The battlefield was silent for only a heartbeat.
Ryozen and Ashurael crashed onto the ground after being thrown away by Azrion's blast, dust exploding around them. Their bodies ached, but their eyes immediately moved to the same place.
Ren's body.
And Akira standing over him.
Blank. Empty. Destroyed.
Ryozen staggered forward, his chest tightening. "Kid… no…"
Ashurael lowered his head, jaw trembling. His fingers curled into a fist so tightly the bones cracked. He twisted his lips, pressing them together to stop the tears, but one still slipped down his cheek.
Azrion laughed — a deep, cruel, hollow thunder that shook the battlefield.
"Look at you… crying for the weak. Pathetic."
Ryozen snapped.
He erupted into golden light and black flame. His scream tore the air:
"AZRION!"
Ashurael followed instantly — wings of obsidian and white fire unfolding behind him as he roared,
"You dare laugh at THEIR pain!?"
The two charged together, shaking the dimension.
But Akira didn't move.
He heard nothing… only a faint ringing. His mind was white noise. His hands trembled. His vision blurred.
Then — a single memory flickered across his thoughts.
Ren smiling at him on the school rooftop.
Akira's breath collapsed. His throat tightened.
A tear fell.
Then he screamed.
A sound ripped from his chest so violently the ground split. Shadows shattered. Light cracked. The void bent inward.
Ryozen and Ashurael felt it — a pain so raw it nearly brought them to their knees.
Akira fell to Ren's side, trembling. "Ren… Ren… wake up… please… please don't leave me—"
No answer.
The ringing stopped.
Only quiet.
Akira slowly rose. His face blank, streaked with tears. Yamitsurugi pulsed, calling him.
He dragged the blade across his palm, drawing blood. Thick, dark, glowing.
He coated the blade with it.
Masahiro's faint voice whispered through the dying pendant.
"…Kid… stop… that spell… it will kill you…"
Akira didn't stop.
"I lost everything."
He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, blood mixing with them.
He whispered the forbidden spell.
A sigil burned beneath his feet — an ancient one even Ryozen didn't know.
Yamitsurugi screamed with power, the mark on Akira's neck splitting open like a glowing wound.
Then he vanished.
Azrion turned — too slow.
Akira appeared in front of him, blade raised, face cold as death.
Their clash shook the dimension.
Azrion snarled. "YOU—!"
Akira slammed Yamitsurugi into his chest, cracking Azrion's armor. The force threw both of them across the field like shattered meteors.
The battle broke open.
Ryozen joined the left flank, his golden and black aura spiraling as he unleashed Wheel of Samsara in its full form.
Ashurael descended from above, divine wings tearing the sky, his spear burning with white infernal light.
Azrion countered with his awakened form — horns twisting wider, claws elongating, a tail covered in bone armor. His face became a demonic mask of rage.
He fought like a god of ending.
And all three fought him back.
Every strike was catastrophic. Every breath filled with blood. Every moment a collision of worlds.
Akira rushed again, destroying his own body with each movement — bones cracking, skin tearing, blood pouring — but he didn't stop.
He pushed beyond life.
Ryozen and Ashurael forced Azrion down with perfect unity, their attacks synchronized like they had trained for millennia.
Azrion roared, "YOU CANNOT ERASE—"
He was interrupted.
Akira stabbed through his chest.
Ryozen struck his head with a divine-samsara blast.
Ashurael impaled Azrion's back with a spear of heaven and hell combined.
Azrion staggered.
All three stood together.
They raised their weapons.
Akira: "Yamitsurugi — Final Severance!"
Ryozen: "Samsara — Last Cycle!"
Ashurael: "Aetherfall Judgment!"
Azrion's eyes widened.
"No— STOP—!"
They didn't.
The world exploded in white, black, and gold light.
Azrion screamed — louder than creation itself — as the blast swallowed him whole.
His body cracked… shattered… dissolved…
And he was gone.
Silence.
Ashurael collapsed to one knee, panting. Ryozen bent forward, clutching his ribs.
Then they both looked at Akira.
He was standing.
Barely.
His legs trembled. His nose bled. Blood dripped from his ears. His skin was cracked like porcelain breaking apart.
Yamitsurugi fell from his hand.
He smiled — a small, broken smile.
He began walking toward Ren.
Ryozen's heart dropped.
"…Akira?"
Ashurael stepped forward. "Kid… don't…"
Akira didn't hear them.
His world was only Ren.
He walked slowly… painfully… dropping to one knee every few steps… but still moving.
He reached Ren's body.
He collapsed beside him.
He grabbed Ren's cold hand tightly.
A soft laugh escaped him.
"…Ren… we won…"
His voice cracked.
"…remember… that day… you made fun of my soccer moves…?"
He smiled wider — weak, fading.
Above them, the pendant in Rina's hands far away cracked.
Akira rested his forehead against Ren's.
"And I promised… we'd go home together…"
The pendant shattered.
Akira's breath stopped.
Ryozen screamed his name and rushed forward, Ashurael beside him, both falling to their knees and trying desperately to revive him — pushing energy into him, forcing light into him, calling his name again and again.
Nothing.
Akira's body lay still beside Ren.
Two boys.
Two friends.
Two heroes.
Holding hands.
Shooting stars drifted across the dead battlefield — tiny, silent souls passing by, like the world mourning them.
Ryozen covered his face with one hand, tears falling freely.
Ashurael clenched his fist against his forehead, shoulders shaking.
When they returned to Earth, Rina saw them.
Saw their faces.
Saw their silence.
And she collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably, whispering their names until her voice broke.
Later, Ryozen and Ashurael stood alone, looking at the sky.
Nothing needed to be said.
Somewhere beyond that sky — in a place without pain or darkness — two boys sat together on a quiet hill under a radiant white sky.
Akira wore white.
Ren wore white.
Both barefoot.
Both peaceful.
Akira nudged Ren's shoulder.
Ren nudged him back.
They looked up at the glowing horizon.
Still holding hands.
Still smiling.
Together.
Forever.
THE END