked the fallen Pope in the heart of this tiny world.
Nero's demonic energy drained rapidly, but she stood firm, unmoving. Only the two demons trapped within the celestial sphere kept struggling.
Do you get it now, former Pope? Nero's faint smile asked silently.
Sparda could have ruled the world but chose not to. He loved the world, loved humanity.
That's why he's called a god, and you're not. That's why this hymn sings of him, not you.
Moments later, a pure white pillar of light pierced the tainted space, slicing through the celestial veils and striking the Pope.
Pinned to the ground, still clutching the Sparda blade, the Pope didn't even have time to scream. He vanished without a sound.
The light faded, and faint red sunlight spilled through the hole it left, illuminating the blood-and-flesh ground as it turned to pale, ashen stone.
The Savior stopped moving.
Her demonic energy completely spent, Nero opened her eyes, her body feeling like an empty shell.
But her soul had never felt so full.
She scanned the area, spotting "that guy" in a corner of the petrifying room. Drawing Echidna, she started toward him.
Nero moved slowly, her steps heavy, her body swaying slightly, wrapped in a dress that didn't quite fit. She looked small, fragile, almost pitiful.
But the figure in the corner—Agnus—stared at her with fear. He pushed against the ground, his half-severed legs kicking uselessly, desperate to get away.
Agnus, not the light's main target, had barely survived, but he'd lost his lower legs and most of his power, unable to transform into a demon again.