The black hole pulsed.
Aurelion felt it before he saw it—the shift in gravity, the pull that dragged at his wings, his body, his very soul. The ground beneath him cracked, chunks of earth rising into the sky, spiraling toward the void above. The red rays lanced across the battlefield, carving trenches in the earth, setting the ruins ablaze.
He barely managed to stay in the air.
His wings beat against the pull, straining, screaming. The shards beneath his skin pulsed weakly, their power fading. He could feel himself being dragged toward the center, inch by inch.
He looked at the human camps.
They were chaos. Soldiers running, hunters scrambling, the wounded being dragged away from the destruction. The tents were flattened, the supply lines scattered. The air was thick with panic, with fear, with the desperate certainty of death.
He had to stop this.
He had to—
The black hole pulsed again.
The ground beneath the human camps cracked.
A fissure opened, splitting the earth in two. Soldiers fell, their screams cut short. Tents collapsed into the void. The wounded were swallowed whole.
Aurelion's blood went cold.
"NO!"
He tried to fly toward them. The pull was too strong. He was barely holding his position, his wings straining against the force.
He couldn't reach them.
He couldn't save them.
The black hole grew.
It was expanding now, its edges spreading across the sky. The red rays were becoming more frequent, more intense. The ground was cracking, splitting, falling apart.
The world was ending.
And he couldn't stop it.
The human camps were collapsing.
Soldiers ran in every direction, their weapons forgotten, their training abandoned. Hunters tried to organize, to form a defense, to fight back. But it was useless. How could you fight a black hole?
Ami pushed through the crowd, her eyes fixed on the sky. The Blackstone was in her hand, its fragments orbiting in a broken ring.
She felt hopeless.
She looked at the black hole, at the destruction it was causing, at the chaos spreading across the battlefield. She looked at the soldiers dying, the hunters falling, the wounded being swallowed by the earth.
She looked at the Blackstone.
It pulsed in her hand, its fragments orbiting in a broken ring. It was powerful—ancient, terrible, beyond anything she had ever wielded. But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
She was too weak.
Too small.
Too insignificant.
She lowered the Blackstone.
"Corrin!" she shouted. "Kael! Get everyone back! We need to evacuate!"
Corrin appeared beside her, his face pale, his body covered in wounds. "Evacuate? To where? The fortress is gone! The battlefield is collapsing!"
"Anywhere! Just get them away from here!"
Kael was beside her, his pistols drawn, his eyes scanning the chaos. "We can't outrun that thing. It's pulling everything toward it."
Ami's jaw tightened. "Then we find a way!"
She looked at the black hole again.
It was growing. Expanding. Its pull was immense, dragging everything toward its center. The red rays were carving through the battlefield, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.
She looked at Aurelion.
He was still in the air, his wings beating against the pull, his eyes fixed on the black hole. He was barely holding his position, his body straining against the force.
He was the only one who could stop this.
She had known it before. Had accepted it, even. But now, in this moment of absolute despair, she truly understood it.
She couldn't help him.
She could only survive.
"Corrin," she said. "Get everyone to the eastern ridge. The high ground. The pull will be weaker there."
Corrin nodded. "And you?"
She looked at the black hole.
"I'm going to give him time."
The battlefield was breaking apart.
The earth cracked, split, collapsed. Soldiers fell into the fissures, their screams echoing across the plain. The red rays lanced across the sky, carving through the ruins, setting everything ablaze.
Aurelion was still in the air.
His wings were screaming, his body straining, his power fading. The shards beneath his skin shone weakly, their light dimming with each heartbeat.
He looked at the black hole.
It was massive now—a wound in the sky, its edges crackling with crimson light. The red rays were lancing across the battlefield, carving through the ruins, setting everything ablaze.
He had to stop it.
He had to—
The black hole pulsed.
A wave of force erupted from its center, slamming into Aurelion like a physical wall. He was thrown back, his wings struggling to keep him upright. He hit the ground hard, rolled, came up gasping.
The Demon King was standing over him.
"Impressive," he said. "You survived longer than I expected."
Aurelion rose to his feet, his claws extended, his eyes blazing.
"I'm not done yet."
The Demon King laughed.
"Yes, you are."
He raised his hand.
The black hole pulsed again.
Aurelion was dragged toward it, his claws scraping against the ground, his wings beating desperately. He could feel the pull, the hunger, the endless void.
He could feel himself being swallowed.
He looked at the human camps—at the chaos, the destruction, the dying. He looked at the soldiers, the hunters, the people who had believed in him.
He looked at Ami.
She was standing at the edge of the battlefield, her eyes fixed on him, her face pale. She was holding the Blackstone, its fragments orbiting in a broken ring.
