On the far side of the crater, Vali had reverted to human form, still sprawled on the ground. After unleashing Juggernaut Drive, the backlash was merciless. The final impact had left him battered, breath shallow, dangling at the edge of death.
But dead was dead, and Vali wasn't—so Tenra knelt beside him, uncorked a vial of Phoenix Tears, and let the magic do its work. The worst of Vali's wounds knit together, color returning to his face.
Consciousness flickered back. Vali's eyes opened slowly, but his body remained limp, drained beyond measure.
He'd been submerged in Albion's power, almost lost himself. But even as his mind faded, he'd felt the outcome—Tenra looming above, the world settling into silence.
Defeat.
He'd lost.
Vali had never allowed for the possibility, but reality didn't care for pride.
"I lost," he said, voice flat.
Victory is victory; defeat is defeat. No matter how bitter, his pride wouldn't let him flinch from the truth.
Tenra didn't waste words. "You remember our deal, Vali."
A worthy opponent deserved respect, not empty comfort.
Vali was silent. Of course he remembered: lose, and Tenra would take his Sacred Gear.
Tenra nodded. "Then I won't hold back."
He pressed his palm to Vali's chest, activating Sacred Gear Plunder. Silver light flared. The process was brutal—extracting a Longinus from a fully awakened host was like tearing out a piece of their soul. If Vali resisted, the Gear might shatter, or kill them both.
But Vali offered no resistance. His face was blank, enduring the agony without complaint.
Tenra respected that iron will. But he didn't hesitate.
Under the silent gaze of the crowd, Tenra's hand emerged holding a silver-white jewel, slick with power—the Divine Dividing. The White Emperor's Wings.
Albion's voice shimmered from within. "Vali, you were a fine host. Our time together was… enjoyable. But victors claim the spoils. As the loser, you're no longer worthy. Don't blame me."
Once, Albion had believed Vali was the strongest host in history. But fate had other plans.
Vali's lips twitched, emotion breaking through the mask. "I understand, Albion. I wasn't strong enough. This is on me."
A hush fell.
"Farewell, my former partner," Albion intoned.
The Sacred Gear was gone. Vali's soul felt hollowed out, and he slipped back into unconsciousness.
Tenra stared at the jewel in his palm, heart pounding. Divine Dividing—equal to Boosted Gear, now his.
He couldn't help but laugh, wild and triumphant. "Albion, this is our victory—mine and Ddraig's!"
Ddraig's voice rang out, brimming with joy. "I'll admit defeat, Albion. Let us celebrate—victory is our right!"
Albion's reply was calm, dignified. "So be it. Enjoy your moment."
They'd fought countless times, through countless hosts, but this battle was different. Both dragons had found their strongest partners, and the outcome mattered more than ever.
But then Albion's tone shifted, wary. "Ddraig, does your host truly mean to fuse with my power? This isn't a game. Our energies are opposites—the force alone could destroy him."
Even Ddraig hesitated. "Normally, I'd say it's impossible. But my partner… he's called the Miracle Child for a reason."
Her voice grew fierce. "Tenra, show Albion you're worthy. Show you can be host to both Heavenly Dragons!"
Ddraig almost sounded mad. But she believed.
Tenra grinned, lips curling with reckless confidence. "Got it."
Under a thousand watching eyes, Tenra pressed the White Emperor's Wings into his own chest.
A violent aura exploded skyward. For a moment, everything was silent—then Tenra's face twisted in agony.
"AAAAAAHHHHHH!"
Pain. Not just flesh, but soul—every cell, every fiber, every fragment of spirit screamed.
The power of two Heavenly Dragons—united, their clashing energies raged inside him. Even the strongest devils would be obliterated by the force. Worse, their attributes were opposites; inside Tenra, they collided, warring for supremacy.
"ROOOOOAR!"
Twin phantom dragons—crimson and silver—materialized overhead, Ddraig and Albion themselves. Massive, regal, terrifying. The crowd stared, dumbstruck, as the spectral dragons circled above Tenra, their roars shaking the world.
Blood spattered. Crimson and silver-white, Boost and Divide, fire and venom—inside Tenra, every cell was a battlefield. Some couldn't take it, bursting apart, leaving him drenched in his own blood.
"Tenra!"
"Tenra-sama!"
"Ahh!"
Rias, Yubelluna, and the others tried to reach him, but the raging energy flung them back, nowhere near.
Sirzechs, Serafall, Michael, and Azazel threw up barriers, faces grim. Katerea and her magicians retreated, her lips curled in mocking amusement.
That boy had defeated the White Emperor, but now he wanted to fuse the powers of both dragons? In Katerea's eyes, it was pure suicide.
She wasn't wrong. Ddraig and Albion's forces clashed inside Tenra, threatening to tear him apart. He could explode at any moment.
But Tenra gritted his teeth, refusing to yield.
He had dreams yet to realize. He would not fall here.
"FUSE—DAMN IT!"
His eyes blazed. With a furious cry, a pillar of red and white light shot skyward. The twin dragon phantoms roared and dove, merging into Tenra's body.
BOOOOM!
Blinding light. A storm of energy. The world vanished into silver-white brilliance.
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