Erastos rides forward at a slow, deliberate pace, stopping a good distance from the three demons. Behind him, three thousand gods on horseback wait in formation; ahead, the carriage bearing the three royal gods stands silent.
For the first time, the demoness breaks into a cold sweat, her eyes fixed not on Erastos, but on the motionless figures inside the carriage.
Erastos stares down at the demons, his gaze dark and unyielding, as though looking upon filth—which they are, given what they have done. The proof lies all around them: the sacred city of Arcadia leveled to the ground. Their days are numbered now—perhaps hours, maybe even seconds.
Finally, he speaks.
"It pains me to address scum like you, but I'll make an exception. Tell me…"
The wind howls. The earth trembles faintly under divine wrath. Thunder rolls through the blackened sky.
"…how would you like to die?"
The demons flinch at the cold, direct threat. Gone is the rage Erastos showed in Eden when attacked by Kerberon; now, he is void of emotion, radiating a fear that makes even the once-confident demoness shrink. Kerberon breaks the silence.
"Tch! Don't act mighty, fool. Remember the thrashing I gave you? Where's this newfound—"
"I should applaud your courage to speak," Erastos cuts in, his voice slicing through Kerberon's confidence, silencing him.
"This is not Eden. If I were you, I'd worry more about how best to beg for mercy before you're massacred like vermin."
The sheer authority he commands is suffocating. The demoness, humiliated by her own helplessness, snaps, voice cracking with fury:
"I, Euryssa Kasadrix, daughter of His Majesty Aeonoch, King of the Furnace Realms, will never bow to the likes of you! You call yourself divine, but you are more corrupt than any demon!"
"I'll erase your existence," Erastos replies, cold and unwavering. "Your opinion means nothing."
Grinding her teeth, Euryssa forces a grotesque smile.
"Oh, we'll see about that~"
She raises her left arm and snaps her fingers. The sound tears through the air like a sharp explosion.
The ground convulses violently; Erastos and his horse struggle for balance. From the scorched earth, a massive hand bursts forth—large as Erastos himself. The demons had hidden the Gaióthrauste deep beneath the soil.
"I see now," Erastos mutters, watching a mountainous minotaur erupt from beneath the soil.
The Gaióthrauste's massive hand closes around him—but not directly. It grips a shimmering barrier of magic that hovers around his body.
Erastos glances at its wrist. A heartbeat later, the hand is severed cleanly at the joint. No blood flows at first, the strike's supernatural speed halting even its lifeblood—until a roar shatters the silence and a color no mortal tongue could name bursts free. The severed palm disintegrates into vapor, leaving not a drop on Erastos.
The titan rises to its full height, bellowing in pain. Its first strike barely misses horse and rider. Behind them, the gods remain motionless, following Erastos' silent order to hold their ground.
The Gaióthrauste lunges again.
"Do not touch me," Erastos warns, his voice dripping with disdain. His eyes flick to the creature's other shoulder—
Shing—!
An arm shears away at the base, crashing into the earth with an impact that sends shockwaves through the battlefield. Dust and debris explode outward.
GRUUUUAAAAARRGH!
Desperate, the titan lowers its massive horns and charges headlong. Thousands of tons of muscle and fury slam into the ground, the collision shaking the earth and blotting out all sight in a choking cloud of dust.
Euryssa seizes the moment. She snaps her gaze to Kerberon and Zir.
"NOW!"
Both surge forward with unnatural speed toward the carriage. Zir's colossal arms smash through its roof, splintering wood. The maidservants inside remain utterly expressionless, unsettling him—he has never seen prey so devoid of fear.
"Grab them! Hurry!" Kerberon snaps, breaking Zir's hesitation.
Shaking it off, Zir scoops up Zenobios, Athanasia, and Areios in one sweep and sprints back toward Euryssa. Her lips curl into a sharp, predatory grin as she begins to chant:
Anástēthi, mákhaira toû Háidou!
Three pitch-black guillotines erupt into existence, their blades as dark as void. As Zir reaches her range, she snaps her fingers. In an instant, his arms are empty—the captives now bound beneath the guillotines.
