As Erwin spoke, a phantom city materialized in the sky. It was ancient, reminiscent of structures seen in Muggle history books, with spectral soldiers standing upon its walls. Two large characters adorned the city gate—Fengdu. While the Western wizards couldn't decipher them, the Eastern students recognized the name immediately.
"Fengdu," Sunny Finch whispered in shock. "It actually exists! I thought it was merely a legend!"
In the West, they had the Grim Reaper to guide the dead, but the East had always remained shrouded in mystery. Now, she understood. Fengdu wasn't merely folklore; it was the afterlife's counterpart to the God of Death, an entity of the Eastern Dynasty.
The Grim Reaper looked up at the spectral city, feeling the oppressive aura bearing down. Panic flared within its chest. The gods of the East were not like the diminished entities it knew; they were truly terrifying. Born from the dragon's ascension, their power far eclipsed that of Western divinities. If the Eastern gods were true deities, its own kind were mere imitations, not even operating on the same level.
Even a phantom projection derived from their authority was suffocating. The energy fluctuations pressing down left the Grim Reaper with no choice but to summon its own authority to resist.
Under the weight of Fengdu City, the Grim Reaper felt its power straining. It needed to leave. Now.
Its hollow eyes darted to the light barrier encircling the battlefield. It severed the Reaper's connection to the Underworld, blocking escape. It had to break through.
It didn't understand formations, but it knew everything was anchored to Erwin. If it eliminated the boy, the barrier would surely collapse.
Swaying under the immense pressure, the Grim Reaper swung its scythe, aiming for Erwin's neck.
Erwin didn't move. He stood perfectly still, watching the attack approach with unnerving calmness.
Snape and the others gasped, ready to shout a warning, but then—silence.
The Grim Reaper froze mid-swing. To its horror, a torrent of souls surged through the barrier, drawn from the fallen dark wizards outside, and merged into its scythe. The weapon flared with uncontrollable power. Above, the soldiers in Fengdu City seemed to awaken, their hollow eyes fixing on the deity. The plaque above the gate pulsed with emerald light.
"What have you done?" the Grim Reaper roared.
Erwin smiled coldly. "Western souls, even if they perish in the East, are bound only to your authority. You have no control here. You must claim them all, and in doing so, you are condemning yourself."
Outside the barrier, the Cavendish operatives moved with ruthless efficiency. Their prisoners—captured dark wizards—were executed without hesitation. Their souls rose, feeding the scythe.
The Grim Reaper tried to activate its full authority, but Fengdu City's pressure wouldn't permit it. It was trapped in a stalemate.
Then, the emerald light intensified. Energy flowed from the spectral soldiers, coalescing into a beam that struck the scythe directly.
The Grim Reaper threw its weapon upward to block the attack. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the area. Fengdu was powerful, but without a true master, it was exhausting its reserves rapidly. The Grim Reaper was expending its own authority just as quickly. It was a race to see who would burn out first.
But Erwin had never relied on chance alone.
He began walking toward the Grim Reaper, his steps unhurried and deliberate. The deity glanced at him, confident in its invulnerability. Even depleted, it was beyond mortal reach. The barrier was already fracturing under the strain of their confrontation. Once it shattered, the Reaper would escape, and Erwin's death would inevitably follow.
A sharp hiss cut through the air.
The Grim Reaper's authority vanished in an instant. Fengdu City faded away like mist. It looked down at the blade protruding from its chest, its face—what remained of it—etched with pure disbelief.