There was only darkness.
There is no pain.
There is no noise.
Everything is just a suffocating emptiness that pressed down from every direction.
I tried to move, but it was as if my body didn't exist anymore.
For a moment, I couldn't remember how I got here.
Then it came back to me. Focalors' attack, the world exploding in light. I remembered throwing myself in front of Kourin, refusing to let the blast go anywhere else.
Pain, then nothing.
Now, I was alone.
Is this what it's like to die? Or is this just punishment for my stupidity?
I stared down at my hands—ghostly, formless.
Was this the power I clung to? All that mana, all that potential… and I still couldn't save everyone.
I ignored Thalamik's warnings.
I tried to do everything myself.
Was I really fit to want to become a hero?
Was it all just bravado—empty words hiding my weakness?
I remembered my family, that terrible night in South Jaka City.
Their faces. The screams. The blood. The feeling of being completely, utterly powerless.
"In the end… did I actually do better?" My voice cracked, echoing in this endless dark.
"Or am I still the same weak self I always was? I haven't changed at all, have I?"
I dropped to my knees.
Shame crashed through me—shame so heavy I thought it might crush what little remained of me.
"Ah… my existence was for naught. I don't even deserve to live. I'm unfit to be a 'hero.'"
A blade manifested in my hand—cold, real. I stared at it for a long moment. Slowly, I raised it toward my neck.
Then—
"Oi Idiot!"
A voice thundered out of the dark. Not a voice—his voice.
I looked up to see Thalamik, as sharp and gruff as ever, arms crossed, scowling like he was about to slap sense into the universe itself.
"What the hell are you doing, being all depressed? You haven't lost yet, asswipe!"
My throat closed up. Tears blurred my vision. "Thalamik…"
"If you die right now, nothing will be saved. Get the fuck up and suck it up! Don't worry about how you lost. You can fall as many times as you want—just don't ever give up. Just keep getting back up. If you ever dare become like this, I'll fucking beat you up every time until you stand again."
He glared at me one last time before fading into the darkness.
I stared at the blade in my hand. Then I hurled it away, letting it vanish. I took a shaky breath.
"To think… you'd be the one to save me from this darkness, Mik."
A new voice echoed—familiar, gentle, desperate. "RAY!"
Carmilla. Even here, her voice was a lifeline.
"Come on, get up! Thalamik and I can't do this without you! Please, Ray, get up!"
I smiled. "Carmilla…"
Suddenly, I felt warmth—arms wrapping around me from behind, steady and soft.
"Med. It's time to wake up."
That voice—so close. "Kourin…"
A golden star ignited above my head, shining in the darkness.
Why must I keep fighting?
The star asked, its voice echoing through every corner of my heart.
Why must I keep going?
Only I can answer that.
Will you fight again, Ray?
I looked up, letting the light bathe me. I clenched my fist.
I smiled. "My life might not have a grand meaning. But it's undeniably to give 'Hope'. That's how I wanted to live ever since that day. So yes—I'll fight. I won't stay down after a defeat. I'll get up again and again. I'll believe my existence. I'll believe in myself, in this path—to give Hope! No matter how far that may be. I'll fight!"
A torrent of light poured from my chest as the darkness shattered.
Air seared my lungs.
My eyes snapped open.
I was back.
I gasped for breath, feeling my heartbeat thunder through my veins.
I stand and looked around—the battlefield, the sky, the stench of blood and mana. Carmilla was kneeling by my side, tears brimming in her eyes, hands glowing with healing light. Kourin hovered nearby, her features drawn with exhaustion, but when she saw my eyes open, she managed a relieved smile.
I was shirtless—my body covered in scars, some old, some fresh.
"Take this, Med." Kourin who knelt beside me and pressed something into my palm. Her sword—Ezel. "Now finish this, hero," she whispered.
"Go, Ray!" Carmilla cheered.
I didn't say anything.
I just smiled, feeling the mana stir inside me, golden and alive.
Ezel pulsed in my grip, and golden light exploded from my body.
The pain of losing everything. That never ceasing pain.
