Arden charged through the smoking ruins where Roy had died.
Shadow Integration blazing at maximum.
Every ounce of mana channeled into his blade.
Elara beside him, her eyes fully consumed by red-gold light.
Her bloodline awakened and screaming for corrupted blood.
The Flame-Crowned Overlord stood in the center of the crater.
Wounded.
Burned.
But alive.
And watching them come with something like anticipation.
"Come then, students of the fallen," he said, his voice rough from Roy's attack. "Show me if your mentor's sacrifice means anything."
Arden didn't respond with words.
Just closed the distance in three shadow steps.
His blade aimed at the Overlord's exposed side where armor had been shattered.
The Overlord moved—faster than something that wounded should move.
Caught Arden's blade with his remaining good hand.
The impact sent shockwaves through Arden's arms.
"Fast," the Overlord acknowledged. "But insufficient."
He threw Arden backward with casual strength.
Elara was already there, both her swords flashing.
Her bloodline-enhanced speed making her almost invisible.
One blade carved across the Overlord's ribs.
The other aimed for his throat.
He blocked the throat strike with his damaged arm—
Roaring in pain as Elara's blade cut through burned flesh.
But he didn't fall.
Just backhanded her with enough force to send her flying.
"Titan-slayer blood," he said, studying the wound on his ribs. "Interesting. That actually hurt."
Michel and the remaining assault force crashed into the Overlord's position.
Fifty soldiers against one wounded god.
Wire Knights striking from all angles.
Kar'eth cavalry attempting to flank.
Eastern rangers firing arrows that blazed with fire.
The Overlord moved through them like death incarnate.
His remaining hand crushing skulls.
His legs kicking soldiers away with bone-breaking force.
Divine fire erupting from his crown in waves.
Five soldiers died in the first thirty seconds.
He's wounded but still too strong, Arden realized, picking himself up. Roy hurt him badly. But it's not enough.
The Overlord caught a Knight's blade, snapped it, then drove the broken steel through the man's throat.
Kicked another knight so hard his armor caved in.
Grabbed a third and threw him into two others.
"SPREAD OUT!" Michel commanded. "DON'T LET HIM FOCUS ON ONE TARGET!"
They tried.
But the Overlord was too experienced.
Too skilled.
Three hundred years of combat knowledge guiding every movement.
Arden shadow-stepped behind him.
Blade aimed at the base of his skull.
The Overlord somehow sensed it.
Turned just enough that Arden's strike hit armored shoulder instead.
The blade bounced off.
The Overlord's elbow caught Arden in the face.
Stars exploded in his vision.
Blood pouring from his broken nose.
"You're skilled for your age," the Overlord said. "But you rely too much on surprise. Predictable."
He raised his foot to crush Arden's skull—
Elara's swords intercepted, both blades crossed to catch his leg.
"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"
Her bloodline flared.
Silver-gold light exploding around her.
The Overlord actually paused.
"That light. That blood. You're not just titan-slayer heritage." His eyes narrowed. "You're a monarch's descendant."
"GOOD!" Elara screamed, her voice distorted by the bloodline. "THEN YOU KNOW WHAT I CAN DO!"
She attacked with pure ferocity.
No technique.
No strategy.
Just overwhelming speed and power.
Her swords found gaps in his armor.
Cut through burned flesh.
Drew black blood with every strike.
The Overlord was forced to defend.
Actually defend.
"Impressive," he acknowledged, blocking a strike aimed at his throat. "Your ancestor must have been formidable."
"SHE KILLED THINGS BIGGER THAN YOU!"
Elara's blade carved across his chest.
Deep.
Actual damage.
The Overlord roared—not in pain, but in approval.
"YES! THIS IS WHAT I WANTED! A REAL CHALLENGE!"
His divine fire erupted.
Crimson-black flames that forced Elara back.
Forced everyone back.
The heat intense enough to melt steel.
"But you're losing control," the Overlord noted, studying Elara's increasingly manic movements. "The bloodline is consuming you. Soon you'll be mindless. Just another berserker."
"ARDEN!" Michel shouted. "YOUR STUDENT! SHE'S GOING TOO FAR!"
He was right.
Elara was laughing now—that terrible sound Roy had warned about.
Her attacks becoming wilder.
Less controlled.
"ELARA!" Arden called, his voice carrying. "HOLD IT BACK! DON'T LET IT CONSUME YOU!"
She paused for just a moment.
