The war continued.
But it no longer felt like a war between factions.
It was a nameless war, aimless, senseless.
Humanity had stopped asking why it killed.
Now it simply killed.
Murder had become easier than laughing.
---
In an old, half-collapsed concrete facility hidden among ruins, Donyoku kept watch with narrowed eyes.
He held a knife in his hand.
And a broken soul.
His mother and siblings slept.
Any strange sound put him on guard.
A poorly timed blink could mean losing everything.
Some stones cracked near the entrance.
But they weren't bandits.
It was Chisiki.
"Standing guard, as always?" he said, brushing off the dust.
Donyoku lowered the blade.
"You can't really sleep here. It's like every breath turns suspicious."
Chisiki stepped inside and dropped into a corner, exhausted.
"Today a kid asked me what the word 'peace' meant."
"And what did you tell him?"
"That it was some old invention. Like phones or libraries. Something that once existed, but doesn't anymore."
Donyoku let out a bitter smile.
"I can't remember a time when I didn't have to distrust the person sitting beside me.
Not even my own reflection."
Chisiki nodded. His eye bags were like abysses.
"The last time I believed the world could be fixed… I think you hadn't even awakened your Shinkon yet.
And look at us now: experts on surviving the Apocalypse, but emotional idiots."
"At least we're still alive."
"And what does that even mean nowadays?"
Silence.
Both knew that life, on its own, no longer held much value.
---
After a few hours of mute vigilance, they got ready and left the shelter.
They headed for the old warehouse where Aika lived with several survivors.
She greeted them with a faint smile.
The three shared some leftover rice and a tea far too watery.
But in that moment…
an emergency alert erupted everywhere.
It didn't matter if it was the desert, the forest, an underground prison, or a ruined city—
The A.S.E. was broadcasting.
A voice without a face, without a soul, spoke:
"Humanity. If any reason remains in you… stop this absurd war.
Divinity is dead. Judgement has passed.
All that remains is yourselves.
Killing each other now only proves God was right to abandon you.
If you continue, you will be your own executioners.
If you stop, perhaps there may still be a tomorrow.
If not… then this story will end with laughter drowned in blood."
Silence.
The three of them, food still in hand, froze.
The message repeated.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
But there was no need to repeat it.
Everything had already been said.
And the worst part was…
it might already be too late.
---
The sky…
kept bleeding.
It wasn't water that fell.
It was memories, rage, and ash.
The earth… devoured its children as if tired of carrying so much stupidity.
The war…
was no longer between nations, ideologies, or religions.
It was between survivors.
Between neighbors.
Between siblings.
Donyoku lifted his gaze from a nearby hill.
His breath was quiet, but his eyes were storms.
He seemed to search the clouds for a sign…
an impossible miracle…
or at least a merciful lie.
"Maybe if God didn't die, He gave up first," he murmured.
---
A.S.E. Meeting Hall.
The place was a diplomatic hell.
Leaders screamed at each other, as blind as the masses they claimed to govern.
"We have to send peacekeeping troops!"
"We already sent troops, idiot! They were slaughtered!"
"What if we negotiate with the leaders?!"
"What leaders? There are no leaders left—only hunger and revenge!"
A sharp slam of a door cut through the chaos.
The High Priest Maharen entered, his eyes blazing.
"Negotiate?
Negotiate what, you imbeciles?"
The silence was deeper than any speech.
"You want to send peace treaties to a generation born in trenches, one that learned to pray with a gun in hand?"
"You don't understand anything," added Genshin, firm, arms crossed. "The world wanted to plunge into chaos of its own will.
It isn't God's fault, nor an experiment's, nor a king's…
It's our own fault."
"Humanity doesn't need enemies.
It manufactures them," Princess Yukihana said bitterly from her corner.
She stood, walked to the table, and planted both fists on it.
"And if you want to know the only way to stop this war…"
Everyone held their breath.
"It's for humans to finally realize
they're fighting for nothing."