Be my strength to protect everyone.
Once again, In the border between light and dark.
Once again, please let me be the hope for everyone!
Sparks appeared as it encumbered my body.
My hair, once black, now flutters with the wind and shone with a radiant gold. The sword's magical energy wrapped around me, forming a suit of shining platinum armor—each piece fitting perfectly, as if it had always belonged to me.
Broad shoulder guards made of platinum, lined with gold, rested on my shoulders. A deep red cape flowed from my neck, trailing behind me in the wind. My chest and arms were covered in smooth, polished platinum plates with golden lines running through them, glowing faintly with power. My legs were protected by sleek, platinum armor, ending in sturdy, gold-trimmed boots.
From my back, shimmering golden energy flared out like radiant wings, casting a warm light with every step.
As I stood, I noticed something on the ground—a black hair tie. I bent down and picked it up, then held it out to Kourin. "I saw this fall. Don't lose it, Kourin."
She hesitated, then took it and, after a heartbeat, tied it around my wrist instead. "Tie it back on my hair when you return."
I felt my cheeks flush. I looked away, grinning. "Yeah. I'll definitely return."
Golden mana surged through me, weightless and powerful.
I leaped into the air, Ezel in hand, armor gleaming as I soared toward the battlefield—toward Focalors, toward destiny.
This time, I knew exactly why I was fighting. And nothing would stop me.
***
My fiend army surged like a living tide across the shattered field. Skeletons, ghouls, and banshees rose with every command, swarming Vepar in relentless waves. For every fiend cut down, another rose to take its place, clawing and shrieking, fueled by the law of "Unlimited Mana" from my Imperfect Alterity.
But for all our numbers, Vepar regeneration was without end. No matter how many times my fiends tore through her, no matter how many times Killiar's javelins incinerated her form, she simply reassembled.
I analyzed her movements, eyes narrowed, mind racing faster than the mana storms raging around us.
She wasn't like Focalors.
Focalors had a heart—an organ that Raymed had nearly destroyed, the classic "boss core" strategy. But Vepar? I'd been watching for hours. Every time her body shattered, it only reformed, as if injury itself was meaningless.
I needed to get closer.
"Banshees!" I snapped. Five spectral figures swooped down, their wails splitting the air. "Lift me. Black, Arcuest, Visha, Passete—you're with me."
The banshees swept us skyward, straight into the tempest at Vepar's center.
My elite knights took their positions around me, blades drawn and gleaming with necromantic fire.
"Go," I commanded. The knights dove in, their strikes slicing into Vepar's body—if you could call it that. With every blow, shimmering water erupted, drenching me in cool spray.
Except… it wasn't water.
I frowned, letting some of the liquid drip through my fingers. The feeling was unmistakable—dense, vibrant, humming with....
Mana. Her body wasn't made of water. It only looked like it. She was creature made of mana but looked like a liquid.
I scoffed under my breath. Of course. You can't destroy mana. You can only disperse it, redirect it, repurpose it.
But as long as Vepar could decide what was "her" and what wasn't, damage was meaningless. Vaporize a limb? She'd just rebuild it from the mana around her, cell by cell.
Come to think of it, there was never a moment when her body was fully obliterated—always fragments, always something left to regenerate.
That's why Killiar's attacks, brutal as they were, never finished her off.
That's why my fiends' claws and blades were little more than annoyances.
Raymed could theoretically finish her.
If he dumped 99% of his mana into one overwhelming attack, vaporizing every last particle at once. But with Focalors was lurking nearby. If he did that and she was ready to drain any spilled mana, that'd be suicide for all of us.
Focalors was the glutton—her special organ absorbed mana residue with terrifying efficiency, growing stronger the more carnage surrounded her.
Vepar, on the other hand, wasn't expanding or shrinking. Her mana simply cycled, never truly lost, never truly spent. If even one cell remained—one droplet—she could come back endlessly. Her entire existence was her "core." A hydra with infinite heads.
So, step one: Focalors had to fall first. Only then could we focus on figuring out a way to end Vepar.