Kerberon and Zir step back into defensive stances, glancing toward the swirling dust cloud where Erastos battles the Gaióthrauste.
Euryssa nearly shivers with triumph as she gazes at the three gods beneath her blades.
"This is it! The end of the gods! From this day forth, demons will rule the universe!"
"My lady, there's no time!" Kerberon warns urgently.
"Tsk!" She rolls her eyes but presses on.
"With the power granted to me by Hades himself, I command these blades—fall and end their wretched lives! Behead them!"
***
Admetus slumps against a boulder, watching the chaos unfold. Erastos' cutting words to the demons stir something in him, a surge of strength his battered body refuses to answer.
His eyes widen as three gods are forced beneath pitch-black guillotines. He does not know their names, but an otherworldly glow radiates from their bodies—visible only to him. He doesn't need to be told they are important. He simply knows.
The ground trembles beneath him, echoing the tremor in his chest. His gaze shifts to the sword lying at his side.
Admetus, make yourself proud. Use this sword not for yourself, but for Arcadia.
The words of the dying knight who entrusted him with the blade when he was only fifteen resound in his mind.
"For Arcadia…" he murmurs, eyes locking back on the demons—on Euryssa's laughter over her helpless captives.
It was taken from me… Arcadia… the only thing I had… These demons… These filth… Their sorry existences…
Erastos' voice echoes in his head: …how would you like to die? The god's cold fury mirrors his own, and it almost makes him smile.
"…how… would you… like to die…?" he whispers, too soft for anyone to hear. The sword at his side glows, pulling him back to his duty—ensuring good prevails over evil.
***
Daniil's eyes snap open—but half his vision is gone. Only his right eye moves, only that eyelid blinks. He's buried beneath corpses and scorched earth, pinned in place.
A heavy thud shakes the ground nearby, followed by a swirling cloud of dust. Through his one working eye, he spots a man—glowing faintly, half-grey hair and beard framing a youthful face. He wears an exotic robe, and over his neck hangs a massive, pitch-black blade. It doesn't gleam; its hollow darkness makes Daniil's blood run cold.
Who…? The thought dies as a woman's voice slices into his ears:
"With the power granted to me by Hades himself, I command these blades—fall and end their wretched lives! Behead them!"
The blades descend—and time fractures. Everything slows. Daniil's mind floods with fragments of memory. A family. Or the idea of one. Faces he can't recall. A suffocating emptiness takes hold. The sound of the falling blades makes his right-hand twitch.
I see…
He has found a purpose.
With nothing left to lose, he claws free from the corpses and soil.
Euryssa recoils. "Who the fuck are you?"
The figure that rises could be mistaken for an undead—left eye gone, face half-burnt, left arm stripped to bone, leg shattered. He crouches on his good leg, then hurls himself into the air with the last of his strength. In that brief flight, he spots two more captives beneath identical black guillotines.
He doesn't know what to do—but with the man ahead in his path, he fixes on him. Daniil crashes into the guillotine's solid frame. It doesn't so much as shiver.
Still, he thrusts his hand beneath the razor edge of the black blade, careless of the cost. Reckless, hopeless—yet determined.
Heh… I don't even know what I'm doing, he thinks bitterly.
The blade stops.
Blinking in disbelief, he blinks his lone eye multiple times. The impossibility of it sinks in, but reality offers no pause.
Zir glances back—and freezes.
"Any moment now, Zir, keep a close eye—Zir! What are you looking at…?" Kerberon's words trail off as he too turns and sees the miracle.
"What…?"
Euryssa's jaw tightens. She can't form words.
"How… how did you—?!"
But before her outrage can ignite, another roar splits the air—not divine, not demonic, but human.
"ARGHHH!!!"
She turns. Admetus is charging—tattered, bloodied, divine sword in hand. His eyes burn with rage and conviction, the Arcadian general hurtling toward her like a storm.
And he drives the blade through her heart.
Euryssa freezes, eyes wide. The other two demons stare in stunned silence—the princess of the underworld struck down by a mortal's hand.
Admetus holds his gaze on the wound, then meets her eyes.
He smirks.
"I hope it doesn't hurt~," the valiant general says.