No one replied.
Not because they didn't want to.
But because they knew…
maybe no one wanted to listen anymore.
---
The ashes of the world still floated in the air.
And the bodies, more than dead, seemed asleep from so much accumulated hatred.
From a tower shattered by past battles, Shirota Karakuri looked down. The city was a graveyard in ruins… and yet, there were still gunshots, screams, stabbings without meaning.
"Ridiculous…" he muttered, with that usual smile of his, but without humor. "So many dead, so much pain… and they keep going?"
Yagameru stood behind him, sharpening his voice as if it were a blade.
"Do you really think my Shinkon can stop this?"
Shirota didn't answer immediately. He closed his fan and pointed it at the sky as if accusing a God who no longer existed.
"It's not about whether you can… it's about the fact that you must.
Today we're not singing to entertain. Today we're singing to tear down a rotten world."
Yagameru swallowed. He stepped forward, leaned on a fallen column fragment, and activated his Shinkon. A small melody rose from his throat, as if his words were not just sounds… but emotional blades stabbing into the soul of anyone who heard them.
His voice thundered through the ruined city.
"Listen to me, humans of the hell you built yourselves!"
His words spread like poisoned echoes, reaching even the deepest corners of streets, tunnels, and hills. His Shinkon was working: it turned his words into absolute truths for anyone who heard them.
"Where are your gods now?
Where is that power you swore you had when you killed for a banner or an idea?
Look around you!
You're not surrounded by enemies.
You're surrounded by mirrors.
Broken, filthy mirrors that shatter with every word of hatred you spit."
Some soldiers dropped their rifles. Others began to sob like children.
"You killed for faith. You killed for fear.
But in the end… no one won."
And in that instant, Shirota activated his own Shinkon.
An invisible wave swept across the city like an electric impulse. But it wasn't electricity. It was absolute emotional control. Shirota's mental waves wrapped around everyone already under Yagameru's influence.
Their pupils widened. Their muscles froze.
Time did not stop… their wills collapsed.
Civilians and soldiers stood silent, motionless.
As if their souls had been pulled out… forcing them to think.
And then, Shirota slowly descended from the tower.
He stood in the center of the field, among ruins and puddles of dried blood, and shouted with a fury never heard from him before:
"WAS IT WORTH IT, YOU BASTARDS?!
All this shit?!
WAS IT WORTH A SINGLE TEAR OF THOSE WHO DIED?!"
A child trembled in a corner. A grown man fell to his knees. A woman tore off the war bandana she had worn for years.
And for the first time… no one raised a weapon.
From that point on the continent… the war began to die.
Not because everyone understood. Not because everyone forgave.
But because they were empty.
And the truths Yagameru showed them… hurt more than any bullet.
"You did well…" Shirota whispered to Yagameru, patting his shoulder. "Maybe… maybe we do deserve another chance."
And while the sun remained hidden,
while the rubble still blocked the streets,
the echo of their voices kept spreading.
Peace was not born from justice.
It was born from exhaustion.
And from the last scream… someone dared to sing.
---
Among the rubble and the streets that still smelled of smoke, a boy walked hand in hand with his older sister.
His eyes were full of questions, but there were no adults left with answers.
They stopped in front of an old screen, one of the few still working.
On it, a broadcast emerged from the provisional headquarters of the A.S.E.
The Secretary-General, voice unsteady and eyes sunken, spoke on a global transmission.
"We have counted the loss of more than seventy percent of the population…
The world economic system has collapsed.
Borders no longer exist.
Only one decision remains:
Either we become human again… or we disappear."
An uncomfortable silence overtook the conference hall.
And in the corner of the transmission, the boy tightened his grip on his sister's hand.
"So… the God who appeared wasn't good?
Then… is there no one left to take care of us?"
The sister lowered her head. She didn't cry.
She only said:
"From now on… we can only take care of each other."
