Suspended within a rift in the void,
only a fraction of Orsaga's body remained.
Three wings gently unfurled.
A fiery shield shimmered into existence around him, isolating him from the surrounding spatial storm.
With a calm expression, he reached out with one hand—
gathering the lingering shards of the shattered divine kingdom into his palm, forming a radiant golden sphere.
This was the essence of Helion's godhood—
the culmination of countless years of divine accumulation.
In many ways, it was more valuable than Helion himself.
It was the wealth of millennia, seized in an instant.
Though Orsaga had killed Helion inside his own divine domain, and suffered no surprises in the process,
that desperate final strike.
backed by the full depth of Helion's divine reserves and battlefield advantage, still left Orsaga with injuries that weren't easy to regenerate.
Godforce clung to every bone in his body, suppressing his regenerative abilities and relentlessly agitating his soul,
causing a dull haze to cloud his thoughts.
He absorbed all the energy from the orb in his hand,
and casually stashed the rarer divine materials for later.
With that done, he stopped bothering to resist the remaining divine energy.
In the next moment, his entire body began to disintegrate,
and with it, everything attached—whether his own or Helion's
vanished without a trace.
Seconds later…
A barely perceptible particle formed where he once stood.
Without any additional energy input, it began to double in size,
again and again.
A single cell emerged.
Then muscle, flesh, and bone.
Until finally, a complete body stood in its place once more.
Orsaga calmly opened his eyes, flexing his newly-regenerated frame with ease.
Composed. Unbothered.
---
Unlike Helion, whose destruction of the physical body would result in devastating losses, Orsaga considered it a scratch.
If the damage was too severe to heal?
Then he'd simply make a new body.
No fuss.
The only things that could truly threaten his existence were:
1. His limited number of resurrections.
2. Direct attacks on his soul.
But Orsaga had always prioritized soul strength—
a trait shared by nearly all Greater-Rank Demons.
After all, when your species feeds on souls, having a weak one yourself would be nothing short of a cosmic joke.
So harming his soul meant beating him in the area where he was strongest, a near-impossible task.
The only reason Helion's divine power had affected him at all, was because it had latched onto his physical form,
using the connection between body and soul to exert influence.
But now, that connection was gone.
The lingering traces quickly dissolved,
and Orsaga returned to peak condition.
With a single leap, he exited the void fissure and once again returned to the surface of the sun.
Looking down, he saw that the sun had turned a deep blood-red.
Orsaga's bloodflame had spread across every inch of its surface.
All light and heat now had to pass through the bloodflame's filtration, otherwise, even intangible energy would be incinerated.
Because in the end, even light and heat were still forms of energy and bloodflame operated on a higher order of reality.
If Orsaga wanted, he could reduce the entire star to ash,
plunging the surface world into an eternal ice age devoid of sunlight.
But after a moment of consideration, he chose not to.
After all, the Chloroya Merchant Guild had shown him some good faith. Destroying the sun now would be tantamount to flipping the game board. It wasn't worth the fallout.
So—he called the bloodflame back.
What remained condensed into a single,
dozens-of-meters-long blazing spear, its mere presence scorching the space around it into an absolute vacuum.
Orsaga gripped it tightly.
Then looked down toward the planet below.
His gaze sliced through space like a telescope,
easily surveying the many battlefields still raging across the surface.
After a brief scan, he picked a target.
He took a few short steps—
And hurled the spear.
---
Like a crimson meteor trailing a stream of fire,
the spear tore through the sky at unimaginable speed.
The divine being it was aimed at immediately sensed the malicious intent hurtling toward them.
Without hesitation, he unleashed a powerful burst of godforce, blasting the Greater-Rank Demon he was fighting away and turned to face the threat.
He looked up. And saw the sky shift from dark clouds to a crimson, unholy glow. It was as if the heavens themselves had been soaked in blood.
Then, a burning blood-red spear pierced the cloud cover.
Before the God could even react, it descended upon him like divine retribution, unstoppable.
BOOM!!!
A blinding crimson explosion erupted.
Flames surged outward for dozens of kilometers, everything caught in its radius was vaporized instantly.
Then, just as suddenly, the flames collapsed inward,
condensing into a blood-red sphere only a few meters across.
It hovered silently in the void.
No more heat. No more sound.
Only the burning trail left by the thrown spear remained,
stretching from the sun all the way down like a celestial road.
"Fucking aashole!"
With a string of furious Abyssal curses, Greater-Rank Demon Zalta crawled out of a nearby rift—looking a little singed.
He hadn't even been the target, but proximity to the impact zone had nearly cost him dearly.
If he hadn't run fast enough, it would've been more than a near miss.
He shot a wary glance skyward.
There, hovering with eight wings fully extended,
was Orsaga.
But Orsaga didn't even spare Zalta a look.
His focus was on the struggling figure inside the blood sphere.
"Impressive," Orsaga chuckled.
"You really are the god of Earth and Life. That vitality of yours is no joke."
"Aaaaahhh!! You bastard! YOU SHOULD DIE!"
The god's screams echoed in rage and agony.
The condensed bloodflame—enough to blanket the entire sun—had been compressed to just a few meters.
Even divine shields couldn't hold back that kind of power.
In mere seconds, the god was reduced to a charred skeleton.
His body burned, his soul seared by Orsaga's authority of agony, trapping him in excruciating, never-ending pain.
The god flailed, trying to escape the sphere, but found himself completely immobilized.
Orsaga ignored the cursing. Smiling casually, he closed his hand slightly and the temperature inside the sphere rose again.
"You think I care if I'm cursed? Go ahead. It makes no difference to me."
Moments later, a shimmering golden crystal emerged from the center of the sphere.
Orsaga plucked it out, tossing it into his palm and weighing it casually.
Then, turning to Zalta, he asked in a perfectly friendly tone:
"I'm keeping this for myself. Any objections?"
Zalta immediately shook his head like a gentleman:
"None whatsoever. Please… by all means."
Because he didn't have a choice.
Demon or not—
the wise know when to stay silent.
__
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