A sudden spark jolted through the battlefield—a flare of mana, sharp and wild, as if someone had struck flint against the sky. I smirked. Raymed was back.
A ring echoed in my ear—Carmilla, opening our usual telepathic communication.
"Took you long enough, bud. Beat Focalors for me, will you?"
"At once, Pythagoras Fiend Kaiser," I deadpanned.
"Asshole."
I could practically hear Carmilla's sighing and rolling her eyes through our banter.
Carmilla's tone shifted, urgent. "Thalamik, I already used the Personification of the Great Seal. Focalors will break free soon. Do you have an endgame plan for these Demon Lord Envoys?"
I let out a breath. "Carmilla, who do you think I am? I'm not the dumbass Raymed. Everything's under control. Dwargo will arrive in three… two… one…"
"Wait—what? Dwargo is here?!" Raymed asked.
***
-~
"I need you to forge 500 prototype Pseudo-Artifacts and 10 advanced Pseudo-Artifacts. One is for Carmilla, the other nine are for me."
Dwargo's jaw dropped. "Are you crazy? Where am I supposed to get that much mana? You know how much those things cost to make, right?!"
Thalamik only smirked. "You have a mana drainer for extracting mana packets, don't you? Instead of draining from packets, drain directly from my fiends. They can supply all the mana you need. I know you used Raymed's mana before because you were just making the blueprints on how to create Pseudo Artifact. Now that you have the blueprint you don't actually need that mana right?"
Dwargo blinked, gears turning in his head. "Yeah that's right. Also what you suggest might work, but there's no way in hell I can finish this quickly. Even for prototype Pseudo-Artifacts! And if I call my friends to help—"
Thalamik interrupted. "I get it—you worry about losing your monopoly. You don't want other blacksmiths to learn how to forge Pseudo-Artifacts outside the Lupache blacksmiths. But Dwargo, think about what happens after we win."
Dwargo hesitated, hammer still in hand. "…You're speaking like you're certain we'll win. What's in it for me then, Kaiser? A pat on the back?"
Thalamik's eyes glinted. "Not just a pat. If you deliver, you'll get your hands on a genuine artifact owned by a Demon Lord Envoy. Materials too—things you'll never find anywhere else. Maybe even enough to forge your own real artifact."
Dwargo dropped his hammer followed with a drool.
He snapped back to reality after a few seconds.
Thalamik has gotten Dwargo's full attention.
He paused, weighing the promise, then gave a sharp nod.
"…Alright. I'll need all your fiends nearby for mana. And I'll call every dwarf blacksmith I trust. But if you're lying—"
Thalamik cut him off with a grin. "I never lie about a deal, Dwargo Kors."
-~
The clamor of battle still shook the fields around the Lupache estate when the ground itself began to rumble with a new, unfamiliar thunder.
Out of the smoke and dust, a massive, truck-sized armored vehicle barreled toward the frontline. The thing looked like it had been cobbled together from a dozen worlds: thick mana-forged steel plates, dwarven runes etched along the sides, and turret mounts that bristled with enchanted cannons. Wheels churned through mud and rubble, scattering demon soldiers who were foolish enough to stand in its path.
The doors burst open before the machine had even fully stopped. Dwargo Kors leapt from the cab, armor soot-stained with a huge backpack slung over his shoulder. His booming voice, somehow even louder than the vehicle, echoed across the field as he grabbed the loudspeaker.
"ATTENTION ALL SOLDIERS! WEAPONS DISTRIBUTION—LINE UP, NO PUSHING! IF YOU CAN SWING A SWORD OR FIRE A SPELL, GET OVER HERE!"
From the vehicle's armored cargo bed, a crew of blacksmiths and fiends began unloading crates overflowing with pseudo-artifacts—gleaming blades, shields, and staves, all radiating with the unique mana.
Dwarves and volunteers quickly organized a line, tossing weapons to every exhausted fighter, even as demon projectiles thudded harmlessly off the battle-truck's enchanted plating.
Dwargo, still holding the speaker, waved a box over his head. "Special delivery! Miss Carmilla, where are ya? Thalamik said this is for you!"
