The maddened roar that burst forth was not the cry of a man—it was the scream of a hawk wounded mid-flight, the death wail of a beast cornered and broken.
Every note carried with it hatred deep enough to burn the heavens.
Balder stood calmly before it all, his golden eyes filled with cruel amusement.
"Anger," he said softly, "doesn't grant you strength."
"Tell me, where is the God you pray to now?"
"The God you devoted your life to—what has He ever given you in return?"
The Night-Wing Dragon's body shook violently, his bloodshot eyes filled with fury, his veins pulsing dark beneath the skin.
Balder tilted his head. "Still nothing? Perhaps your silence is the answer."
The man's roar grew hoarse, more beast than human.
"I'll kill you! I swear by the Light, I'll tear you apart!"
Balder smiled thinly. "Such a fragile faith. You rage at me, but your cries are not prayers—they're confessions."
He stepped closer, his words soft and venomous. "Do you still pray to your God, knowing you've already broken His law? Do you think He'll save a fallen believer… or strike him down Himself?"
The Night-Wing Dragon froze. His mind shattered under the truth of it.
He had broken his vow.
He had loved what he was forbidden to love.
And now, even his prayers sounded like lies.
A faint, choked sob echoed through the chamber—his companion's restrained cry of pain.
The sound tore through his final fragment of restraint. His vision darkened, his veins blackened as corruption flooded his body.
His voice was no longer human when he spoke again:
"Even if I sink to the deepest pit of Hell—I will destroy you!"
At that moment, light erupted from his chest—pure, white, and blinding. It pierced the ceiling and shot skyward, breaking through the clouds.
Ordinary people could not see it, but every being touched by the supernatural felt it.
In the sacred halls of the Monastery, the Night-Wing Queen bowed her head, sorrow in her eyes.
"Another of our kin returns to Heaven…"
For the Night-Wings, death meant ascension. The demons' souls fell back to Hell—but the faithful were taken by the Light.
Across the world, other Night-Wing Dragons performed the ritual of blessing, their wings folded, their faces heavy with grief. Every ascension was a prayer… and a loss. Their strength waned with each return.
But in the depths of the abyss, the demons rejoiced.
Some mocked. Some cheered. Others simply stared upward in awe.
"The Prince of Hell strikes again," one whispered. "Even Heaven trembles before him."
Yet, just as the holy pillar of light reached its brightest point—a shadow appeared within it.
A single streak of black. Deep, abyssal, devouring.
It began to spread.
From within that sacred beam, the white was consumed by darkness—slowly at first, then violently, until the light itself bled black.
In the Monastery, the Queen's face turned pale.
"This… this is impossible!" she cried. "He's not ascending—he's falling! This is… Corruption!"
Back in the dungeon, Balder raised his gaze to the ceiling. The blackened light painted his face in shades of night and fire.
He watched the transformation unfold, whispering with quiet satisfaction:
"Three days of hunger. Three days to weaken body and mind. Then a single touch to the soul—and down he falls."
The Night-Wing Dragon screamed. But the sound was no longer human.
It was a roar that split the air.
The chains snapped.
The cross shattered.
Black wings erupted from his back, their feathers soaked in shadow. His once-pure skin turned ashen, his eyes burned crimson, his breath thick with demonic power.
The Night-Wing Dragon was gone.
In his place stood the Fallen Blackwing, a creature of wrath and despair.
"Kill you!" he howled. "I'll kill you!"
He charged, his movements a blur of dark light. For a moment, even Balder's silhouette vanished in the rush of wind.
But then—
Crack.
Balder caught him by the throat mid-flight. A flick of his wrist.
The sound of snapping bone echoed through the chamber.
The body went limp, wings crumpling like burnt paper.
The female Night-Wing cried out in anguish, her voice raw with horror.
Balder didn't look at her. His attention was fixed upward.
He could feel it—a power descending. Something vast, holy, and furious.
Then the heavens split open.
BOOM!
A colossal beam of light descended, hundreds of times brighter and thicker than the last.
The dungeon vanished in the brilliance.
Voices sang in celestial harmony. The sound was both terrible and beautiful, like the weight of divine judgment made manifest.
From within the light, a vast angelic silhouette took form—six wings spreading across the sky, eyes filled with eternal judgment.
A voice thundered from above:
"Blasphemer. Your sin cannot be forgiven."
Balder's expression remained unchanged. He stepped forward, and the ground cracked beneath his feet.
Scarlet lava burst from below, devouring the earth, transforming the chamber into a field of molten fire.
His body shifted—horns curved upward, wings tore from his back, his aura ignited with the pure essence of the Inferno.
Light met Darkness.
Heaven met Hell.
The world itself seemed to split down the middle.
Balder raised his gaze. His voice was calm, almost amused.
"Archangel Michael… I've been waiting for you."
The six-winged shadow gazed down, its holy eyes sharp as swords.
No words followed—only the chilling weight of judgment. Then, at last, the angel spoke again:
"Seven days from now, I shall descend in full.
And on that day… evil shall be erased."
With those words, the light began to fade.
The angel's image dissolved into a storm of luminous feathers, scattering across the void—
until only darkness remained.
~~----------------------
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