Miles and miles of forest were simply **gone**.
Not burned.
Not shattered.
**Erased.**
Where towering trees and living earth had once stood, there was now only a vast, hollowed wasteland—stone fused smooth and glassy, veins of crimson scorched through it like frozen lightning. Steam rose in slow, curling plumes from the ground, the air warped and trembling as if reality itself were struggling to settle.
At the very center of it all stood the **knights**.
Or what remained of them.
They were packed tightly beneath layered **golden barrier shields**, the light dim and flickering, stretched thin to the brink of collapse. Many were on their knees. Some lay flat against the ground, armor cracked, shields dented, weapons lost somewhere beneath rubble that no longer existed.
No one spoke.
No one breathed easily.
Above them, the **airships** hovered—still aloft, still intact—but only barely. Their barriers, once brilliant and radiant, now faded like dying stars. Cracks crawled across the glowing fields before sealing shut one final time…
…and then the light **winked out**.
Silence followed.
A terrible, ringing silence.
Then—
The **Apostles**.
High in the ruined sky, the forms of the Apostle of Light and the Apostle of Judgment were no longer whole. Their once-divine bodies were torn apart—wings shredded, limbs fractured, constructs of light and lightning unraveling into unstable fragments.
Their **vessels**, protected by last-resort divine seals, drifted backward—alive, but shattered. Armor split. Blood mingled with fading radiance. Their expressions were no longer wrathful.
They were disbelieving.
Golden cracks spread across the Apostles' forms, light leaking out like liquid sun.
Slowly.
Reluctantly.
They began to **fade**.
Not slain—
but **forced out**.
Their manifestations unraveled, divine scripts collapsing one by one as their presence was rejected by the world itself. Wings dissolved into motes of light. Voices cut off mid-incantation. Power that once bent reality scattered like ash on the wind.
Within moments, nothing remained of the Apostles but drifting particles of gold—
and the echo of something that had been **overwhelmed**.
On the ground, a knight finally whispered, voice hoarse.
"…They're… gone?"
No answer came.
Because no one there could explain what they had just witnessed.
The shields protecting the knights flickered once more before dissolving completely. Men and women slumped where they stood, armor clattering softly against stone that had once been forest soil.
Far above, on the command deck of the *Lux Invicta*, officers stared out through shattered frames into the empty sky. Priests lowered trembling hands, eyes hollow as the last divine projections vanished.
Theron stood unmoving.
Golden gaze fixed on the scar left behind.
He said nothing.
None of them truly understood what had just happened.
Not the knights on the ground, still shaking beneath where their shields had been.
Not the officers on the airships, staring out through shattered glass and fading light.
Not even the priests, hands numb, minds fractured, replaying the vision again and again.
Because **what they saw was not the truth**.
From every mortal eye—on the ground and in the sky—the scene had been reduced to something *simpler*. Something their minds could accept.
They saw **Apostles** clashing with **demons**.
That was all.
Blinding light against crimson darkness.
Holy constructs shattering monstrous forms.
A cataclysm born of divine judgment and abyssal resistance.
They did **not** see a king tearing divinity apart with his bare hands.
They did **not** see a heart torn from reality itself.
They did **not** see a god's laws bent, broken, and screamed at in defiance.
Their minds slid away from those details, smoothing them over like scars that refused to stay open.
On the *Lux Invicta*, an officer finally spoke, voice unsteady.
"…The Apostles engaged a high-ranking demon entity. Multiple entities, possibly. The forest was lost in the crossfire."
Another nodded stiffly.
"That level of destruction… it must have been a coordinated demonic incursion."
Theron said nothing.
He stood at the front of the command deck, hands clasped behind his back, golden gaze fixed on the dead wasteland below. His expression was calm—too calm—but something deep within his eyes had tightened.
Because even if the others couldn't name it…
He felt it.
The **absence**.
Not the retreat of the Apostles.
Not the fading of hostile mana.
But the vanishing of something vast. Ancient. Willful.
Like a crown being lifted from the world—
not placed elsewhere, not destroyed—
just **gone**.
Below, a knight laughed weakly, the sound cracking.
"So… it's over, right? The Apostles drove them back."
No one answered.
Because somewhere, far from the ruins, deep within the forest's broken veins, a boy lay unconscious—alive when he should not have been.
And somewhere beyond sight, beyond sense, beyond even divine certainty—
a king had not fallen.
He had merely stepped away.
And when he returned—
the world would no longer be able to pretend it didn't know.
---
Both Apostles' *true forms* had been torn apart, but their **vessels survived intact**.
Fully restored, **Alric and Elyndra** streaked through the sky as twin lances of lightning and light.
They didn't slow.
They **passed straight through the shattered forward glass** of the *Lux Invicta*.
Wind screamed through the bridge as shards scattered across the deck—but neither vessel touched the floor as they entered. They floated down, boots finally meeting steel in perfect unison.
The command deck fell silent.
Officers froze.
Priests stiffened.
No one dared speak.
Alric's armor still crackled faintly with residual lightning. His expression was stone—harder than before.
Elyndra's radiance was dimmer now, restrained, her wings retracted into fading light sigils behind her shoulders. Her face was calm…
…but **tight**, as if something fundamental had shaken her faith.
Theron finally turned.
"Report," he said coldly.
Alric straightened, armor settling as the last crackle of lightning faded from his frame.
His voice was firm. Controlled. **Official**.
"The Demon King was eliminated."
A few officers exhaled in relief—some far too quickly.
Alric continued, eyes forward.
"Along with the demon responsible for the Queen's death. Their forms were annihilated during the Apostle engagement. No bodies recovered. No mana signatures detected afterward."
He paused.
Just a fraction too long.
Elyndra stepped forward, her presence quiet but heavy. The soft glow around her dimmed further as she spoke, choosing her words with care.
"There are no traces remaining," she said. "No lingering blood mana. No shadow residue. No spatial anchors."
Her gaze flicked briefly—almost unconsciously—to the shattered viewport, to the distant scar where the forest had once been.
"But," she added.
The bridge tensed.
"Given the nature of the entities involved… **absolute confirmation is impossible**."
Theron's golden eyes narrowed.
"So," he said evenly, "you are telling me they are dead."
"Yes," Alric replied immediately.
"And also," Theron continued, voice sharpening, "that they might not be."
Silence.
Elyndra lowered her head a fraction—not submission, but acknowledgment.
"Correct, Your Majesty."
Theron turned back toward the ruined horizon. The storm clouds were thinning now. Smoke drifted lazily upward from miles of scorched earth. To anyone else, it looked like the aftermath of divine judgment.
To him—
it looked unfinished.
"Then we proceed," Theron said calmly, "as if they are dead."
He turned slightly.
"And prepare," he added, "as if they are not."
No one argued.
No one dared.
Behind them, priests were already moving—recording the official account, sealing visions, rewriting what had been seen into something **cleaner**.
> *The Demon King was slain.*
> *The demon who murdered the Queen was erased.*
> *The Apostles descended. Judgment was delivered.*
> *The Empire stands victorious.*
History would remember **that** version.
But as Elyndra stood there, hands clenched at her sides, she felt it again—faint, distant, like a scar itching long after the wound had closed.
Somewhere far beyond the Empire's reach—