The night over Paris was heavy, smothered beneath clouds that refused to move.
From the balcony of the Heroic Council Hall, Arthur watched the city flicker — not with the glow of civilization, but with fear. People whispered in the streets, hiding in their homes, praying to gods that no longer answered.
For the first time in centuries, hope felt like an illusion.
Behind him, the grand chamber buzzed with tension. Ten seats once filled by the world's mightiest heroes now stood half-empty. The banners of fallen nations — China, South Africa, Japan — hung tattered against the marble walls.
At the center of it all, Arthur sat — the last beacon of order in a collapsing world. His armor, once polished gold, was cracked and dulled by battle. His blue eyes, sharp as blades, carried the exhaustion of a man who had seen too much.
A young officer entered, trembling as he saluted.
"Sir, reports confirm it. Zhao and Taye are both dead. Their Spirit Cores were… consumed."
Arthur didn't move. He only closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.
"How long until the Abyss reaches Europe?"
"Three days at most, sir. Maybe less. Its influence has already covered parts of Eastern Europe. Entire cities are vanishing into—"
He hesitated, searching for words.
"—darkness."
Arthur turned away from the balcony. His cape shifted slightly, revealing the faint scar that ran across his jaw — a reminder of the first time he faced Adrian, years ago.
"Darkness doesn't consume cities," he said quietly. "It consumes people."
The officer didn't reply. No one in the room dared to.
Arthur descended the steps, his boots echoing in the silence, and stopped before the great round table at the center of the hall — a relic of the old world, carved from the roots of the Sacred Tree of Avalon.
He placed his hands on its surface.
"Summon the remaining Knights," he commanded. "Every one of them."
Moments later, the heavy doors opened.
They entered — the surviving members of the Top 10, the heroes who had sworn to protect humanity. Each carried scars, both visible and invisible.
First came Ryu Min-jae, the Korean Windblade, his sharp features calm but his eyes burning with vengeance. His right arm was mechanical now, forged from silver alloy.
Then Luna Moreau, the French mage whose golden hair shimmered faintly with celestial light. Her robes were scorched from her last mission.
Behind them walked Ayo Bakar, the Nigerian titan whose fists had shattered mountains, and Nikolai Volkov, the Russian strategist who once commanded entire armies.
Each one bowed silently before Arthur.
"Six remain," Arthur said. "Six against one."
Ryu clenched his metallic fist. "One god, you mean."
Arthur met his gaze. "No. One man. A man who's forgotten what he is."
Luna stepped forward. "He's not the same, Arthur. You've seen the footage. His aura— it bends reality. He's not fighting as a host anymore. He is the Abyss."
Arthur looked at her, expression unreadable.
"Then we fight the Abyss."
Nikolai sighed. "We've lost two nations trying to do just that."
He leaned over the table, activating a holographic projection. A vast map of the world flickered to life, the eastern hemisphere covered in creeping violet mist.
"This isn't just corruption. It's rewriting matter. Every city that falls under his control ceases to exist. There's nothing left — no corpses, no ruins, nothing."
Arthur studied the projection in silence.
"He's preparing something," he said at last. "A convergence."
"A what?" Luna asked.
"The point where the Abyss will fully manifest in our world," Arthur replied. "Once that happens, no power will be able to contain it."
The room fell silent. Only the faint hum of the hologram filled the air.
Ayo finally spoke, voice deep and steady. "Then we stop it before it begins. If the Abyss is feeding off his emotions, we kill him — quick, clean, before he becomes unstoppable."
Luna shot him a glare. "You can't just kill him. He's still human somewhere inside!"
"Human?" Ayo laughed bitterly. "You saw what he did to Zhao. That wasn't human. That was a monster wearing a man's face."
The argument rose like thunder, until Arthur slammed his sword onto the table — the ancient blade Clarent, the twin of Excalibur. Its runes glowed faintly blue, silencing everyone.
"Enough." His voice cut through the noise. "We don't have time for debates."
He turned his gaze toward the burning map.
"I knew Adrian once. Before all this. He was quiet, distant, but not evil. The world broke him. And we—" He looked down, jaw tightening. "We let it happen."
No one spoke.
Arthur's hand trembled slightly on the sword's hilt. "If there's still a part of him left, I'll reach it. But if not…" He raised his head, eyes burning with resolve. "Then I'll end him myself."
The council erupted into motion. Orders were shouted, spells activated, relics retrieved. For the first time in decades, the world's remaining heroes moved as one.
---
Hours later, Arthur stood alone in the Sanctuary of Light, an underground cathedral built beneath Paris. The air shimmered faintly with ancient magic. Golden glyphs spiraled across the marble floor, forming a circle of pure light.
He knelt at its center, resting Clarent beside him.
The weight of leadership pressed down on him — not just the burden of command, but of guilt.
"Adrian…" he murmured. "Was this the only way for you to be heard?"
A faint echo answered him — not words, but a pulse, a tremor in the world itself. The same energy that had swallowed nations. The Abyss was awake.
Arthur rose to his feet, his armor gleaming faintly under the sacred light. "Then I'll speak your language," he whispered. "The language of strength."
From above, the first lightning bolt struck, splitting the sky in two. The Abyss had reached Europe.
Arthur's voice echoed through the cathedral, steady and unwavering:
"Knights of Light! The end begins now!"
And far across the world, in a throne room drowned in shadows, Adrian opened his eyes — and smiled.