As Leon carried out the execution of the twin Apostles, the battlefield fell into a suffocating stillness.

The remaining Demon Nobles did not intervene.

They watched.

Count Dralix and Count Bozad stood frozen, their earlier arrogance nowhere to be found. What lingered in its place was something far more restrained—far more telling.

Not panic… but horror, tightly coiled beneath rigid composure.

Before their very eyes, an infant divine—a human—had just erased one of the Demon Empire's most valuable assets.

They had always looked down on Dante and Damien.

To them, the twins were flawed creations—demonic humans, impure, unworthy of standing alongside true bloodlines. And yet, disdain did not blind them to value.

The Apostles of Vengeance were powerful, dangerously so, and more importantly, they were essential.

A Gospel had been silenced.

With their deaths, the Demon Empire lost more than two warriors—it lost a voice, a vessel through which its doctrine spread.

One less Gospel meant a fracture in their grand design, a delay in the corruption and conversion of the world itself. But even that was not what unsettled them most...

What stood before them now was no longer within their comprehension. He had crossed a threshold that should have been impossible for a human, stepping into a realm of power that rivalled the upper echelons of demonkind.

At his current level, only a Demon Duke… or perhaps even a Prince… could hope to match him.

Against that, they were powerless.

And they knew it.

For all their pride, for all their status, Count Dralix and Count Bozad understood a simple, terrifying truth: if Leon turned his blade toward them, there was nothing they could do to stop it.

Yet, while fear gripped the Counts, Marquis Thurzos reacted differently. He smiled. Not subtly, not faintly—but with unmistakable, unrestrained delight.

"It has been a while since my blood boiled…"

Licking his lips, he stared right at the levitating Leon. Such power… such domination… It was akin to a newborn God.

One that Marquis Thurzos wishes to devour.

However, before he could make the first move, a voice echoed within the Demon Marquis's head.

The same went for the other two Demon Counts. They frowned, understanding the gravity of the situation, before finally tearing open the void to retreat.

"Don't you dare run!"

Leon, knowing that it was best to silence the Demon Nobles now, moved with the momentum of his renewed flames flowing by his side. He aimed to finish the Demon Counts first before chasing after the harder-to-kill Demon Marquis. That way, he could guarantee the deaths of at least two Demon Nobles.

Alas, the universe wasn't going to make it easy for the new Hero.

A grey mist rolled in without warning, swallowing Morzeth whole.

It did not drift—it consumed.

Streets, ruins, sky—everything was veiled in an instant, the world reduced to a muted void where even sound seemed reluctant to travel.

Within that suffocating shroud, the three Demon Nobles vanished from sight, their presences snuffed out as though they had never been there to begin with.

Then… the heavens answered.

A pillar of light, split between black and white, descended from above like a divine verdict. It carved through the mist with absolute authority, anchoring itself to the earth as if connecting two realms that were never meant to meet.

Leon moved to disperse it.

With a single motion, he swung Ascalon, intent on tearing apart both mist and light alike, but his body betrayed him.

A sudden tremor ran through his leg, subtle yet undeniable. His footing faltered for the briefest moment, and in that instant, something descended upon him.

Pressure.

It settled onto his shoulders like the weight of existence itself, dragging against his body, pressing into his very being. It was a sensation he had not felt in a long time, and one he had not missed.

Slowly, Leon lifted his gaze.

There, within the convergence of grey mist and dual-toned light, stood a man.

Well-dressed. Composed. Out of place in a battlefield drenched in ruin.

His eyes—if they could even be called that—were hollow, phantom-like, as though they belonged to something that existed beyond life and death. Grey mist coiled around him like a loyal servant, while above, vast currents of demonic mana surged and twisted, blanketing the heavens in a suffocating dominion.

It was a scene reminiscent of creation itself, as though the birth of something primordial was unfolding once more.

Leon paid it no mind. His focus never wavered. He stared directly at the man—the source of it all—and his expression darkened, irritation cutting through the tension as he spoke, his voice low and sharp:

"Prophet!!!"

The Prophet, the source of the Demon Empire, made his grand appearance.

