The eve of war suffocated Solfea.

Sleep became a distant memory. No hearth burned warm enough, no walls thick enough to dull the dread that settled over the city. Every soul within its borders knew the truth… the enemy was coming.

Though the Demon Empire's army still lay hundreds of miles away, its presence had already arrived. The air itself carried their stench, thick with corruption. Demonic mana seeped into the land like poison, tainting the once-golden wheat fields until they dulled, their vibrant life withering under an unseen rot.

The earth trembled.

Distant, yet unmistakable.

Each quake marked the advance of something colossal—Greater Demons, towering monstrosities that stood hundreds of meters tall, their footsteps alone enough to fracture the ground.

Their march was slow, inevitable, like a tide that could not be turned.

Behind them came the masses.

Demonic humans, driven mad by bloodlust and the promise of war, surged forward in barely restrained frenzy. Their commanders struggled to maintain order, chains of authority barely holding the tide in check.

Even then, it was a fragile control—one that could snap at any moment.

And leading them, the commanders of the Demon Empire… the Demon Nobles.

They did not hide their intent.

From the distant horizon, they bared their fangs toward Solfea, eyes locked onto the faint outline of its towering walls. Even from that distance, the city stood defiant, its fortifications gleaming beneath the fading light.

So they answered.

Demonic mana surged upward in vast torrents, flooding the skies above.

It rose like a dark tide, swallowing the heavens whole.

The golden sun—unchallenged for thousands of years—was smothered beneath churning black clouds.

Darkness fell.

Lightning tore through the sky, jagged and violent, followed by thunder that shook the very bones of those who heard it.

Each strike carried the weight of the demonic force behind it, turning the atmosphere hostile… suffocating.

Even standing within Solfea became a trial.

The coalition army felt it—the pressure, the corruption, the oppressive weight of an enemy that had yet to even arrive. Even veterans quaked in their boots. They'd fought wars before, but never against an enemy like the Demon Empire.

Fortunately, on their side… they had a trump card.

A pillar of golden-white light tore into the heavens.

It surged upward with absolute force, cleaving through the blackened clouds and scattering the suffocating storm that had smothered Solfea.

For a moment, the sky itself seemed to break—darkness retreating before a radiance that refused to be contained.

At its centre, a single figure hovered.

Clad in simple white garments, untouched by the chaos below, he stood suspended in the air like a deity that had descended upon the world. His presence alone was overwhelming—divine, immense, pressing down upon the battlefield with a weight that demanded recognition.

Leon.

As his gaze swept across the army, the light around him shifted. Behind him, the heavens ignited. Eighty-one suns manifested in perfect orbit, each one blazing with equal intensity, bound together by endless streams of radiant energy.

They pulsed in unison, forming a vast, celestial engine—a source of power without limit, feeding directly into Leon's will.

Then, he moved.

A single ray of white light descended.

It fell upon a lone soldier, one who had been trembling under the suffocating pressure of demonic mana, his body on the verge of collapse. The moment the light touched him, everything changed. The corruption receded.

The weight lifted.

Air rushed back into his lungs as the agony faded, replaced by something far warmer—far stronger.

His heart began to pound. Not erratically, but with purpose.

Like the steady beat of a war drum, echoing deep within his chest. Energy surged through his veins, igniting something that had nearly been extinguished. Fear gave way to resolve. Weakness to strength.

He stood.

Not as a man on the brink of breaking, but as a warrior ready for battle.

Then another ray fell. And another. And another.

Soon, the sky was filled with cascading streams of light, each one descending upon the army below.

One by one, every soldier was touched—cleansed of corruption, reinforced, uplifted. Their exhaustion faded, their spirits rekindled, their bodies strengthened beyond their natural limits.

Until… every single one of them stood bathed in divine radiance. An army no longer burdened by fear. But empowered by it.

By Leon. By his will. By his protection.

"The Demon Empire has arrived."

Amon remarked out loud, allowing the only other two people in the room to hear his announcement.

"I will get ready to lead the troops. Amon, you…"

"Yes, I will keep a lookout for the Prophet and the Goddess."

As much as Amon wished to help in the war effort, his powers were needed elsewhere. When the Prophet or the Goddess made their appearance, Amon was to head out and defend Solfea from their godly powers.

"Yue, any signs of the Goddess?"

