The highland, which had become tattered in the war, was now completely engulfed in pitch-black flames.
The magic statue Phoenix composed of volcanic magma and ash was unknowingly brushed by the night, vanishing into the lightless backdrop.
Its outline merged into the darkness, like a colossal shadow devoured by the Abyss, with only the fierce white glow at its heart still dazzlingly bright—like an indestructible star, proudly hung over this ruined world without a heaven and earth.
The Hero who accepted his own "possibility of defeat" and transformed into a pure white Phoenix calmly lowered his eyelids.
The only brilliance in the world was so dazzling that even the Angel King below, with wings raised high, was robbed of its presence, submerged in the released white light.
Black was brushed by black, and pure white was covered by pure white.
Between black and white, no distinction remained, and the concept of color ceased to exist—the last remnant left was void.
