Everyone present on that battlefield could no longer simply watch in calm silence.
This was no longer a fight between individuals.
This was a catastrophe.
The perfected white heavenly dragon—the complete manifestation of the Vanishing Dragon—hovered in the skies over Kuoh, completely blotting out the moon. Every beat of its wings generated pressure that caused buildings to collapse, the ground to crack, and the boundaries of magical defenses to creak as if they might shatter at any moment.
"GROOOOOOH!!"
That roar was not merely a sound, but a declaration of destruction.
The leaders of the three races reacted on instinct.
Sirzechs raised his power, his Demon King aura surging violently. Michael gripped his holy sword, heavenly light pulsing around his body. Even Serafall, usually cheerful, fell silent, her face tense.
Azazel clenched his teeth.
He stared at the white dragon with mixed emotions—anger, frustration, and guilt.
"You damn idiot…" he muttered. "Why did you have to go this far, Vali…"
He knew that if this continued, nothing of Kuoh would remain.
But before anyone could move—
Jun stepped forward.
He let out a long, quiet breath, as if accepting a reality he had never wanted from the start.
"It's no longer wise for me to remain just a spectator," Sirzechs said heavily, preparing to leap into the battlefield.
Jun raised one hand.
"No," he said firmly.
All eyes turned to him.
"I'll handle this," Jun continued without excess emotion. "You focus on dealing with the aftermath."
Azazel snapped his head toward him. "Hey, are you serious?! He's a complete heavenly dragon now! If you fail—"
"This place will be leveled," Jun finished calmly. "I know."
He looked up at the white dragon in the sky.
"That's why," he said softly, "I'm confident."
Without warning, Jun shot into the air.
Not with an excessive explosion of power, not with a shout—he simply flew straight ahead, piercing through the dragon's pressure as if the laws of physics no longer applied to him.
He stopped directly before the Vanishing Dragon's head.
From Albion's perspective, the human looked small—almost insignificant.
Albion opened its mouth.
Destructive energy gathered in the dragon's throat, a pure Dragon Breath capable of erasing a city from the map.
Meanwhile, Jun closed his eyes.
'I think… this is the moment.'
His thoughts moved far faster than the situation outside.
'Domain Realm… a high-level barrier technique. Manifesting the inner world into physical space.'
His hands formed seals.
'The key to this technique is realm maturity. The more stable the foundation of existence, the more solid the world that is formed.'
He opened his eyes.
'This will be a test… of whether I've truly gone that far.'
His lips moved, his voice barely audible—yet reality heard it.
[Domain Expansion]
In an instant—
The space around Jun and the white dragon distorted.
The sky seemed to fold inward upon itself. Light vanished, colors were drained away, and the distinction between up and down lost all meaning.
A massive black sphere formed in the air, like a cosmic egg, swallowing Jun and the Vanishing Dragon entirely.
Silence.
The previously crushing pressure vanished in an instant.
The wind stopped.
The dragon's roar was cut off, as if suppressed by something more absolute.
Azazel's eyes went wide.
"What was that…?" he murmured in disbelief. "Creating… an egg world?"
Michael stared at the black sphere with a serious expression, something rarely seen on him. "That's not just a barrier… It's a separate space."
Sirzechs let out a slow breath. "He… pulled the dragon into his own world."
In the skies over Kuoh, the black sphere floated motionlessly.
Inside it—the true battle had only just begun.
…
Albion—or rather, the Vanishing Dragon in its rampaging form—let out a long roar.
That roar was not merely sound. It was the will of an ancient dragon refusing to be confined. A wave of pressure was released, and the black fog enveloping the space was violently torn apart, as if reality itself had been split by its rage.
When its vision cleared, Albion froze.
Before it stretched a vast grassy plain, gently swaying in the wind. The sky above was not blue, but a reddish gray, like a sunset frozen in a single eternal moment. There was no sun, no moon—only dim light that seemed to emanate from the land itself.
This was not the outside world.
This was not Kuoh.
Albion's instincts screamed a single truth: this territory was dangerous.
In the distance stood a large wooden door.
Not a magnificent gate of gold or stone, but a simple door, made of old wood with faint carvings that were almost impossible to discern—yet its presence felt heavier than any fortress.
The door stood alone, without walls, without buildings. As if this world had been built for one purpose only: that door.
