The clash of powers echoed through the broken sky as Menma tore through the battlefield, his breath ragged, heart pounding.
The moment he caught sight of her, everything else faded into the background.
Annie.
She was barely standing.
Her shield—a glowing, shimmering construct formed from her Light Creation—was flickering, cracks forming in its surface like glass under pressure.
She twisted and ducked under a barrage of relentless attacks, barely dodging a flurry of Eclipse Suns.
They were everywhere—multiple instances of them, shadows of the same power, swarming her like a coordinated dance of destruction.
Menma's eyes widened, and fury surged through him like a tidal wave.
"What the hell are you doing to my mother!?" he roared, his voice tearing through the chaos like thunder.
His rage flared violently, igniting the air around him.
Without hesitation, he summoned the portal from his creation—space distorting as it opened midair, and in an instant, he grabbed Annie.
Light twisted, collapsed, and folded—then they vanished.
They reappeared somewhere distant, but not safe.
As the glow of the portal faded, Menma found himself standing just outside a grand structure—dark, looming, unmistakable.
Vel'Zorath's castle.
He barely had a moment to process it when a figure dropped from above, fast and silent like a hawk in descent.
Vel'Tharion struck hard, aiming for Menma's neck with a blade of pure multiplicative force.
Menma ducked just in time, the wind from the blow slicing open the ground beside him.
He shoved Annie aside gently, barely registering her weakened breath.
Vel'Tharion's clones moved in unison, surrounding him in a wide circle, each one poised to strike.
"You're not getting away this time," Vel'Tharion said coldly, his voice coming from every direction at once.
"We won't let this chance slip by."
But Menma's glare held no fear. Only fire.
His hands curled into fists as a dark red aura burst around him, crackling and violent. "You really think I care?" he growled.
He let go. 55% of his demon power erupted from within him, shaking the very air, forcing Vel'Tharion's clones to brace themselves.
The closest ones moved first—charging with speed meant to overwhelm. But Menma didn't retreat.
He met them head-on.
The first clone shattered with a single blow to the chest—bones cracking, power dissipating into sparks.
The second tried to flank him, but Menma spun, elbowing it across the temple before backhanding the real Vel'Tharion into a wall.
Stone cracked, dust rose, and silence followed—momentarily.
Across the field, Annie was still standing. Still fighting.
The Eclipse had not followed through the portal—it had ripped through it. Now it stood face-to-face with her again.
It didn't speak. It didn't need to. Its fists were cloaked in black flames, burning with Black Sun Creation.
Every strike it threw could melt steel, turn shields into smoke.
Annie raised her creation shield, shifting it into a full form—transparent layers of light surrounding her body like wings of protection. She blocked two punches.
Ducked a third. Her instincts were sharp, but her body was broken. Each breath felt like it might be her last.
Then came the hit.
She moved half a second too slow, and the Eclipse's fist slammed into her side.
The shield shattered, and the blow tore through flesh and bone.
Her right shoulder burst in a spray of blood, and her arm was torn clean off, sent spinning through the air before landing with a sickening thud.
She stumbled back, collapsing to her knees.
The pain was numbing, yet beneath it all, something else flickered inside her—something warmer.
Her ears rang from the sound of combat,
her vision blurred from blood loss, but she could still hear his voice in her mind.
"What the hell are you doing to my mother!?"
Her fingers twitched. A smile broke through the pain.
He called me 'mother'… He hasn't called me that since he left for training.
Her lips parted as a single tear slipped down her cheek. In this dying moment, her heart wasn't filled with fear—it was filled with joy.
If only… if only I could hug them. Just once. Menma. Lunara.
She leaned back against a broken pillar, her breathing shallow, eyes searching the sky.
Menma turned—he felt it. That brief shift, that pulse of emotion across the battlefield. He snapped his head toward her and saw her fall.
"No!" he roared, and without hesitation, he surged forward—his aura exploding again. 70%, maybe more.
He blurred forward, blasting through the air like a comet, aimed straight for her.
But the Eclipse moved faster.
It appeared in front of him mid-flight, black sun energy coiled in its fist. Menma didn't have time to dodge.
The punch hit him square in the gut, and the shockwave cracked the ground beneath them.
He was sent flying back, tumbling across stone, his momentum stopped only when he crashed through the side of a jagged wall.
The Eclipse turned away.
Annie lifted her eyes one last time. She saw the sky, then the silhouette of her killer.
The black sun flickered above them.
She closed her eyes.
Lilith,Hanami … I'm coming to you now.
And with her final breath, she whispered, "I'm sorry… my children."
Then, everything went still.
For a moment, it was as if the world had stopped breathing.
The air fell silent. Even the lingering hum of power in the battlefield dimmed. Dust hung in the light like frozen ash.
Menma didn't move.
He was still lying in the crater where he'd landed, half-buried in rubble, blood dripping down his lips.
But his eyes—those were wide open, staring straight up at the sky. His fingers twitched.
He didn't blink.
He didn't breathe.
Then he sat up.
Slowly.
His aura was quiet at first—low, like a simmering flame—but it was wrong.
It pulsed irregularly, flickering between red and black, as if something was fighting its way to the surface.
His eyes, once sharp with fury, now burned with something darker. His jaw clenched.
He rose to his feet, his arms trembling—not from pain, but from pressure.
His body shook.
Not like a boy pushed too far.
Like a cage straining against its locks.
"…you killed her," he whispered, voice hoarse, hollow. It wasn't even loud—but the words hit the air like a curse.
The Eclipse turned, sensing something shift.
A soft crack echoed from Menma's knuckles as his fists clenched tighter.
His demon power—once a steady, controllable aura—now writhed around him like a storm held barely in check.
His pupils began to thin, and dark lines crept up the sides of his face, like roots digging under his skin.
The ground beneath him splintered. The rubble at his feet started to float.
Something was coming through.
But he wasn't gone yet. Not completely.
He took one shaky breath—just one.
Then he looked up at the Eclipse, and for the first time, the expression on Menma's face wasn't rage, or grief.
It was empty.
A whisper passed through the crackling air.
"…don't run."