"No… surprisingly, they're still keeping quiet in Hyarum. But, we can't ignore the possibility that she has a way to travel mass distances in an instant."

While the Goddess's power was restrained in the material plane, she was still the sovereign of the world. She was a foe that neither Amon nor Yue could underestimate. And given that it was the perfect opportunity to attack Solfea with the Demon Empire, the Goddess must be biding her time.

"I will face the Prophet in battle if he appears… When that happens, you must protect Solfea from the Goddess if she arrives."

"Rest assured, I know what to do."

Amon and Yue had gone through the plan multiple times before. All of their activities, all of their preparations, were all leading up to this moment.

"Alright…"

Amon stared into the distance, observing the slow advance of the Demon Empire. His hand rested on Nyx as he prepared himself for the final battle.

"Time to end it all."

❖❖❖

On the side of the Demon Empire…

Millions of demons flooded the plains, their presence turning the land into a living nightmare.

The horizon itself seemed to writhe, a sea of monstrous forms stretching endlessly as the Demon Empire advanced without restraint.

Above them, the sky was no safer.

Over a dozen colossal battleships loomed overhead, their silhouettes blotting out what little light remained. Each vessel was a fortress unto itself, bristling with layers of defence—rows of mana cannons capable of levelling entire formations, reinforced hulls etched with defensive runes, and shimmering barriers that reflected incoming attacks with ruthless efficiency.

But among them, one stood apart.

At the centre of the fleet hovered a warship unlike the others.

Its presence was heavier, more oppressive, as though it did not simply occupy the sky—but claimed it. At its core pulsed a condensed Magatama, a crystallised mass of demonic energy that served as its heart.

So long as demonic mana saturated the battlefield, the ship would never fall.

It did not tire. It did not falter. It endured.

And worse… it lived.

Fused with a Greater Demon, the vessel had transcended mere machinery. Its structure pulsed faintly, veins of dark energy coursing through its frame like blood through flesh. From the bow, black tendrils unfurled and writhed, lashing through the air with a will of their own, while swarms of flying demons circled it relentlessly, forming a living shield around the monstrosity.

This was no ordinary flagship.

This was a weapon.

The command centre of the Demon Empire's advance—and its most critical stronghold.

Within its depths stood the one who held dominion over it all.

Kieran. The Apostle of Domination.

Entrusted by the Prophet himself, he bore absolute authority over the army. Demon Nobles, Greater Demons, demonic humans—every entity beneath the Empire's banner answered to him.

Inside the central command chamber, dimly lit by shifting currents of demonic light, Kieran stood before an expansive map. His crimson gaze drifted across its surface, analysing every detail with cold precision.

But his attention lingered not on his own forces, but on the enemy.

The defensive lines of the Solaris Army.

The formations of the Hyades Republic.

The fortifications they had erected in preparation for this siege. He studied them in silence, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

"They've prepared well for our advances… We have the superior numbers, and our firepower isn't lacking either… but their defences are far too thorough." 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"... and they've gotten a new divine."

By his side, the remaining Apostles watched with grim faces. The once seven-strong Apostles had now been whittled down to three.

Kieran, the Mind Stealer, Apostle of Domination.

Ravenna, the Witch of Winter, the Apostle of Grief.

Samael, the Demon Fist, Apostle of Chaos.

"I can feel it… that young brat has ascended."

Samael spoke with absolute confidence. He could sense Leon's mana pulsating through the entire battlefield and with it, his flavour of divinity. Gone was the young brat who spoke of justice… he was now replaced with a mature guardian who actually protected those on his side.

"They have three gods on their side now?"

"Four," Kieran corrected Ravenna's claim. "Don't forget that Aluria, Leon's mother, had inherited the divinity of the ocean."

"Heh, that bitch doesn't count. Her divinity is a fraction of a true divine. I reckon I can pin her down with one punch."

Samael boasted as he fantasised about how a female divine would taste. But, unfortunately, his efforts were required elsewhere.

"We will need something big to start the battle. The Solaris Commanders are powerful, so striking them would be unwise. So, for us to win this war, we must start with the weaker members of the coalition."

"You mean…"

"We will attack the Hyades Republic first… Samael, you will take down your former family and open up the flanks to Solfea."

Samael thought of Gerrick Ironblood, his one and only kin, who kept pestering and chasing him. Then a disgusting smile appeared on his face, befitting his status as the Apostle of Chaos.

"Heh, with pleasure."