The ruins of the Tower of Conviction had become a battlefield.
Not just the clash between Griffith and Jack Harper—but Flora's duel with Zodd the Immortal, and the elite Apostles that surrounded them.
"You're good, woman!" Zodd roared, now a towering minotaur. "I've fought thousands of battles, but never seen swordplay like yours!"
He reattached his severed arm, and within seconds, it was whole again.
Flora paused, golden blade lowered. Her last strike had nearly cleaved Zodd in half—from shoulder to gut. But the wound vanished in a heartbeat. Zodd's counterattack had shattered her Dark Capricorn Cloth, leaving a gaping hole in her abdomen. Her organs were shredded.
Yet she regenerated just as fast.
This was a battle between immortals. Neither side feared injury. But neither abused their regeneration. They fought with discipline, not recklessness.
Zodd lived for combat. He became an Apostle not for power, but for endless war. Regeneration wasn't a weapon—it was a promise. A guarantee that he could fight again tomorrow. He never used it to grind down opponents. If he was beaten, he left. Winning by attrition was boring.
But Flora was different. She didn't flaunt her monstrous healing. Like Zodd, she saw regeneration as a tool—not a crutch. Their shared philosophy made this duel pure.
They were evenly matched. Zodd had brute strength and centuries of experience. Flora had speed and precision. Both hovered at the threshold of Gold-tier. Three times, they'd nearly killed each other—only to rise again.
But Flora knew time was running out.
She glanced toward the distant clash—Sephiroth versus Griffith. When Sephiroth vanished, she knew Jack needed her.
"This is the last strike," she whispered.
She sheathed her golden blade.
Until now, she'd fought using peak Silver-tier strength and her mastery of the Holy Spirit Sword Style XXII. She hadn't tapped into her Cosmo—the power of a Gold Saint. Without a constellation to channel, activating her Cosmo meant burning her life force. Jack had forbidden it. If she suffered a non-lethal wound, she could recover. But if she was decapitated or bisected while her Cosmo was active, she'd die instantly.
Now, she had no choice.
Her Cosmo ignited.
Fiftyfold. A hundredfold. Two hundred. Three hundred thirty-seven.
Golden flames roared around her, turning her armor from dark gold to radiant light.
Zodd grinned. "Show me your best, woman! Surprise me!"
He charged, power surging.
Flora raised her blade.
"Wind Slash—Holy Sword—Style XXII—Kill!"
A blinding arc of golden energy erupted from her sword, slicing toward Zodd.
The sky lit up. The battlefield trembled.
Elsewhere, Jack Harper wasn't dueling—he was brawling.
Griffith had been ambushed the moment he arrived. A blade through the heart. A psychic backlash from Mindless Angel. His power drained by the Masamune. Though he could still draw energy from the planetary will, it was a trickle now.
Then came Sephiroth's Meteorfall. The world's will shifted to defend against annihilation. Griffith's power source shrank from a river to a stream.
He fought a five-winged angel from another world. He lost.
Now, he had less than a third of his full strength.
Yet he still held his own against Jack and the Skull Knight—two low-Gold-tier warriors.
Griffith's edge wasn't raw power. It was causality.
Even weakened, he could predict and manipulate the future. He couldn't decree death, but he could anticipate attacks, guide defenses, and bait openings.
Against Sephiroth, it failed. The angel was too fast, too perfect.
But against Jack and the Skull Knight, it worked.
Jack cursed, dodging a slash. "Damn it!"
He reached out. "Frost Claw!"
A skeletal ice talon formed—but Griffith mirrored the gesture.
His claw crushed the air, dirt, and stone into a black pearl. Jack's Frost Claw shattered instantly.
The Skull Knight charged from behind. Griffith sidestepped, blades clashing in a blur. As the knight's steed galloped past, Griffith released the black pearl.
Boom.
A shockwave erupted, hurling Jack and the Skull Knight into the rubble.
Griffith advanced—until a roar echoed behind him.
Guts returned, Dragonslayer raised.
Griffith's eyes softened. "Of all my enemies… only you ever made me forget my dream."
Then his killing intent surged. A white eagle of psychic force lunged toward Guts.
But Guts didn't flinch.
In his mind, a black beast—part fox, part wolf—howled and charged. Their spirits collided.
No dust stirred. But the clash was deadly.
Psychic battles weren't about strength—they were about conviction. Like a debate with your soul on the line. If one will broke, the other would dominate.
But Guts and Griffith were equals. Neither yielded.
Jack returned, forcing Griffith to abandon the psychic duel.
Griffith blocked the Masamune, frowning.
This enemy was annoying.
Jack wasn't as skilled as the Skull Knight. His techniques—Holy Heart Style, Sephiroth's swordplay, Cosmo-enhanced strikes—were powerful but unrefined. He didn't understand causality. Griffith used him to bait the knight.
But Jack's sword was the problem.
The Deep Snow Masamune had evolved into a Gold-tier divine weapon—by feeding on Griffith's blood and soul. It was his nemesis. Every time Griffith tried to manipulate Jack's fate, the sword interfered.
Griffith found it irritating.
Jack found it terrifying.
He glanced at the sky. The meteor hung above, wrapped in a massive cocoon of light. The remaining God Hand members had formed a net, reinforced by the planetary will. The meteor's descent had stopped. Now, they were pushing it back.
"We're running out of time," the Skull Knight said, rejoining the fight. "I don't like your methods, but they worked. The gods are distracted. But once they crush the meteor, their wrath will be unimaginable."
Jack nodded. "Unless we kill the Hawk. Griffith is the keystone. Without him, causality collapses. The gods will need time to rebuild fate. That's our window."
The Skull Knight grinned. "You understand more than I thought. Then I'll show you my trump card."
