Smoke blanketed the battlefield. The shockwave from Kaelion's final attack had torn the earth apart, leaving craters and shattered walls in its wake. The devils' ranks had scattered; even the high-ranked ones knelt under the residual pressure.
Kaelion stood in the center, one sword broken, the other dim. Blood streamed down his face, his armor nearly disintegrated.
The Saintess approached, limping, her staff barely holding her up. "Is it… over?"
Kaelion's eyes scanned the haze. His breathing was shallow, but steady. "Not yet."
The smoke cleared—and Bael's silhouette emerged.
The devil general was on one knee, half his body torn open, dark ichor spilling onto the ground. Yet his grin remained, defiant and hateful. "You… mortals… think this is victory?"
He slammed his claw into the ground. The sigil reactivated, pulsing faintly beneath him.
Kaelion's eyes widened. "No—he's trying to—"
The sigil exploded outward, shooting a beam of crimson energy toward the sky.