Spotting her amid the chaos, Dwargo jogged over, nearly bowling through a pair of stunned demi-human healers.
He presented a crate with a grin. "Package from the Fiend Kaiser himself. Ten premium-grade pseudo-artifacts inside. Please sign here. "
Carmilla signed the paper Dwargo presented, her eyes shining with relief. "Thank you, Mr. Dwargo. I heard the details from Thalamik. With these, we just might turn the tide."
Dwargo only huffed, a proud twinkle in his eye. "Better do your best too Miss. He said you should read the notes on your weapon."
"I do?" Carmilla began unboxing the Crate.
"Thalamik You're weapons are here!" Carmilla contacted Thalamik telepathically.
"Alright I'll tell my fiends to get it."
Then 9 skeleton knight rose from the ground.
"UWAA! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" Dwargo shriek as he stepped back with a fighting stance.
Carmilla smiled and said, "You'll get used to it." Before finding the weapon Thalamik specifically ordered for her. "This is!"
***
"Good you are all here." Thalamik smiled.
His fiends appeared, carrying a total of nine weapons.
Thalamik gestured for his elite knights to descend with him.
The banshees spiraled down, bringing the four to the battered plain.
Black hefted a massive greatsword, the blade humming with grim anticipation.
Arcuest unsheathed a flawless katana.
Passete gripped a long radiant lance.
Visha notched a mana arrow to a sleek bow.
As his knights armed themselves, Thalamik drew in a breath.
With a flick of his wrists, he discarded his old daggers, letting them stab the ground. He picked up a new pair—nearly identical to the last. The previous daggers he uses was the prototypes of the one Dwargo had made.
"This looks even more better than before. Dwargo is a genius."
He glanced at the last three weapons—a staff, another bow, and a great shield and ordered the other skeleton knights to carry it along with summoning 3 more banshees.
He gestured to his knights, who answered with silent nods.
"Let's go."
They mounted their banshees once more and launched themselves back into the sky, diving toward Vepar's churning, oceanic form. The battlefield below glimmered with the pale blue shimmer of mana-infused water, the air crackling with tension.
"Bow!" A bow was threwn at him which he catched. He conjured an arrow of brilliant light. Readying the bow before drawing it back, channelling mana into the shaft until it throbbed with raw force.
"EAT THIS!"
The arrow streaked across the sky, a line of radiance, striking Vepar dead center.
The Demon Lord envoy howled, her watery body shuddering as the light seared into her body.
As Vepar shrieked in pain, Thalamik's eyes narrowed, calculating.
Raymed, please be quick. There's an hour and a half left before Alterity collapses… and after that, I can't guarantee anything.
He prepared another arrow, determination burning behind his eyes, ready to hold the line for as long as it took.
***
The battlefield was chaos, the very air rippling with the aftershocks of unnatural power. Besitulars Gurathon and his pack circled Focalors. Their claws, fangs, and blades clashed against the demon lord envoy's relentless fury. But it was no use—her strength was beyond them.
Besitulars spat blood, eyes narrowing as he saw her torso re-form, the mana heart pulsing again with sickening strength. "She's not going down…" he grunted to his brothers, "get ready—this might be it!"
Focalors hovered above, her wings beating like thunder. "Soon, my mana heart will return once more, and I will become even stronger. After that, what will you do? Your tomorrows are very far. What is closest to you now is death. " Her laughter echoed, twisted and mocking, across the ruined plain.
Then the sky split open—a golden comet streaked down, colliding with the ground in a shockwave of hope.
A new figure stood tall, shining in platinum armor, wielding a brilliant golden sword.
"Awaken your spirit, blade of Victory. Platinum Ezel!"
Raymed rushed forward, his sword flashing in an arc of searing mana.
The wave crashed into Focalors, sending her reeling with a scream of surprise.
"How did you survive that attack, you human?!" Focalors screeched, her voice wavering with disbelief.
Raymed's eyes and hair burned with a golden light. "Ready for round two, Focalors? Something tells me you can't spam that attack anymore. So be prepared—this time, you're the one who's going to die."
