Year 52 A.D., May 26th —
Nineteen years and fifty-three days had passed since the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.
What remained recorded in history from that day…
Was the sudden, all-encompassing solar eclipse.
For three long minutes, every living creature across the European continent was plunged into darkness.
In ancient times, such eclipses would strike terror into the hearts of entire civilizations.
There were countless interpretations: some claimed a celestial hound devoured the sun; others, that a giant serpent had swallowed it whole.
But no matter the culture, eclipses were seen as omens — often of divine wrath.
"You… no… impossible… how… how can this be…"
"The magical energy within Solomon's remains in the First Temple… I— I am the Messiah…"
Predictably, Doros recoiled in terror at the sudden solar eclipse.
The hand that had been tightening around Novia's throat faltered.
Stumbling back several steps, Doros pointed a trembling, furious finger at Novia.
"It's you! You brought the darkness! You've led mankind into depravity! Yes— that must be it! You… you are Azazel!"
Novia didn't answer.
He merely raised his "spear" once more, readying his stance.
The blood staining its surface had been wiped clean.
Even so, blood still trickled uncontrollably from the corner of his lips—
His lungs burned as if ablaze.
But despite his resolve, Novia couldn't deny his confusion.
In all the historical records he'd studied before arriving in this era, there had been no solar eclipse in 52 A.D.
The last notable one… was said to have occurred on the day of Christ's crucifixion.
Still, none of that mattered now.
The pressing concern was how to defeat the enemy standing before him—Doros.
The Roman magi's magical reinforcement was spent.
His own reserves were drained to the brink.
Victory… seemed unlikely.
But if this unprecedented solar eclipse was truly caused by him,
Then no matter how hopeless things looked,
It was his burden to bear—his responsibility to see this through.
Moreover, Doros appeared to have been severed from the magical energy siphoned from Solomon's remains.
Thus, the path forward was clear.
He'd come this far—though he had yet to fulfill his true objective, it was enough.
"Albion's Dragon—use the last of my magical power. Release it all."
In the distance, atop an unknown peak, a faint glow flickered to life.
It had to be… some kind of flame, Novia thought.
Then, a calm, resonant voice echoed in his mind.
"You've finally made it."
The voice of Albion's Dragon stirred within him—
Only then did Novia truly register where he was.
This was… nowhere.
A place that wasn't a place.
A world that wasn't a world.
Blinking, the silver-haired youth gazed at the strongest of dragons—whose eyes held unfathomable depths.
"Not sure why… but the Texture covering this planet has been peeled away."
"Tch. Consider yourself lucky. That's why the strongest—me—has finally come to bail out a weakling like you."
The world's physical laws bent according to the dominant intelligent life upon its surface.
In ages long past, when mystery and magic still overflowed,
That era met its end as humanity rose to supremacy—
And the world's inherent magical foundation gradually waned.
After the age of gods concluded, the planet itself became detached from pure nature.
The surface layer—the visible facade known as humanity's world—
And beneath it, separated by a thin veil, the hidden realm of the fairies,
Together comprised what was known as the Texture.
This Texture—essentially the skin draped over the planet—was upheld by the collective cognition of Earth's dominant lifeforms.
Physical laws, reality as humanity knew it, were etched into it.
Yet, for all its apparent stability, the Texture was fragile—
A mere peel of skin…
A tablecloth that could be whisked away with the faintest breeze.
To prevent the Texture from unraveling, several "Anchors of Storm" had been driven deep, pinning it in place.
But just now—
Someone… or something… had peeled the Texture away.
Albion's Dragon had realized this at once,
And though it damaged its own soul,
It forced its way here.
It couldn't bear watching the strongest—herself—fail time and again to slay that loathsome pest…
Nor did it want its human Contract Holder to perish so easily.
After all, for a weakling to earn the grudging acknowledgment of the strongest was no small feat.
If that human were to die—
It should be at her hands.
…Not that the dragon would ever admit any of that aloud.
"…Thank you, Albion's Dragon."
At that moment, a searing power welled up from within Novia's chest—
A heat so intense it felt as though his very organs were ablaze.
"Save the chatter. Let's end this quickly."
"The Texture's already being pinned down again. I need to leave before that happens."
"While that arrogant bastard's still terrified—still trembling…"
"We'll erase his existence—and his entire world—in one blow."
In the blink of an eye, overwhelming magical energy burst forth from Novia's entire being.
His silver hair, lightly swaying in the current of unleashed power,
Blazed with a golden luminescence—like a raging torch.
His eyes… briefly flared crimson.
"This is Albion—the planet's strongest dragon—witness the appointed hour!"
Wielding his spear beyond its limits,
Feeling his entire body brim with terrifying magical power,
Novia wove words into reality.
The blue and red particles surging around him condensed to their highest concentration—
An oppressive, suffocating torrent of magic.
"I am the Messiah! I am King of Israel! I shall establish Heaven on Earth!"
"I cannot lose! You filthy wretch—demon—before me, the Messiah— I will—!"
Doros's roar shook Jerusalem,
And with it, shadows as black as his corrupted body surged forth—
They writhed like living things,
And his voice—echoing with curses—seemed to drag all who heard it into despair.
"We'll slaughter you both—right here, right now."
In that instant,
The thunderous roar of flame and lightning forged by Albion's Dragon—
Purchased at the cost of its own soul's damage—
Exploded forth.
Surging, rampant magical energy was unleashed in full.
A cataclysmic strike—
A force comparable to the peak might of the Age of Gods—
Swallowed the Antichrist King whole,
Tearing through all things,
Leaving only annihilation in its wake.
Mystery, magical resilience—
All were meaningless before this blow.
Even space itself was torn asunder,
Reduced to a mere physical phenomenon.
It was like the death of an ancient, aging star.
The blast devoured the air itself,
Swallowed the earth beneath their feet,
And the abyss widened—
Until at last, as though waking from a dream,
The world gradually returned to its original state.
All those who had offered their lives to empower Doros Bar Kochba—
All of Jerusalem,
Save for the First Temple—
Were reduced to ashes.
The Holy City was no more.
There was no resistance.
No words could describe that moment.
It happened in the space of a single breath.
Finally,
Albion's Spear traced an arc of light—
And cleaved Doros clean in two.
The miracle that descended upon the land,
Shattered the self-proclaimed Messiah,
Destroyed the Antichrist King.
All that remained—
Were faint, glittering fragments of ether—
And the Texture, whose three-minute disruption had been mysteriously sealed once more,
Binding the planet back together.
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