The air itself trembled.
Clash... clash... clash...
Within the shattered depths of Solen's reclaimed memories, a cataclysm unfolded. Two titans collided in the heart of Theophoros, the eternal city of souls—one a younger Solen, eyes wild with unbridled fury, the other a towering figure wreathed in mocking radiance: Lucifer, King of Hell.
Each blow exchanged sent shockwaves rippling outward. The ground split like fragile glass. Skyscrapers of marble and gold crumbled into dust. Rivers of molten stone snaked through streets where millions had once dwelled.
But those millions were already gone.
Dead.
Sacrificed in the crucible of a mad, desperate pursuit of power.
Solen moved like a force of nature unbound—feral, relentless. His fists blurred as he struck again and again, driving Lucifer back through ruined plazas.
"Mors Furens!"
A colossal sphere of writhing black energy formed above his palm, pulsing with the screams of devoured souls. He hurled it downward.
BOOM!
The explosion erased entire districts in an instant, turning stone and steel to ash. Yet when the smoke cleared, Lucifer stood unscathed, a delighted grin splitting his perfect face.
"Yes... yes! Keep it coming!" he roared, laughter echoing over the apocalypse. "Prove to me how successful you've become!"
White flames erupted from his hands in response. "Ignis Caeli!"
Pure, heavenly fire...scorching, purifying—washed over Solen, charring flesh and searing bone. Pain lanced through him, but he did not stop. He dropped to all fours, body twisting into something primal, something monstrous. Energy gathered in his open maw, violet and hungry.
"Oblivio Carnis!"
A beam of violet annihilation tore forth, not merely destroying matter but unraveling the very concept of existence—erasing the essence that bound creation together.
Lucifer twisted aside at the last moment, eyes wide with genuine shock... and ecstasy.
"YES!" he screamed, voice shaking the heavens. "You've done it! The power to undo Heaven itself!"
He spread his arms wide, surveying the smoldering ruins and the silent dead.
"All these souls... slaughtered for this moment. It was worth it. Finally worth it."
Then his tone shifted—casual, almost bored.
"Now, let's bring this performance to a close. I have everything I need."
He ascended, body igniting with ethereal light. "Stella Matutina."
A dawn-like radiance burst from him, flooding the city in blinding white. Wherever it touched, reality simply... ceased.
A flash.
And Solen snapped back to the present.
He stared at his trembling hands in abject horror.
"No... no... that was me?"
His knees buckled. He collapsed to the cold stone floor of the inn, a guttural scream tearing from his throat.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!"
Tears—real, burning tears from the depths of his soul—streamed down his face as he clutched his head, trying to rip the images away.
Later that day, the survivors of the pilgrimage prepared to return to the Sanctuary. Mission accomplished. Power awakened.
But victory tasted like ash in Solen's mouth.
Pollux glanced at him from across the room, words forming on his lips—then dying unspoken. Solen's face was a mask of hollow grief, eyes fixed on nothing.
Yet, unexpectedly, Solen spoke first, voice barely above a whisper.
"Hey, Pollux... do you ever think I became a saint by mistake?"
Pollux blinked, startled. "Why would you even—? No. Never. The Almighty makes no mistakes."
He moved closer, sitting beside his friend.
"I know you're carrying something heavy right now, Solen. But every time you stand against the darkness, you're saving thousands—maybe millions—who'll never even know your name. Watching you fight... it gives me the courage to give everything I've got."
Solen turned, eyes wide. For the first time since the memory returned, a faint, genuine smile touched his lips.
"Thanks, Pollux. Really."
Pollux nodded and stood. "I'll give you some space."
Alone again, Solen rose slowly. Flashbacks assaulted him—the beam of erasure, the white dawn of annihilation, the sea of silent dead.
He pulled on his familiar hoodie and jeans, wrapping fresh bandages around knuckles that still ached from battles past and memories present.
"Whoever that man was..... I'll make him pay."
A fire kindled behind his eyes.