He opened his skeletal jaw and drew a sword forged from melted Behelits—twisted faces and eyes fused into a single blade.
"This is the Watercaller. A weapon forged to sever space and causality."
Jack nodded. "My allies are back."
Flora, Elliot, and the others approached. Jack didn't wait. He raised his blade.
"Void—Imperial Thunder!"
His ice-based power fused with Holy Heart techniques and Cosmo. The result: a lightning net of sword arcs.
He flashed past the Skull Knight, reaching Griffith in an instant. The Masamune split into dozens of arcs, each carrying explosive force.
Griffith blocked—but the hidden thunder detonated. His rhythm broke. Jack's blade slipped through, carving his armor.
"Damn insect!" Griffith roared, unleashing psychic shields.
The Skull Knight struck.
The Watercaller sliced space itself. Air howled like a breached starship hull.
Jack disengaged. The Knight's blade followed—cutting through Griffith's defenses.
Griffith raised his right arm to block.
Silence.
His hand fell.
No blood. Just shock.
Griffith's face twisted. "Everything that stands in my way—must be destroyed!"
His psychic force exploded—a tsunami of rage.
The land quaked. Mountains collapsed. A crater two hundred meters wide formed beneath him. Jack and the Skull Knight vanished.
Griffith, drained, fell—only to be caught by Zodd.
The minotaur rolled with him, dodging a net of golden sword light.
Flora.
"You again?" Zodd laughed. "You cut me into pieces. I still came back."
Flora's voice was cold. "You're truly immortal."
She had sliced Zodd into thousands of fragments—enough to earn his Behelit. But he returned.
Zodd grinned. "You're my new rival. Let's fight forever!"
Flora didn't answer. She attacked.
Caelum Vale slipped past Zodd, targeting Griffith. Lilith Vale's arrows rained down.
The twins weren't Gold-tier. But Griffith was wounded. He couldn't crush them instantly.
Elliot Gray, Evander Marlowe, and the others emerged from underground—saved by Elliot's alchemy during the psychic blast.
Jack was missing. But Flora was still fighting. If he were dead, she'd vanish. So he must be alive.
Still, Zodd blocked Flora. The twins couldn't finish Griffith. Elliot's alchemy wasn't combat-grade. Evander's doll army couldn't join a god-tier fight.
Dawn broke.
The meteor cracked. Fragments fell—a burning rain across the land.
Time was running out.
Then—a black greatsword burst from the ground.
Guts returned.
"Griffith—die!"
Guts roared, Dragonslayer raised high.
Griffith sneered. "You think my wounds make me mortal? That you can bridge the gap between gods and insects?"
He reached with his remaining hand, psychic force lashing out to seize the greatsword.
But this time, Guts was different.
"Galactic Nova!"
Golden light erupted from his body. His armor shifted—dark gold plates encased him, ancient and regal. His speed surged, breaking the sound barrier.
The Dragonslayer pierced Griffith's chest.
"Guh—!"
The blade drove him backward, impaling him through the heart, dragging him across the battlefield, and pinning him to the earth.
Griffith gasped, reaching for Guts' head.
But before he could strike, a snow-white blade skewered his last arm—draining the final remnants of his power.
Jack Harper stepped from the shadows.
"You're finished."
He'd survived the psychic storm—barely. Hurled far from the blast, he'd glimpsed Guts, half-erased by the explosion. But Guts' regenerative bloodline was no myth. He healed instantly.
Jack had seized the moment. He offered Guts a place in the Book of Reincarnation—its Valhalla page. Then he sent him into the Dark Saint training realm. One moment outside, five years within.
Guts chose the path of the Gemini Saint—the strongest of the twelve. His power multiplied. And now, in his first battle back, he'd impaled his lifelong nemesis.
But even now, Griffith refused to die.
"You think this is the end?" he rasped. "Even without this body—I am the King of Causality!"
His broken form shattered.
A towering figure rose—wrapped in black steel, faceless, spectral. The Dragonslayer and Masamune passed through him like mist.
"This soul cannot linger in the real world," Griffith said. "But I will return. My dream will live. My enemies will fall. Even you—Jack Harper. Even you—Guts…"
His spirit began to fade, retreating toward the astral realm.
Strong souls like his couldn't remain in reality. The sun was rising. Even lesser spirits would burn. Griffith had to flee.
"I won't keep you waiting, Guts," he whispered.
But just as his form dissolved, a blade pierced him from behind.
The Watercaller.
"Not so fast, Hawk," came a hollow voice.
The sword sliced space open. The Skull Knight rode through.
"I escaped your psychic blast by cutting into the void," he said. "And found the threshold between worlds. There, I saw you trying to flee. Seems fate no longer favors you."
Griffith turned, stunned.
Then—a diamond-white fist smashed into his face.
Cracks spread across his soul.
Jack Harper stood before him.
"You… how can you strike a spirit?" Griffith gasped.
Jack raised his fists. "I call them Zero Fists. I learned to focus my will so completely, it erases the boundary between matter and spirit. These fists hit everything."
Griffith tried to speak—but Guts seized him.
"Griffith," he said, voice low. "Let's end this."
Jack shouted, "Guts, what are you doing?!"
Guts smiled. "Thanks for the power. But I don't give my freedom to anyone."
He looked once more at Casca—then turned to Griffith.
"Let's be free together."
He leapt skyward, Cosmo blazing. Golden fire engulfed them both.
"Galactic Nova!"
A new star rose with the dawn—burning brighter than the sun.
Then, silence.
They were gone.
A golden card floated before Jack—a mid-Gold-tier item. On it, a blood-red Behelit.
Griffith, the fifth God Hand, was dead.
Above, the meteor shattered. Most fragments were hurled back into space. A few fell, igniting a rain of fire across the land.
But the world had survived.
And the Hawk had fallen.