"YOU ARROGANT HUMAN!" Focalors lunged, conjuring a jet-black lance that hummed with murderous intent.
Raymed stepped forward, stance unbreakable. "Besitulars, get back—I'll take it from here!"
Besitulars grinned. "Aye aye, Big Bro Raymed! Boys, fall back!"
The wolf pack retreated, giving Raymed the stage.
He took a steadying breath.
Focus snapped into place, his mind as sharp as his sword.
.
.
.
Activate Split Flow.
I can't waste a single drop of power.
If I lose control, everything's lost.
That last attack… I almost died. But I learned something. In that moment, I shielded everyone else from the ray of destruction. The trick was to anchor my mana with my weapon as the base. But Avalon can't handle that blast so it broke. Then I forced myself to make a barrier onto my skin, absorbing the blast so no one else would get hurt.
But this time, with Ezel—
Golden aura erupted around him.
"I can do it," Raymed whispered.
"PERFECT—"
Focalors howled and stabbed with her lance, mana boiling in the air.
.
"GUARD!!!" He roared, raising Ezel.
A golden shield of mana blazed to life, catching the lance head-on.
Focalors' magical energy sputtered and faded, the lance forced back by the brilliance of Raymed's barrier.
Her eyes widened in rage and fear as she saw him—standing tall, unbroken, smiling.
"HUMAN!!!" she shrieked, her scream lost in the light.
With that their battle finally begun once more.
Focalors' fury was unhinged. Her black lance twisted and snapped, changing shape with every desperate assault—sometimes a spear, sometimes a whip, sometimes a tempest of jagged blades. She hurled herself at Raymed again and again, shrieking her hatred.
Her wings beating wild against the battlefield's golden light.
But Raymed stood unshakable, gleaming in his platinum armor, Ezel gripped tight in his hands.
"PERFECT GUARD!" he shouted, and a luminous barrier of gold and platinum erupted before him.
Focalors' lance crashed into the shield, the impact ringing across the plains. The force of her strike sent tremors up Raymed's arms, but the barrier held, flawless and resolute.
Focalors recoiled, off-balance for a heartbeat. Raymed seized the moment—stepping forward, he lunged with Ezel. His sword stabbed toward Focalors' chest, targeting the faint glow of her mana heart.
She twisted away, shrieking, but not before his blade grazed her—a burst of mana spilling from the wound. Yet even injured, she refused to yield.
"DON'T MOCK ME, HUMAN!" she howled.
She came at him again, faster, slashing and stabbing from every direction.
Each attack was a storm, but Raymed's focus never wavered.
"PERFECT GUARD!"
The shield flared up again, repelling every blow. Focalors staggered, her own strength rebounding against her. In that split second of recoil, Raymed's eyes narrowed—he moved like lightning, Ezel stabbing again at her exposed mana heart.
A direct hit—mana sputtered, and Focalors screamed in outrage, forced to fall back.
She recovered quickly, summoning a rain of black spears. They shot toward Raymed in a deadly barrage.
"PERFECT GUARD!" Raymed declared, and the spears shattered against the barrier, mana dissolving into the air.
Focalors circled, growing more desperate. She poured all her remaining strength into a single, blindingly fast thrust, the lance a black blur aimed at Raymed's throat.
"PERFECT GUARD!"
Again, the shield held. The impact left Focalors reeling—Raymed pressed forward, driving his sword toward her mana heart. This time, his blade bit deep, golden light sizzling against her body.
Focalors staggered back, clutching her wound, her breathing ragged.
For the second time, fear flickered in her eyes.
Raymed held his ground, radiating unbreakable resolve.
"You can keep trying, Focalors," he called, his voice carrying across the battered field.
"But as long as I stand, you won't break through. And I'll keep coming for your heart until you fall. And if you decide to regenerate yourself over and over again. Then I'll handle your attack repeatedly until you finally die."
Focalors' rage had curdled into terror—her once-unstoppable assault now faltering.
"No matter how far you say our tomorrows may be. We are surely strong enough to face it!"