"Leon Solaris… You've become a nuisance."

"You… Come down and fight me!"

Leon had no interest in words.

The moment the true enemy revealed himself, everything else became irrelevant. Divine flames erupted around his body, roaring to life with a brilliance that eclipsed the battlefield itself. They did not merely burn—they purified, devouring the encroaching grey mist as if it were nothing more than a passing illusion.

In seconds, the suffocating veil began to tear apart, its hold over Morzeth collapsing under the overwhelming force of Leon's presence.

The world cleared. Light returned. And for the first time, the man at the centre of it all reacted.

The Prophet's ghostly eyes shifted, widening ever so slightly. It was not fear… but surprise.

A rare, fleeting acknowledgement that something had strayed beyond expectation.

But it passed just as quickly. He did not retreat. Instead, the air itself grew heavier.

Rather than resisting Leon's advance directly, the Prophet expanded. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

The grey mist surged outward once more—but this time, it was different.

Denser. Deeper. No longer something that merely obscured vision, but something that claimed dominion. Or more accurately, he claimed the sky.

An overwhelming tide of demonic mana flooded the heavens, blotting out everything above as it spread endlessly outward. The mist was no longer just a technique—it was an extension of his will, a manifestation of absolute control over the battlefield itself.

If Leon was burning his dominion, then the Prophet would simply destroy the world.

"Die."

Without hesitation, the Prophet let the sky fall.

The vast expanse of grey mist that had consumed the heavens began to descend—not as vapor, but as judgment.

At first, it seemed like an overwhelming surge of demonic mana, dense and suffocating.

But as it touched the world below, its true nature revealed itself.

Decay.

Not destruction. Not fire or force.

Erasure.

Everything the ashen mist brushed against began to wither instantly. Trees collapsed into brittle husks before crumbling into dust. Buildings aged centuries in seconds, their foundations rotting away as they disintegrated into nothingness. Flesh fared no better—those caught within it did not scream for long, their bodies breaking down into fine ash before even their presence seemed to fade from memory itself.

It was not merely death. It was being forgotten.

Seeing this, Leon's focus shattered.

The Prophet no longer mattered—not right now.

In a single motion, Leon surged across the battlefield, gathering what remained of Eldorin's forces—Paladins, knights, magicians, and any survivors he could reach.

Divine flames coiled outward, not in destruction, but in protection, forming a barrier reinforced with pure divinity. Radiant light expanded into a dome, pushing back the encroaching decay, holding the mist at bay with sheer, unyielding force.

He could not save everything.

But he would save what he could.

While the grey mist devoured Morzeth, reducing an entire city—its people, its legacy, its centuries of history—into absolute nothingness, those within Leon's barrier endured.

The divine light held firm, resisting the decay that sought to claim even existence itself.

Time stretched. Moments felt like eternity. Until finally...

The mist thinned… and vanished.

What remained was silence.

Morzeth was gone.

Not ruined. Not destroyed. Gone.

Where a city once stood, there was now only barren land—empty, lifeless, untouched by time because time itself seemed to have nothing left to claim.

And the Prophet had vanished with it.

Leon stood at the centre of it all, the light around him slowly fading.

For a brief moment, his grip loosened. Ascalon nearly slipped from his hand. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding as the truth settled in. His gaze hardened, locking onto the empty horizon where the Prophet had once stood.

This was never meant to be a battle. The Prophet was simply trying to create a diversion for a grand escape. But in the process… thousands had perished because of his actions.

"Prophet…"

For the first time in a long while, Leon felt bitter. The Demon Cult, no, the Demon Empire were far too ruthless. If they couldn't control something, they destroyed it.

How were they going to fight an enemy that didn't wish to protect the assets they possessed? The Demon Empire could sacrifice millions of humans… Leon could not.

Even though Leon had achieved total victory, killing the Apostles of Vengeance and ridding Morzeth of the Demon Empire's influence, the win felt hollow.

So what if they won back Morzeth?

If the Morzeth they won… no longer existed?

"I swear… on my life… I will stop you… Prophet."