Azreal fell to one knee, blood dripping from his lips. His chest burned, pain flashing across his vision.

"I said… who are you…?" he growled, his voice low and cracked with fury.

The figure in the shadow smiled.

With a sharp pull, he ripped the blade from Azreal's chest. Blood sprayed out in a wide arc, sizzling as it hit the molten ground. Azreal's body jerked slightly, but he didn't fall.

His eyes burned, glowing hotter than ever. A low hum echoed as a red sphere of flames began to form in his right hand. It spun wildly, swirling faster and faster until it whined like a storm. The heat was intense, melting the rocks around his feet. Cracks spread like a web beneath him.

The mysterious figure backed away slowly, eyes narrowed.

Azreal rotated the red orb faster, dragging it along the ground. The fire carved lines through the earth, vaporizing it into ash and smoke. The pressure alone leveled the land around them. The sky trembled. Azreal's blood kept falling, soaking the battlefield, but he never broke focus.

"Just… who are you…?" Azreal asked again, voice shaking with both pain and rage.

The figure finally stopped moving. With a slow motion, he reached for the hood of his cloak and pulled it back.

The face that was revealed stole the air from Azreal's lungs.

"Sin…?" Azreal breathed, eyes widening in disbelief.

The man chuckled darkly. "No. I am Zarion."

Azreal's head shook slightly, still kneeling, stunned. "Zarion? Then why do you look like Sin? Where is Y'tharion?"

Zarion stepped forward, flames flickering in his eyes. "Sin. Y'tharion. Death…"

Azreal stiffened. "Who's… Death?"

Zarion's smile widened. "I am all of them. Those three… they make up Y'tharion. I carry the mark. I am the source. I named it Y'tharion."

Azreal's breathing grew ragged. His legs shook beneath him as he fell again to his knees. "No… Y't—Y'tharion was sealed. There was no such name as Zarion."

Zarion laughed. "Then who exactly did they seal in Val'Karas, Azreal?"

The question cut deep.

Azreal stayed silent.

Zarion tilted his head. "When the gods sealed me, they didn't know of my ability… to split my soul. They locked away Y'tharion, yes—but I shattered myself. Part of me became Death… sealed again. That soul split again. It became Sin."

The truth hung in the air like poison.

Azreal's voice trembled. "Sarah… she was right… That was your ability… Soul fracturing…"

Zarion's smirk never faded.

"But if that's your power, you'd need vessels," Azreal whispered.

Zarion simply smiled.

Azreal's eyes widened. "Sin… Y'tharion… Death… were your vessels."

"Excellent deduction, Azreal. You always were sharp," Zarion said softly. "It took centuries. But oh… fooling the gods? Worth every step."

Azreal clutched his side, bleeding heavily. The weight of the truth dragged on him more than the pain. His arms trembled. "This… this isn't possible…"

Zarion sighed. "That's all you need to know."

WHOOSH!

He vanished in a blur.

Azreal barely caught it—he twisted just in time to avoid a direct strike, but he stumbled, body weak, lungs burning. Blood poured from his wound.

Zarion reappeared behind him.

"Surprising," he said. "Still fast, even with that hole in your chest."

Azreal gasped for air. He looked around—the hell guards still clashed in the distance, unaware of this duel. Hulk's unconscious body lay broken beneath the rubble.

He looked down at the wound in his chest. The blood didn't stop. How did he…?

Zarion answered like he read his mind.

"The Breath of Life," he said with a dark grin. "A technique that senses malicious intent. Yours was burning like wildfire. But… as the name implies… it's tied to your soul. A beautiful ability—but not one that lasts long."

Azreal winced. He knows everything.

"I think it's time to lighten things up, don't you think?" Zarion said calmly—and vanished again.

Azreal's eyes widened. Behind me!

He turned, backing away—barely dodging a killing blow.

Then Azreal's eyes flared. "Blue."

A wave of blue fire burst from his palms. The battlefield lit with azure light. Rocks cracked. The very air quivered. Zarion halted mid-step, lips curling in fascination.

"Ah… blue flames," Zarion whispered, licking his lips. "You truly are the King of Hell."

Azreal stepped forward, hand glowing brighter than before. The fire began to condense… twisting and reshaping.

Azreal didn't answer. His flames condensed, reshaping.

FWOOM!

It formed into a blade.

A sword made of pure blue fire.

Blue flames burst into existence, spiraling into both of his hands. The ground cracked beneath him from the sheer heat.

Zarion stared at the flickering blue flames, his thoughts running sharp. He uses the red ones for pure destruction… but these blue flames… At first, during his fight with Sarah, i had believed they simply erased whatever they touched. But no… after what I saw against the Infernals, it's clear now. His jaw tightened. These flames don't just burn. They erase phenomenon itself.

Zarion chuckled. "Your flames are as beautiful as they are deadly."

Azreal didn't speak.

He began compressing the fire.

It twisted, reshaped.

A blade of blue fire took form.

