The blade slid free from Rocky's shoulder.
Blood fell.
Sylvia's breath caught behind him.
For a single heartbeat, the world waited—caught between inevitability and defiance.
Then Rocky snapped.
It wasn't a scream.
It wasn't a roar.
It was silence—absolute and suffocating.
The Summoner System shattered.
Not errored.
Not overridden.
Obliterated.
Light, symbols, and rules dissolved into nothing, replaced by a pressure so dense it bent the battlefield inward. Rocky's aura erupted—not wild, not chaotic—but focused, compressed into a single point of intent.
Protect.
That was all.
Risha froze mid-charge, eyes wide. Happy's winds collapsed inward. Lucifer's grip on Excalibur tightened as the blade itself trembled. Nikkei's light flickered—not dimmed, but acknowledging.
Carbrarra's eyes widened for the first time.
"That power—"
Rocky vanished.
Not with speed.
With absence.
He reappeared directly in front of Carbrarra, fist already moving. No chant. No summon. No technique. Just everything he was—every bond, every contract, every moment of pain and love—compressed into one strike.
Carbrarra raised his blade.
Too late.
Rocky's fist connected.
There was no explosion.
No shockwave.
No dramatic clash.
Reality simply folded.
Carbrarra's armor cracked like glass struck by truth itself. His runes unraveled mid-thought. The laws anchoring his existence—balance, correction, inevitability—collapsed in on themselves.
The Demon Lord was launched backward in a straight line, tearing through space like a skipped stone across water, until he struck the far horizon and vanished in a flash of broken light.
Gone.
The googol army froze.
Every gate trembled.
Then—one by one—they closed.
Silence crashed over the battlefield.
Rocky stood there, fist trembling, breath ragged, blood still dripping from his shoulder. His aura faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him suddenly, terrifyingly human again.
He swayed.
Sylvia caught him.
Her arms wrapped around him as she pulled him close, pressing her forehead against his chest. "You idiot…" she whispered, voice shaking. "You absolute idiot…"
He laughed weakly. "Worth it."
Behind them, the knights stared in disbelief.
The generals—those still standing—fell to one knee.
Risha exhaled slowly, awe and fear mixed in her eyes. "He… erased him."
Lucifer lowered Excalibur. "No," he said quietly. "He rejected him."
Nikkei looked to the sky, smiling softly. "Victory does not always belong to balance."
Rocky looked down at Sylvia, meeting her eyes.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't think. I just—"
She silenced him with a tight embrace.
"Next time," she said firmly, "we stand together."
Far away, beyond sight, beyond certainty—
Something ancient stirred.
Balance had not been restored.
It had been defied.
And the universe had taken note.
Blood still ran down Rocky's arm.
Sylvia was behind him, alive—wounded, breathing—and that was all that mattered.
Carbrarra straightened in the distance, armor cracked but not gone, his presence still crushing, still absolute. The Demon Lord looked at Rocky not with anger, but with calm disappointment.
"So," Carbrarra said, voice carrying across the ruined battlefield, "you would oppose balance with desperation."
Rocky didn't answer.
He lifted his head.
And for the first time since the war began, he didn't summon.
He commanded.
"Everyone," Rocky said quietly.
The word did not echo.
It spread.
Every contract burned hot.
Every bond responded.
The Guardian Wolf stepped forward first, its massive form swelling as ancient runes ignited across its fur. Its howl split the sky, a call not of rage—but of allegiance.
The slimes answered next.
Quadrillions of them rained down like living stars, coating the battlefield, flowing together into waves, spears, shields—an ocean of will moving as one.
The Gravitational Wrath Dragon unfurled its wings.
Gravity inverted.
Mountains lifted. Space bent. Carbrarra's army staggered as their own weight betrayed them.
Elementals surged forward—fire, water, earth, lightning—millions moving in perfect formation, reshaping the terrain into a weapon.
Goblins screamed and charged, fearless, endless.
Yūrei samurai ghosts drew their blades in unison, their silent oath echoing louder than sound.
Lucifer stepped beside Rocky, Excalibur blazing—not as a symbol of balance, but of rebellion.
Nikkei rose into the air, wings of light spreading wide. Victory itself leaned forward.
Risha's aura darkened, power coiling tightly under her control, eyes locked on the Demon Lord.
Happy hovered high above, winds screaming, sky bending around her laughter.
Carbrarra's expression finally changed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
"…So this is your answer," he said. "To drown balance in numbers."
Rocky took one step forward.
"No," he said. "I'm drowning you in choice."
He raised his hand.
And brought it down.
"Attack."
The world exploded into motion.
Gravity crushed inward as the dragon struck. Slimes surged and restrained. Elementals tore through defenses. Ghost blades passed through armor and soul alike. Excalibur clashed against obsidian law. Light and shadow collided as Nikkei and Risha struck in tandem.
Carbrarra fought back—violently, brilliantly—but for the first time, he was surrounded.
Not by enemies.
By bonds.
Every summon moved with purpose. Every strike carried Rocky's will. Not hatred. Not vengeance.
Protection.
Carbrarra staggered.
"Impossible," he muttered. "Balance cannot be overwhelmed—"
Rocky's voice cut through the chaos.
"You're wrong," he said. "Balance isn't maintained by sacrifice."
The summons closed in.
"It's maintained by those who refuse to let go."
The final blow came not from one summon—
—but from all of them, striking as one.
The battlefield went silent.
And Carbrarra fell to his knees, the weight of countless choices pressing down upon him.
For the first time in his endless existence—
The Demon Lord had been overruled.