She was waiting.
Believing.
Hoping.
Aurelion gritted his teeth.
"Not yet," he said. "Not today."
The black hole pulsed once more.
Aurelion felt the pull intensify, dragging him toward the void above. His wings beat desperately, his claws scraping against the ground. But this time, he didn't fight it.
He used it.
He let the pull take him—just slightly, just enough. His body arced upward, his wings angling to catch the force. He felt the centripetal velocity building, the speed increasing as he was dragged in a wide arc around the Demon King.
The Demon King's eyes widened.
"What are you—"
Aurelion struck.
His claws raked across the Demon King's chest, carving deep gashes in his armor. Ichor sprayed across the ground. The Demon King staggered, his hand clutching the wound.
Aurelion was already moving.
The pull dragged him around in a wide arc, his body spinning through the air. He used the momentum, his wings adjusting, his claws extended. He struck again—this time across the Demon King's back.
Ichor sprayed.
"You're—" the Demon King snarled. "You're using the pull!"
Aurelion's voice was steady despite the chaos. "I'm using everything."
The black hole pulsed AGAIN.
The pull intensified. Aurelion was dragged faster, his body spinning through the air like a comet. He used the velocity, his wings angling to catch the force. His claws found the Demon King's shoulder, carving deep.
The Demon King stumbled.
He was trying to move, trying to counter, but he was slow. Too slow. The pull was affecting him too—but not as strongly. He was anchored somehow, his feet planted on the ground while Aurelion was dragged around him like a satellite.
"Why aren't you—" Aurelion started.
The Demon King laughed—a cold, hollow sound. "I improved the spell, remember? I made it so I'm immune to the pull."
Aurelion's eyes widened. "That's cheating."
"It's strategy."
Aurelion struck again.
His claws found the Demon King's face—the same eye he had stabbed earlier. Ichor sprayed. The Demon King screamed, his hand clutching the wound.
"YOU—"
Aurelion was already gone.
The pull dragged him around in another arc, his body spinning through the air. He used the momentum, his wings adjusting, his claws extended. He struck again—across the Demon King's chest, his side, his back.
Ichor sprayed.
The Demon King was slowing. His movements were growing sluggish, his responses delayed. The wounds were taking their toll.
"You can't—" he snarled. "You can't keep this up!"
Aurelion's voice was steady. "I can. I will. For as long as it takes."
The pull intensified again, and Aurelion was dragged faster, his body spinning through the air like a comet. He used the velocity, his wings angling to catch the force. His claws found the Demon King's throat, carving deep.
The Demon King gasped, stumbling back.
He was on his knees now, his body covered in wounds, ichor pouring from a dozen gashes. His one remaining eye was blazing with fury.
"You're going to lose," he said. "You're going to—"
Aurelion struck.
His claws found the Demon King's chest, driving deep into the armor. He felt something crack—the core, the source of his power.
The Demon King screamed.
Aurelion felt the pull drag him around in another arc, his body spinning through the air like a comet. The velocity was building, his wings angled to catch the force. His claws were extended, aimed at the Demon King's exposed throat.
One more hit.
Just one more.
He struck.
But this time, the Demon King was ready.
His hand shot up, catching Aurelion's wrist in a grip like iron. The momentum of the swing carried Aurelion forward—but the Demon King held fast, his feet planted, his body anchored.
Aurelion's eyes widened.
"What—"
The Demon King pulled.
Aurelion was yanked from the air, his body slamming into the ground with bone-crushing force. The impact drove the breath from his lungs, his vision swimming. He tried to rise—
The Demon King was on him.
His knee drove into Aurelion's chest, pinning him to the ground. His hand wrapped around Aurelion's throat, squeezing, cutting off his air. His one remaining eye blazed with fury and triumph.
"You've done well," the Demon King said. "Better than anyone I've faced. Better than I expected."
Aurelion clawed at his grip, his wings beating uselessly against the ground. "Let... go..."
The Demon King laughed—a cold, hollow sound.
"No."
He reached up with his free hand. His fingers closed around the broken hilt still embedded in his eye socket. He pulled it free with a wet, tearing sound, ichor pouring down his face.
Aurelion stared at the jagged steel, his blood running cold.
The Demon King looked at it, then at Aurelion.
"Impressive," he said. "Using a broken weapon to wound me. Clever. Resourceful. Exactly what I would have done."
He raised the hilt.
"But it's not going to be enough."
He drove it into Aurelion's leg.
The pain was immediate, white-hot, absolute. Aurelion screamed—a raw, ragged sound that tore through the chaos of the battlefield. He felt the jagged steel pierce his flesh, grind against bone, tear through muscle.