Zarion summoned his own flames, swirling into a long burning spear with jagged, smoking edges.

"You're strong," Zarion said, spinning his spear. "I'll admit that."

Azreal's crimson eyes burned like twin suns. "So are you."

Then—boom!—they vanished.

A shockwave cracked the earth where they stood. They reappeared mid-air, weapons colliding in a flash of sparks and fire. The impact burst outward like thunder, blowing away clouds of ash and molten debris.

Zarion's spear shuddered on contact with the blue flames. For a heartbeat, the red fire writhed—then faded out of existence. The shaft crumbled like ash. Azreal swung his sword in the same instant, the blade slicing through the air where Zarion's head had been a heartbeat ago. Zarion ducked low, his body twisting as the force of the strike howled above him.

He quickly backed away, breath sharp, and muttered to himself, As long as his flames don't hit me, I still have a chance of winning this. But… I'll have a problem using my own flame techniques. They falter… they fade the moment they make contact with those cursed blue flames of his.

Gritting his teeth, Zarion condensed another flame spear into his palm. The fire burned hot, trembling against his control. He said to himself, With that, there has to be a limit to his blue flames. He can't keep spawning them every now and then.

Zarion swung in a wide, sweeping arc, his spear carving through the air with flames trailing behind it like the tail of a raging dragon.

The only way… he told himself mid-fight, breath sharp and eyes locked on his foe, is to make him run out of those blue flames.

Azreal ducked low beneath the strike, his body twisting with deadly precision. In one fluid motion, he spun and slashed upward, his blade crackling with blue fire that surged to consume everything in its path. Zarion leapt back just in time, the edge of the flames licking at the space where he'd stood only moments before.

Zarion grined. Nice blade.

Azreal's grip tightened around his sword, his eyes narrowing with razor focus. If he's truly the main body… then I have to defeat him here. Right now. I have to put an end to the Evolutionalist. His chest burned with resolve as the blue flames coiled around his blade. I won't let him escape.

Clash! Spark! Slash!

The battlefield exploded with chaos as the two warriors blurred at inhuman speed, their strikes raining down like a storm meant to tear the world apart.

Azreal's movements were fluid, precise—every swing sharp and surgical, like a blade guided by instinct itself. Zarion countered with unyielding ferocity, a whirlwind of rage and fire, his spear burning like an extension of his will.

Each time their weapons collided, the air itself screamed. Flames surged and flickered—Zarion's crimson fire flaring bright, only to be devoured and erased by Azreal's blue inferno. Yet with impossible speed, Zarion kept conjuring more, refusing to let the rhythm break. Red clashed with blue, streaking the sky with violent brilliance, painting the sky in fire and fury.

Rocks shattered under stray strikes. Shockwaves ripped apart the terrain. What had once been solid ground was reduced to a scarred wasteland of smoldering ruin.

"RAAAH!" Zarion roared, his spear cleaving downward with both hands, splitting the air itself.

BOOM!

Azreal caught the strike on his blade. The clash sent a thunderous blast outward, forcing him to slide backward, boots grinding and carving deep trenches in the scorched dirt. His arm trembled slightly under the overwhelming force.

Zarion's spear fizzled into nothing, its flames swallowed by Azreal's blue fire. He scoffed, irritation flashing in his eyes, and with a snap of his will, the weapon blazed back to life.

"Those blue flames…" Zarion spat, spinning the spear in a vicious whirl, "they're annoying."

He dashed forward, his spear carving through the air like a cyclone, strikes raining from every possible angle. Azreal met him head-on, his blade flashing in a blur—clang! clang! clang!—three blows deflected in perfect rhythm. Zarion's spear flickered, fading under the crushing presence of the blue flames… but then—swish!—a strike slipped through.

The edge grazed across Azreal's cheek.

A thin line of crimson spilled.

Azreal leapt back, boots skidding across the scorched ground.

Zarion grinned wide, a predator's smile. "Another hit."

Azreal wiped the blood away with two fingers, his expression unreadable, calm. His eyes burned with resolve as he answered coldly, "Everyone gets wounded in battle."

And then—

The battlefield itself changed.

Without warning, the air warped. Fwoosh! Orange, flaming feathers drifted from the sky, descending slowly, gently—like the ashes of a celestial bird. The world dimmed. Silence swept across the scorched ruins as the sky turned ashen grey, as though life itself had been drained from it.

Zarion froze mid-step, his eyes widening. "What… is this?"

Everything slowed.

Zarion's chest tightened, his breath catching like he was drowning. His body felt submerged in water, every motion dragging, heavy, sluggish. His limbs screamed to move—but the world betrayed him.

Only one figure remained untouched by the phenomenon.

Azreal.

He walked forward, steady and inevitable, each step reverberating like thunder in slow motion.

"No…" Zarion grunted, his body straining, veins bulging as he forced his spear to rise. His teeth clenched, breath ragged. With sheer willpower, he swung.

But Azreal had already vanished.

BAM!