Looked at him with eyes that flickered between brown and red-gold.
"Can't... it's too strong..."
"YOU CAN! I'M HERE! I'M YOUR ANCHOR!"
The red-gold faded slightly.
Her movements becoming more controlled again.
"That's... interesting," the Overlord said. "She has an anchor. Someone who can pull her back from the madness."
He smiled—terrible and predatory.
"Then I'll kill him first."
He moved toward Arden with terrifying speed.
Ignoring Elara completely.
Ignoring Michel's knights trying to stop him.
Just focused on Arden with singular intent.
He's going to kill me. And without me, Elara loses control completely.
The Overlord's fist came down like a hammer—
Arden barely dodged, rolling to the side.
The ground where he'd been standing cratered.
"You're the linchpin," the Overlord said conversationally, pursuing him. "Remove you, and the girl becomes a mindless beast. Useful for killing your allies, but no longer a threat to me."
He grabbed Arden by the throat.
Lifted him off the ground with one hand.
"You fought well, young shadow user. But this is where your story ends."
Divine fire began building in his palm.
Arden struggled, unable to breathe.
His mana depleting rapidly trying to counter the flames.
This is it. I'm going to die.
Roy died. And now I'm dying. And Elara will go berserk and—
NO.
Something erupted from deep within Arden.
Not shadow Integration.
Not combat poetry.
Something else.
Something he'd been building unconsciously since arriving in this timeline.
All his knowledge from the original regression.
All his experience from creating the story.
All his determination to change fate.
It coalesced.
Crystallized.
BECAME.
Reality around them flickered.
Colors draining away.
The world becoming black and white.
Like ink on paper.
The Overlord's grip loosened in surprise.
"What is this?"
Arden fell to the ground, gasping.
But the world kept changing.
Spreading outward from him like ripples in water.
Everything touched by the effect losing color.
Becoming stark black and white contrasts.
"A domain," the Overlord breathed. "You're manifesting a domain. But that's impossible. You're only third stage."
Arden stood on shaking legs.
His voice when he spoke was rough.
Coarse.
Wrong.
"I am the artist of my own fate."
The words came from somewhere deep.
Somewhere primal.
"The world is my canvas. My blade is my brush."
The black and white effect intensified.
Reality itself bending to Arden's will.
"And I paint only in shadows and light."
His Integration cores were burning.
Pushing past their limits.
Reaching for something beyond fourth stage.
Fifth stage.
But incomplete.
Unstable.
A domain without full manifestation.
The Overlord stared at him with new respect.
And for the first time—
Fear.
"You're breaking through. In the middle of battle. While dying." He laughed—sharp and genuine. "Magnificent! Absolutely magnificent!"
He released his full power.
Divine flame erupting like a tsunami.
"But it won't be enough! You're incomplete! Unstable! One push and you'll shatter!"
Arden raised his sword.
The blade had changed.
Now it looked like it was drawn with ink.
Black lines against white paper.
"Then let me show you what incomplete looks like."
He moved.
Not shadow step.
Something else.
Like he was drawing himself across the canvas of reality.
His blade struck the Overlord's chest.
And cut.
Deeper than it should.
Cutting not just flesh but the very concept of the Overlord's defense.
Black blood sprayed.
The Overlord staggered back.
"Impossible—"
"You stole divine fire. Became something beyond mortal."
Arden advanced, his voice growing rougher with each word.
"But I'm stealing something greater. I'm stealing fate itself. Rewriting the story that says you win."
He attacked again.
The Overlord blocked—
But Arden's blade passed through the block like it wasn't there.
Cut across the Overlord's already-damaged arm.
Severed it completely.
The arm fell.
The Overlord roared in pain and fury.
"YOU DARE—"
"I dare everything. Because I've already lost everything once."
Arden's next strike aimed for the throat—
The Overlord caught it with his crown of fire.
Divine flame meeting incomplete domain.
The collision was cataclysmic.
Reality screaming from the conflict.
Arden's domain cracking.
His incomplete fifth-stage breakthrough destabilizing.
But he pushed harder.
"I will usurp the divine. I will remake this ending. I will paint a new story where we WIN!"
The Overlord's crown flickered.
His divine fire wavering.
"You're... you're actually hurting me. Actually threatening me."
He smiled—terrible and admiring.
"Three hundred years. Three hundred years since anyone made me feel this. Made me feel challenged."
He grabbed Arden's blade with his bare hand.
Divine fire exploding.