---
Elsewhere in the world, among the ruins of a temple split by an artificial lightning strike, a group of religious fanatics refused to accept reality.
Wearing robes stained with mud and blood, they prayed toward the broken sky, wishing the "true God" would descend this time.
One of them, trembling, shouted:
"It's not too late! This wasn't our true savior!
We must offer sacrifices! We must purify ourselves!"
But no one answered.
Beside him, an old man let his rosary slip from his fingers.
Another burned his bible.
A woman knelt and murmured:
"We prayed to a void.
And that void answered."
---
In the Sacred Lands of Reimei,
the High Priest Maharen walked alone down the steps of his temple.
The incense still burned, but no believers remained.
He looked up at the sky…
and for the first time, he didn't ask for a miracle.
"We have no prayers left…
Only the consequences of having wasted them."
---
The war had ended in many hearts…
but guilt, broken faith, and pain
would continue walking with them… even in peace.
---
In the still-smoldering ruins of Tsuyoi,
a pale sun began to filter through the wreckage.
The smell of metal was no longer blood…
but tools, the scent of reconstruction.
Donyoku held a piece of wood while Aika watched from a fallen beam.
"Are you sure you know how to use a hammer?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course. If I cut down a God, hammering a board is easy."
"Right… like when you tried to make rice and we ended up eating ashes."
"That was failed alchemy, not cooking."
Both let out a soft laugh, timid, like those who still don't fully allow themselves happiness.
Not far away, Chisiki held Seita's hand and taught him the basic strokes of the ancient Hokorian language.
"A single word can save or destroy," Chisiki said. "Sometimes faster than a sword."
"And why learn if the world's falling apart anyway?" Seita asked.
"Because even if it collapses… someone needs to write that it once stood."
In a corner of the improvised shelter, Reiji watched Seimei share his lunch with some children.
Reiji smiled. Not because the world was better.
But because he could still smile.
"Do you know what the hardest part of surviving is?" Reiji asked Seimei.
"What?"
"Not becoming the very thing you had to defend yourself from."
"I guess… surviving wasn't just staying alive. It was not losing your soul."
"Exactly."
Children ran barefoot between stones and broken plants,
as if time itself allowed them to dream again.
And Donyoku's mother cooked for everyone, stirring the pot with a rhythm that seemed to give the future flavor.
---
Meanwhile, in the Royal Palace,
Genshin, King of Hokori, looked at the horizon from his balcony.
His eyes held neither victory nor defeat. They held exhaustion… and responsibility.
Kagemaru entered the hall with a scroll in hand.
"The A.S.E. has just ratified it," he said. "Narikami Goe has been officially recognized as the Last Hero of Blood. They've also declared him the strongest man in the world."
"And what did he say?" Genshin asked, without turning.
"Nothing. He can't move… he lost all mobility.
But… he asked that no one cry for him. Only that he not be forgotten."
Genshin exhaled slowly. Almost a sigh.
"A medal won't return what he gave.
But that was his choice.
To be a hero… even when the world didn't give him permission."
---
The sky turned brown, a mixture of earth, ash, and sunset.
Misery returned to the world.
But so did the instinct to live.
And perhaps, just perhaps… that was preferable to a war that would have erased them forever.
---
The war began with gods who were human, and ended with humans who surpassed gods…
But in the attempt, we lost more than lives: we lost faith, sanity, hope, and meaning.
From proud armies to solitary children, from entire kingdoms to fragments of soul… the world was torn from itself and stitched back together with broken thread.
And even so, among ruins, betrayals, and silence, there were those who chose to remain standing—
not as heroes… but as reminders of what it means to be human when everything else fails.
Because this was not only a war between nations.
It was a war between existence and oblivion.
And we… we chose to remember.
Thank you for accompanying me to the end of this second arc.
Each written page was a battle, each scene a reflection of all we still believe, fear, and love.
If you made it this far, you didn't just read a story… you survived a war alongside its protagonists.
See you in the next chapter of this dark oath of blood.