Talagra had become a graveyard beneath a false sun.
The waterfalls that once cascaded down Mount Tar now ran red. The elegant bridges that connected the city's peaks were shattered, hanging like broken ribs over a dying body. The air reeked of blood and burning stone.
Shadow-born demons swept through the streets like a tide.
City guards were torn apart mid-formation. Intelligence Department knights were dragged screaming into cracks of darkness. Civilians—men, women, children—were cut down mercilessly, their shadows rising moments later to join the legion that slaughtered them.
The once-prestigious city of Talagra—beloved by sages and scholars—now looked like a borderland between the human realm and Nior itself.
A failed sanctuary.
A conquered kingdom.
"Talagra has fallen..." Urillia whispered, her golden eyes reflecting the nightmare.
Her voice, usually cold and precise, trembled just slightly.
"A Seven-Star demon... the Black Guild... Denias missing... the death of the Sage... how did everything unravel this badly?"
For the first time, she did not sound like a princess.
She sounded like a young woman watching her world burn.
Amira had no comfort to give.
The Phoenix Pact still burned in her veins, but its time was slipping away. Its power—magnificent as it felt—was temporary. A desperate measure. A flawed miracle.
And now...
They were relying entirely on Asuma.
Which terrified her.
Because every second he fought, she felt something in him slipping further away.
They had only been traveling together for two months.
Two months.
And already—
Villages burned.
Sages died.
Cities fell.
Primordial blood stained the sky.
Why now?
Why us?
Asuma rose from the crater his body had carved into the city.
Bones cracked back into place.
Blood dripped from his fingertips.
His breathing was ragged.
He looked around.
Bodies.
Shadows devouring corpses.
Children screaming.
Steel clashing uselessly against darkness.
The Talagra he had walked through days ago—vibrant, alive—was gone.
Only death remained.
Something inside him snapped.
Not grief.
Not fear.
Fury.
He lifted his blade and aimed it at the floating sovereign above.
Lyra hovered beneath her eclipsed sun, looking down as if observing insects.
Asuma's grip tightened.
"Blood Magic: Blood Thorn."
He hurled his sword like a spear.
The weapon tore through the air, leaving a spiral of red lightning in its wake.
Lyra reacted instantly.
A shield formed—millions of shadow-hands layered together, writhing and regenerating endlessly.
The blade struck.
It tore through layer after layer.
Each time the shield rebuilt—
The sword carved deeper.
While she focused on defense—
Asuma dropped to the streets.
And began slaughtering.
Not elegantly.
Not strategically.
With his bare hands.
He tore shadow demons apart like paper.
Crushed skulls.
Ripped torsos open.
Moved like something feral.
For a moment—
He looked less human than the creatures he killed.
Lyra finally halted the Blood Thorn.
The blade embedded in her final shield layer, trembling.
Her red eyes narrowed.
She extended her hand.
A spear of condensed abyss formed in her grasp—vast, denser than the one before.
She mimicked him.
Then hurled it downward.
Not at him.
At the city.
At everything.
Asuma didn't think.
He regenerated his blood-wings mid-stride and shot upward.
He intercepted the spear.
Caught it.
His hands ignited.
The demonic energy burned through flesh and bone.
He roared—
Then devoured it.
Blood magic coiled around the abyssal weapon, swallowing its energy.
The spear twisted in his grip, reshaped by fire and crimson aura.
He pulled back—
And hurled it.
But not at Lyra.
At the eclipse.
The spear screamed through the sky.
Lyra's expression changed.
For the first time—
Concern.
She reacted instantly, forming a massive barrier around the eclipsed sun, layers of shadow stacking frantically.
The spear collided.
The sky shook.
The domain trembled.
Her barrier held—
But a crack split across the surface of the eclipse.
A thin beam of real sunlight pierced through.
It touched the city.
And where it landed—
Shadows dissolved.
Demons screamed.
The domain flickered.
Lyra's gaze sharpened.
She understood.
Asuma hovered, blood dripping from his hands, staring at the crack.
"So that's it..." he muttered.
"That's the exit."
The eclipse wasn't just symbolic.
It was the anchor.
Destroy it—
And her Alter Reality would collapse.
He lifted his hand toward the fractured false sun.