The Ashen Wastes were a graveyard of the Alliance's ambitions, littered with the charred remnants of holy banners, shattered relics, and the bodies of fallen heroes. The Dark Country had repelled the invasion with overwhelming tactics, Kaito Akatsuki's strategic brilliance turning the tide in a symphony of shadow, ice, and destruction. The citadel stood unscathed, its walls a testament to Takeshi's engineering and Ayame's magical fortifications. Veyra's dragons circled triumphantly, their roars mingling with Gorath's beasts' howls, while Malakar's undead dragged Alliance corpses to Yui's temples for resurrection as thralls. Selene's assassins returned from the shadows, their blades dripping with the blood of enemy mages, and Althaea's illusions faded, her prophetic gaze turning inward. Sereth, the Knight of the Old Code, stood silent, their runes dimmed after countering Sylvara's hybrid power.
Kaito stood on the battlefield's edge, the Dark God Sword in hand, its green-black blade pulsing with the absorbed energies of slain angels and heroes. The sword's hunger was a constant roar now, fed by the battle's chaos, whispering promises of godhood and endless conquest: More. Let me drink their light. Kaito's pragmatism held it at bay, but the pull was stronger, the blade heavier, its influence seeping into his thoughts. The invasion had been a crucible, testing the empire's unity. His nobles—his friends—had fought with renewed resolve, their moral doubts suppressed under the pressure of survival. Renji's cynicism had made him a ghost on the field, Ayame's sadism a blizzard of death, Daichi's battle-hunger a rampage, Takeshi's inventions a barrage of innovation, and Yui's fanaticism a wave of corruption that turned the tide. But Kaito knew the fractures lingered, ready to widen if not mended.
The Alliance had retreated in disarray, Sylvara's balanced aura dimmed, Leonel's light flickering with defeat. Their army, once a hundred thousand strong, was halved, their divine relics cracked, their heroes fallen. Kaito's manipulation of the battlefield—drawing them into kill zones, exploiting their fractured coalition, and countering their blessings with abyssal energy—had shone like a dark star. The Dark Country roared in victory, its monstrous inhabitants celebrating with feasts of fallen foes and rituals in Yui's temples.
But the angel envoy under the white banner hovered at the battlefield's edge, a lone figure of radiant armor, holding a scroll sealed with the Pantheon's runes. The empire's forces held back, their eyes on Kaito. He approached, the sword sheathed but humming, his nobles and generals flanking him in a display of unity.
The angel's voice was harmonious but edged with disdain. "Dark Sovereign, the Pantheon speaks through this decree." It unrolled the scroll, its words glowing with divine light. "Your defiance ends. Surrender the Dark God Sword, submit to balance, or face the gods' full wrath. The Star of Dusk, Sylvara, offers parley—meet at the neutral ground of the Shattered Peaks in three days, or war consumes all."
Kaito's smile was cold, the sword's whisper urging destruction: Slay the messenger. Devour the light. He silenced it, his pragmatism seeing the opportunity. A parley could sow discord in the Alliance, buy time for further expansion, or set a trap. But the gods' direct involvement meant escalation—their "full wrath" likely avatars or worse.
"Tell your masters and Sylvara: I accept," Kaito said, his voice echoing. "But come with tribute, or the peaks will run red."
The angel nodded, vanishing in a flash of light. The council murmured, Renji's voice cutting through: "A trap, Sovereign. My spies will scout the peaks."
Kaito nodded. "Prepare. This parley is our battlefield."
The Shattered Peaks, a neutral ground of jagged mountains between the Dark Country and the Holy Empire, were a labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks and treacherous paths, warded by ancient magic to prevent direct assaults. Kaito arrived with a small entourage—his nobles, Sereth, and Althaea—leaving the main army at the borders. The sword hummed at his side, its hunger eager for the confrontation.
Sylvara awaited at the peak's summit, flanked by Leonel and two heroes—a elven archmage and a dwarven warlord. Her silver-black cloak billowed in the wind, her staff-sword planted like a stake. Her aura was calm, a blend of light and abyss that mirrored Sereth's, but amplified by the gods' blessing.
"Sovereign," Sylvara said, her voice serene. "The Pantheon offers terms: return the abyss's power to the ruins, dismantle your empire, and the gods will spare you. Refuse, and we bring the full might of the Alliance."
Leonel glared, his Dawnblade drawn but lowered. "You're the ultimate evil, Sovereign. Your sword corrupts everything."
Kaito's laugh was low, the sword flaring slightly. "Your 'balance' is submission. I offer counter-terms: join me, or perish. The gods fear what I become."
Sylvara's eyes narrowed. "The Old Code does not bend to hunger. Sereth, you serve this chaos?"
Sereth stepped forward, their runes glowing. "I serve balance. The Sovereign wields it, but the sword's hunger grows. Warden, join us—true balance lies in unity, not the gods' chains."
Leonel snarled, "Traitor!" His Dawnblade flared, and the parley shattered. The heroes charged, the archmage summoning vines of light, the warlord's hammer thundering.
Kaito raised the Dark God Sword, its green-black light exploding. "Dark Country—attack!"
The nobles struck: Renji teleported behind the archmage, daggers slashing. Ayame froze the warlord's hammer mid-swing. Daichi clashed with the dwarf, warhammer meeting hammer in a shockwave. Yui cursed the heroes, black veins spreading. Takeshi's drones fired, disrupting spells. Sereth countered Sylvara's staff-sword, runes clashing with runes. Althaea wove illusions, confusing the foes.
Kaito dueled Sylvara, their blades a storm of void and starlight. "You could have joined me," he said, parrying a strike that cracked the ground.
Sylvara's voice was calm. "Your hunger destroys balance. The gods command your end."
The sword's whisper roared: Take her power. Feed. Kaito channeled Reality Break, time slowing as green-black energy tore into Sylvara, shattering her staff-sword. She staggered, her aura dimming, but Leonel intervened, his Dawnblade forcing Kaito back.
The heroes fell one by one: the archmage to Renji's blades, the warlord to Daichi's rage. Sylvara knelt, defeated. "Finish it," she said.
Kaito raised the sword, but Sereth interjected: "Sovereign, spare her. Her power with yours—true balance."
The sword's hunger screamed, but Kaito's pragmatism won. He lowered the blade. "Swear loyalty, Warden. Join us."
Sylvara's eyes widened, but she nodded, her runes binding to his will. Leonel fled in a flash of light, cursing them.
The parley turned alliance, but as they returned, Althaea warned: "The gods rage, Sovereign. Their council convenes—divine intervention looms."
From the heavens, thunder rumbled, a sign of the pantheon's fury. The political intrigue had shifted, but the storm approached.