The Demon King twisted the hilt.
Aurelion's vision swam. The world was fading, the edges darkening. He could feel himself slipping away.
The Demon King leaned in close.
"Not ever," he said. "Do you understand? Not ever. You can fight. You can struggle. You can claw and scratch and bite. But it won't matter."
Aurelion gasped, his hands clawing at the Demon King's grip. "I'll... I'll stop you..."
"No." The Demon King's voice was flat, absolute. "You won't. Because you're not strong enough. You've never been strong enough."
He pulled the hilt free.
Aurelion's body convulsed, the pain overwhelming. He could feel the blood pouring from the wound, warm and wet against his skin.
The Demon King stood.
He looked down at Aurelion—at the broken body at his feet, the fading light in his eyes.
"Unfortunately," he said, "you're now seeing the face of death. And it's not a pretty sight."
Aurelion looked past him.
The black hole.
It was still there, still spinning, still hungry. The Demon King was immune to its pull—he had said so himself. But it was a black hole nonetheless. A wound in reality. A force that could consume anything.
Aurelion got an idea.
It was insane. Suicidal. The kind of idea that only a desperate, broken man would have.
He smiled.
The Demon King's one eye narrowed. "What are you smiling about?"
Aurelion spat blood. "You're not the only one who can improve on things."
He pushed.
His body was broken, his strength spent. But he pushed. With everything he had—every scrap of power, every ounce of will, every fragment of his being.
He pushed the Demon King.
The Demon King's eyes widened. "What are you—"
Aurelion's claws dug into his armor, his wings beating desperately. He used the last of his strength, the last of his power, the last of his will.
He pushed them both toward the black hole.
"NO!" the Demon King roared. "STOP! YOU'LL KILL US BOTH!"
Aurelion didn't stop.
The pull was immense—the black hole's hunger dragging them both toward its center. The Demon King tried to resist, tried to anchor himself, but Aurelion's grip was too strong. His momentum was too great.
They were falling.
The world spun around them—the sky, the ground, the chaos of the battlefield. The black hole loomed ahead, its edges crackling with crimson light.
Aurelion smiled.
"See you in hell," he said.
They struck the black hole.
The explosion was immense—a nuke-level blast that lit up the sky like a second sun.
The shockwave rippled across the battlefield, flattening what remained of the human camps, scattering debris across the plain. The ground shook, the sky blazed, and the world held its breath.
Then silence.
The black hole was gone.
The red rays were gone.
The sky was clear—pale blue, streaked with clouds, peaceful.
Aurelion fell.
His body dropped from the sky, tumbling through the air. His wings were gone, torn away by the explosion. His armor was shattered. Half of his body was missing—his left arm, his left leg, a chunk of his torso.
He hit the ground hard.
The impact drove the breath from his lungs, sent pain lancing through his remaining limbs. He lay in the crater, staring up at the sky, his vision swimming.
The Demon King was gone.
All that remained of him was his crown—a jagged crown of obsidian horns, lying in the dust a few feet away. It was cracked, broken, empty.
Aurelion stared at it.
He tried to speak. His voice was barely a whisper.
"Guess that's the end of death."
He closed his eyes, as his consciousness faded to black, once again.
In the distance, on a cliff overlooking the ruined battlefield, a lone figure sat.
He was young—barely more than a teenager—and he was wearing robes that were far too big for him. They hung off his thin frame like a hand-me-down, the fabric torn and stained. In his hands, he held a crumpled box.
Chocolate chip cookies.
He took a bite, chewing slowly, his eyes fixed on the distant explosion. The sky had lit up like a second sun, the shockwave rippling across the plain. He had watched the whole thing—the battle, the black hole, the sacrifice.
He swallowed.
"Huh," he said.
He looked at the cookie in his hand. Then at the battlefield. Then at the cookie again.
"So... that happened."
He took another bite.
The wind blew across the cliff, carrying the scent of smoke and ash. He watched the dust settle, the sky clear, the world go still.
He wondered what he should do with his life.
He had joined the cult because they promised him cookies. And sure, the cookies were decent. But the whole "end of the world" thing was a bit much. He wasn't really cut out for apocalyptic battles or demonic rituals. He was more of a "sit on a cliff and eat snacks" kind of person.
He finished the cookie.
He looked at the box. There were still a few left.
"Maybe I should become a baker," he muttered. "Or a farmer. Something quiet. Something with no world-ending black holes."
He reached for another cookie.
"Yeah. That sounds nice."
He took a bite.
The sun rose over the horizon, its light filtering through the clouds. The world was quiet, peaceful, still.