Slowly—
Kreeeek…
The door began to open.
Albion's combat instincts reacted instantly. It did not wait for it to open fully.
Destructive energy was compressed in an instant.
Dragon Breath.
A torrent of white dragon fire capable of annihilating everything was unleashed, shooting straight toward the door. The ground around it melted instantly, the air distorted, and silver-white light flooded the field of vision.
But—
There was no explosion.
No destruction.
The flames stopped.
Right at the threshold of the door.
From both sides of the gate, a single pair of hands appeared—simple, open, without any flashy magical layers—blocking the Dragon Breath as if it were nothing more than hot wind. The dragon fire was cleanly split to the left and right, scorching the outer sides of the doorway, yet the wooden gate itself was not scratched in the slightest.
Albion's eyes widened.
Impossible.
Its Dragon Breath was meant to erase existence, not be stopped with bare hands.
The door continued to open, slowly, without haste.
From beyond it emerged a figure that made Albion's instincts scream louder than ever before.
He resembled Jun—yet was also not entirely the same.
The man wore ancient eastern noble attire, his chest partially exposed, revealing a body sculpted as if forged through thousands of battles. Long black hair flowed down his back, moving gently despite the near absence of wind.
And his eyes—
glowing red, like embers that would never go out.
Not human eyes.
They were the gaze of something that had gone far beyond humanity, too far to ever return.
Albion roared in fury.
Without waiting another moment, the white dragon's massive body surged forward, tearing through the ground with every movement. Space shook violently, this world itself seeming on the verge of collapse under the clash of their wills.
Yet the figure before the door did not move.
He simply took a single step forward.
Then, with a motion that was utterly simple, he raised his hand—forming an open palm, without a defensive stance, without excessive preparation.
Simple.
Calm.
As if welcoming something he had long been waiting for.
"Demon Palm."
The palm was pushed forward.
And in that instant—the world within the Domain shook violently, not because of an explosion, but because a different set of laws had just been applied.
…
I don't really understand what just happened either.
Just now, without careful calculation, I manifested my own mental realm into the physical world—a high-level technique that, even in my own theory, was still unstable. The concept was simple yet insane: overlaying the inner world, the world where my will and existence are absolute, on top of reality itself.
That technique only came to mind after I reached the 41st floor of the Tower of Babel. A place where the laws of the world begin to loosen, and the concept of "possible" becomes broader than "impossible."
But… this.
This is clearly beyond my expectations.
The expanse of grass, the grayish-red sky, that wooden door—everything here belongs to me. I know it. I feel it the way I feel my own pulse.
And yet…
This pressure.
Heavy. Deep. Crushing existence itself.
As if there were another being who should not be inside my domain, yet stands here casually, even making me—the owner of this world—feel threatened.
That figure stands before me.
His face… resembles mine. Far too similar to be called a coincidence. Long black hair, ancient Eastern noble attire with his chest exposed, glowing red eyes that look at me not as an opponent—but as an insect.
His pressure is not like Vali's.
Not like Albion's.
Not even like the Dragon Gods I have encountered before.
This is different.
This is… primordial.
I swallow.
"Y-you…" my voice comes out heavier than I expected. "Heavenly Demon?"
The figure smiles faintly.
A smile completely devoid of warmth.
"How truly pitiful," he says softly, yet his voice echoes throughout the entire domain, as if the world itself repeats his words, "that a cockroach would dare take my name."
My heart pounds.
Not from anger.
Not from fear alone.
But from the admission itself.
He doesn't deny it.
He doesn't laugh mockingly like Vali.
He states it as if it were an absolute fact.
Hah…?
He really is—
The Heavenly Demon.
Not a title.
Not a nickname.
But an original existence.
And what is even more terrifying… his gaze pierces through me, as if he sees not only this body, not only my current soul, but all paths of my existence—from Seong Ga-u, Jun Mizushino, Cheon Ma… to something even I myself have yet to understand.
"Interesting," he continues, taking a single step forward. The ground beneath his feet does not tremble—it submits. "You borrow my shadow, imitate my path, even build a world with a similar concept…"
Each word makes my chest feel heavier.
"But you forgot one thing."
He stops just a few meters in front of me.
"A shadow," he says quietly, "can never surpass its source."
Cold sweat runs down my temple.
//--//
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