"I've taken too many lives. Offended too greatly. So from this day forward, I devote everything—my strength, my breath, my soul—to protecting others."
He stepped out onto the inn's balcony. A gentle wind swept through, cool and affirming, as if the world itself accepted his vow.
The Sanctuary welcomed them with cheers and thunderous applause.
Twenty had left. Twenty returned—changed.
They filed into Father Lucent's chamber for debriefing.
"Of the twenty who undertook the divine pilgrimage," the elder priest began, voice warm with pride, "fifteen successfully awakened the power of Angelic Divination."
He listed the names with reverence:
- Solen Pyrex
- Crossveil Lucen
- Crossveil Lucian
- Phallanx Castor
- Phallanx Pollux
- Seraphis Orin
- Caelina Kayla
- Exodus Maxi
- Veritas Oraculum
- Benedictus Luminis
- Victor Albus
- Valerian Justicar
- Marcellus Crucian
- Sophia Dei
- Clara Scriptum
Applause filled the chamber again. Then Father Lucent's expression grew grave.
"The fifteen of you—follow me."
They entered a sealed chamber deep within the Sanctuary.
The moment they crossed the threshold, darkness slammed into them like a physical force. Malice. Corruption. Suffocating dread.
Their instincts screamed: Danger. Flee.
Floating above a consecrated bed was Celeste—pale as death, eyes rolled back to pure white, body convulsing in silent agony. Black veins pulsed beneath her skin. Dark energy oozed from her like living smoke.
From the shadows emerged two figures of legend.
Caelius Infinitus, Knight of Grace Wonder—tall, armored in radiant silver, presence calm as still water yet vast as the ocean.
Beside him, Valeria Rosa Caelorum, Knight of the Holy Rose Wonder. Crimson gown flowing like blood, hair dancing in an unfelt wind. Beauty that stole breath. Eyes that promised thorns beneath every petal.
Every saint dropped to one knee instantly, heads bowed.
Rosa surveyed them coolly. "So these are the ones who passed."
Her voice was honey over steel.
"The Sanctuary has grown soft," she declared, the words cutting sharper than any blade.
Caelius raised a hand gently. "This is not the time, Rosa. These young ones have done well. They deserve praise."
She scoffed, but relented.
Father Lucent stepped forward, face grim.
"The girl floating before you is Celeste—the one who came from another world."
Solen's heart clenched. She looked wrong. Alien. Consumed.
"What... what happened to her?" Lucen whispered.
"You all know the Dimensional Law," Father Lucent said. "When a being crosses worlds, the balance of light and darkness must shift. Yet when Celeste arrived from her world of endless night, our equilibrium remained untouched."
He paused, letting the weight settle.
"Did none of you wonder where all that excess darkness went?"
Lucen's eyes widened in realization. "I checked the Global Orb once... saw balance... and thought nothing of it."
Rosa continued coldly, "She absorbed it. All of it. Into her own body. And now she's reaching her limit."
"She's still tethered to her original world," Father Lucent added. "Darkness continues to flow into her—like a river into a breaking dam."
"And Seraphius Corvun," Caelius said, voice low, "has been deliberately increasing the output. Forcing her toward collapse."
Solen found his voice. "What happens when she breaks?"
Caelius met his gaze. "A flood of dark energy sufficient to tear open the seals on a King of Hell."
Silence. Deafening.
Rosa smiled—beautiful and merciless.
"So we end the source. We invade her world of darkness. Caelius, myself, and all fifteen of you."
Father Lucent nodded. "Everything—the pilgrimage, the rushed training—has been preparation for this moment."
"We can trace the energy flow," Caelius explained. "Locate the world precisely."
Rosa turned to leave, gown whispering across the stone.
"Two days to prepare you fully. Her body has three days left at most."
She paused at the threshold, glancing back. Her next words hung like a guillotine.
"This is now a Class S mission.
"Some of us will not return alive."
Then she was gone, grace and death in equal measure.
The saints remained on their knees long after the door closed.
The war had just begun.