Arden screamed as the flames touched him.
His left arm burning.
Flesh charring.
The Overlord pulled him close.
"But you're still not enough."
His free hand drove into Arden's chest.
Ribs cracking.
Arden coughed blood.
His domain flickering.
His incomplete breakthrough failing.
Not enough. Even with fifth stage. Even with the domain. Still not enough.
The Overlord raised his hand for the killing blow—
And Elara's sword punched through his chest from behind.
Through his heart.
Silver-gold light exploding from the blade.
"FOR ROY!" she screamed, her voice raw. "FOR ARDEN! FOR EVERYONE YOU'VE KILLED!"
The Overlord staggered.
Actually staggered.
Looked down at the blade protruding from his chest.
"Ah. The monarch's blade. Forged to kill titans." He coughed black blood. "Of course."
He turned to face Elara.
"Clever girl. Waiting for him to distract me."
"It's called teamwork," she gasped, bloodline consuming her completely now. "Something eternal beings forget about."
She twisted the blade.
The Overlord screamed.
Grabbed her with both hands—
Wait.
Both hands?
His severed arm was regenerating.
Growing back from divine fire.
"I am eternal," he whispered. "I cannot die. Not from mortal wounds."
He threw Elara away with devastating force.
She hit the ground and didn't get up.
Unconscious or dead.
Arden struggled to his feet.
His left arm useless.
His domain collapsing.
His incomplete fifth-stage breakthrough failing.
But he still had his sword.
And poetry he hadn't used yet.
The last of his power.
His final gambit.
He opened his mouth.
And sang.
His voice was coarse. Rough. Wrong.
But the words carried power anyway:
"I was born in darkness, forged in shadow."
His remaining Integration power flared.
"Denied my throne, my crown, my fate."
The black and white domain stabilized slightly.
"I am the usurper. The thief of destiny."
His blade began to shine—not with light, but with absence of light.
"I steal from gods what they stole from mortals."
The Overlord's eyes widened.
"That poetry. That's not normal combat poetry. That's—"
"I tear down heaven's gates.
I dethrone eternal kings.
I remake the world as I wish it.
For I am the one who rewrites endings!"
Arden charged.
His incomplete domain, his failing fifth-stage breakthrough, his damaged body—
All of it channeled into one final strike.
The Overlord met him with divine fire.
Three hundred years of stolen power.
The Outer God's flame.
They collided.
The explosion was visible from the fortress.
A sphere of black and white mixing with crimson fire.
Reality itself cracking.
When the light faded—
Both stood.
Arden missing his left arm completely now.
His left eye gone, the socket empty and bleeding.
His voice gone—vocal cords destroyed from the poetry.
But his blade was lodged in the Overlord's throat.
Through the neck.
Severing the connection between his crown and his body.
The Overlord's crown of fire flickered.
Went out.
The divine flame dying.
"You... you actually..." He coughed black blood. "Did it..."
He fell to his knees.
Looked at Arden with something like pride.
"Three hundred years. And a thirteen-year-old boy... ends me."
He smiled.
"Your mentor would be proud."
Then he fell forward.
Dead.
Silence.
Complete silence.
The remaining Berserkers across the battlefield froze.
Their War Essence flickering.
Failing.
Without the Overlord's power sustaining them—
They began to collapse.
Die.
The entire army crumbling like puppets with cut strings.
Michel appeared beside Arden.
Caught him before he fell.
"You insane, brilliant, terrifying child. You actually killed him."
Arden tried to speak.
No sound came out.
His vocal cords destroyed.
His left arm gone—Elara had grabbed it, was holding it carefully.
His left eye missing.
But alive.
We won. Roy's sacrifice wasn't wasted. We actually won.
Then the Overlord's corpse moved.
Just slightly.
Everyone froze.
A voice came from the dead body.
Not the Overlord's voice.
Something else.
Something wrong.
"INTERESTING."
The voice was layered.
Multiple tones speaking as one.
"THE CHAMPION FALLS. THE VESSEL BREAKS. BUT THE GAME... THE GAME CONTINUES."
The corpse's remaining eye opened.
But the eye was wrong.
Not yellow and red like a Berserker's.
Something else.
Something that hurt to look at.
Colors that shouldn't exist.
Geometries that defied comprehension.
"YOU HAVE DONE WELL, LITTLE USURPER. YOU HAVE EARNED MY ATTENTION."
Michel's face went serious.
"What the fuck is that?"