In a flash of light and blur of motion, Azreal appeared behind him. His blade tore through flesh with surgical precision—slash! Sparks burst. Blood sprayed. The wound sizzled and smoked, the mark of blue fire searing deeper than steel.

"GAHHH!" Zarion roared, staggering forward as agony tore through his body. He tried to lift his arm—only to feel… nothing. His left arm hung limp, dead, refusing to respond.

Panting, Zarion dropped to one knee, sweat dripping down his face. His eyes, wide with shock and rage, locked onto Azreal.

"You…" he rasped, voice trembling, "…you slowed time…"

The falling feathers burned away slowly, one by one.

Then Azreal raised his hand. Calmly.

Behind him, the sky cracked apart, and dozens of blue flame spears materialized in the air—silent, motionless, like divine judgment waiting to fall. Azreal extended a single finger.

FWOOOOOSH!!!

The spears shot forward like meteors tearing through the sky.

Zarion's eyes widened. "Tch—!!"

He threw up a wall of red flames, but the first spear tore through it, the wall disintegrating into nothing. The second slammed into the ground, splitting it open with a thunderous crack. The third detonated on impact, launching Zarion backward in a storm of fire and force.

His armor smoked. His skin blistered.

Zarion staggered, teeth grinding together. "ENOUGH!!"

With a roar that shook the battlefield, his flames erupted outward in a violent surge. A column of crimson and black fire screamed into the sky, blowing the burning feathers away. The suffocating grey veil vanished. Time snapped back into motion.

The two figures stood again—bloodied, panting, but unbroken.

Zarion's body steamed like a furnace. "I didn't come here to lose."

Azreal lifted his sword, blue flames burning brighter than ever before. His voice was steady, resolute. "Then keep standing."

They charged.

BOOM!!

The clash shook the land.

Spear and sword collided over and over, each strike thunderous. Zarion's flames burst with every swing, fading under the blue, only to reignite with ferocious speed. Each impact tore shockwaves through the air, shattering the ground into ruin.

Azreal weaved through the storm—ducking, spinning, his blade flashing. Zarion countered relentlessly, sweeping, thrusting, unleashing pure wrath. This was no longer just skill. It was will clashing against will. Power against power.

A brutal strike connected—Zarion spun his spear shaft into Azreal's ribs. CRACK! Azreal winced, breath ripping from his chest, stumbling from the blow. Zarion followed instantly, thrusting straight for his heart.

But Azreal twisted low, dodging by inches, his blade snapping upward in an uppercut slash. Zarion slipped back just in time—but Azreal's boot came crashing into his gut. WHAM!

Zarion flew across the battlefield, skidding through dirt and fire, spitting blood. He dragged himself up, a manic grin twisting his face. "You're strong… but I'll end this!"

He raised his hand—his spear blazing to life with every drop of power left in him.

He dashed.

Azreal raised his blade to meet him—

—but then, suddenly, his blue flames flickered. His chest heaved. Blood spilled from his lips.

Zarion's smile widened. "Looks like you've run out of that color."

SLASH!!!

STAB.

Azreal froze.

Zarion stood inches away, his spear buried deep in Azreal's chest.

Azreal coughed, blood dripping down his chin.

Zarion's eyes trembled… but he kept pressing, driving the spear deeper. He twisted, ripping the wound wider.

Azreal staggered back, crimson staining his robes. His sword slipped from his grasp. The blue fire finally guttered and died.

Then—swish!

Zarion's spear slashed, severing Azreal's left arm.

Azreal's knees buckled. He didn't scream. He simply fell, his body trembling under the weight of defeat.

Zarion raised his weapon high, flames spiraling into a furious vortex around it.

He brought it down.

SHHHNK!

Azreal's head hit the ground.

His body crumpled after it, collapsing like a monument broken beyond repair.

Silence.

Zarion stood above him, chest heaving, arms trembling.

He muttered, voice hoarse, "As I thought… there was a limit to the blue flames—as he was wounded from our first encounter."

Blood dripped from his spear. His breaths came ragged, his body exhausted. But his eyes burned with the pride of victory.

Or so he thought.

Because then—

A voice split the silence, raw and trembling with agony.

"AZREAL!!!"

It was more than a cry. It was grief. Rage. Despair.

Aria.

She sprinted across the battlefield, her cloak tearing in the wind, her hair tangled from the chaos. Her eyes locked on the broken figure ahead.

Azreal.

Still. Lifeless. His arm gone. His head severed. Blood soaking into the scorched earth.

"No…" her voice cracked as she dropped to her knees beside him. Her hands shook violently as she reached for him. "You can't… you promised…"

Zarion turned, his body swaying, barely holding together. His face was pale, but his voice rasped out. "You… must be Aria."

Her fingers curled into fists. Her whole frame trembled, not from fear—but from fury.

Pink flames licked across her skin, her aura rising, burning, consuming.

Zarion tightened his grip on his spear, forcing himself to ready for one last fight.

But that was for later.

For now—

The battlefield fell into stillness.

Azreal… had fallen.

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