"I? I am Raviel," she said calmly.
Not long after, faint lights gathered nearby. One by one, Athena, Artemis, Aphrodite, Demeter, Hestia, and Persephone manifested—appearing only as projections, incomplete avatars formed from what little power they had left.
"Are you a goddess?" Hestia asked cautiously. From her perspective, Raviel did not feel like a mortal at all—yet neither did she resemble any god Hestia knew.
"What do you want?" Athena demanded bluntly, without wasting words, her fragmented projection staring sharply at Raviel despite her damaged state.
Meanwhile, Aphrodite and Demeter remained silent, their gazes fixed on Raviel with clear interest. They could sense it as well—
something different.
Something that did not belong to this world's logic.
"Yes, I am a goddess—well, you could say something like that," Raviel replied calmly to Hestia's question.
"Oh, and I came here to invite you all to my wedding," she continued lightly. "I don't like hearing no as an answer. After all, you would make such a wonderful surprise for my husband. So please, do come."
She looked at them with her ruby-like eyes, beautiful and radiant, smiling with an expression that seemed innocent—almost harmless.
Yet the Olympian goddesses felt the opposite.
They stared at Raviel as one would at something extremely dangerous. Despite her claim of being a goddess, they could sense no divine authority, no connection to Gaia—the Counter Force—nothing that linked her existence to the world's system as theirs was. That absence alone was deeply unsettling.
"…No," they answered simultaneously, rejecting her without hesitation.
"We are busy right now," Hestia added firmly. "We don't have the time to attend your wedding."
"Hihi… didn't I already say that I don't like hearing no?" Raviel said softly.
Her smile faded.
"…And what exactly will you do if we refuse?" Aphrodite said, her tone openly provocative. "Punish us? Curse us?"
"Yes," Raviel replied simply.
"I will punish you by turning you into humans."
She snapped her fingers.
Instantly, the remaining cores of each goddess began to glow. Their projected forms vanished, dissolving into light. From those shining cores, flesh began to form, bones, skin, and blood taking shape—until fully human bodies emerged where divine avatars once stood.
"What… how is this possible?!" Aphrodite cried out, instinctively covering her now naked, vulnerable body.
The others reacted the same way—confused, panicked, staring at their own hands as if they no longer recognized them. Skin that once carried divine authority now felt fragile. Breathing felt heavy. Heartbeats were loud—terrifyingly loud.
Slowly, they turned their gazes back toward Raviel, fear unmistakably carved into their expressions.
This was the first time they had ever truly felt it.
Fear.
And alongside it—helplessness.
As gods, they had always understood humanity only from afar—through prayers offered in desperation, emotions whispered in the dark, and thoughts laid bare in silent devotion. Yet those feelings had always felt foreign, distant—like watching the world through a sheet of glass.
They had never truly experienced them.
Now, stripped of divinity—
now reduced to fragile, mortal bodies—
They finally understood what emotions truly were.
They finally understood why humans feared gods,
why humans bowed, prayed, and worshipped—
not out of love, but out of desperation.
Out of the hope that pleasing a higher being might spare them from suffering.
For the first time,
they understood what it meant
to be human.
"Hihi… so?" Raviel giggled softly. "Do you still want to refuse?"
Her ruby-red eyes glanced lazily over the seven goddesses, now naked and vulnerable, instinctively clinging to one another for warmth and reassurance.
"If you refuse again," Raviel continued lightly,
"maybe I should curse you into filth instead."
There was no pity in her voice.
And there was no mercy in her heart.
After all, Raviel had no reason to feel sympathy for the Olympian goddesses. In the future, they would become strange, distorted beings—gods who casually cursed those they disliked, who manipulated humanity, who treated mortals as nothing more than obedient worker ants meant to fulfill their desires.
They claimed to love humanity.
Yet nearly half of the tragedies that plagued the Age of Heroes were disasters they themselves had caused.
Perhaps it was only natural that humanity would eventually reject the existence of Divine Spirits altogether—
that the Age of Gods would fade, erased by disbelief and resentment.
The goddesses shook their heads hurriedly, fear silencing any remaining pride.
"Good," Raviel said, smiling softly.
"Now you understand what humility feels like."
And with that—
She turned away.
The goddesses, now stripped of divinity and made fully human, looked around at the devastation surrounding them. Ares and Amaterasu were still locked in a fierce struggle against Sefar, the relentless White Titan. Though they seemed to hold back its wrath for the moment, Sefar only grew stronger with every attack absorbed from the two of them.
Their eyes fell upon the carnage of the battlefield—humans and gods alike, slaughtered pitifully, powerless against this unstoppable force. The sight made their stomachs churn with nausea. Aphrodite even vomited upon seeing a pregnant woman, her body charred and crystallized into stone, a cruel testament to the violence that had raged here. The others trembled violently, unable to look away from the massacre, the endless cries, and the desperate screams of mortals—and even foreign gods—pleading for salvation.
Yet Raviel paid no heed to their fear, their disgust, their panic. Her thoughts were consumed entirely by Allen, her beloved husband—the one she loved with a fervor so overwhelming it bordered on madness. Every beat of her heart ached for him, every breath was a desire to meet him again, to feel his touch, to be entangled with him in endless passion when night fell. Her ruby-red eyes glimmered with heat, obsession, and desire, yet in the face of this apocalypse, she walked calmly, untouchable, irresistible.
As she prepared to open a dimensional gate to whisk the goddesses away, Hestia fell to her knees before her, bowing her head to Raviel's feet.
"Please… at least save this world," Hestia whispered, tears streaming freely. Her voice was broken, heavy with grief, unable to bear the sound of the countless cries for help. The raw, desperate emotion surged through her, and through it, she glimpsed something she had never dared hope for.
For the first time, the human goddesses dared to hope. And that hope… was Raviel.
The others followed Hestia, one by one, bowing down to Raviel.
"Please… save this world," Athena and Artemis said simultaneously.
"Please, goddess, we will do anything as long as you are willing to save this world," Hera added, lowering her head until it struck the ground, causing it to bleed. This was also the first time she had felt despair as a human, combined with hope.
Meanwhile, Demeter, holding Persephone close, also knelt in submission, trembling with fear and sadness at the sight of the plants, animals, and humans—heroes falling one by one.
"Anything?" Raviel asked, slightly intrigued, seemingly forming another idea now about these former goddesses.
"Yes, anything," Aphrodite replied, bowing despite her beautiful face and body still being dirty and completely naked, stained by her own vomit.
Raviel, hearing that, nodded. "Okay, but you all must sign this contract," she said with a smile, creating the contract from nothing and presenting it to them.
The contents of the contract were remarkably simple.
If they wanted Raviel to save this world, then first—they had to become her sisters. And the condition to become her sisters was just as simple, yet infinitely more cruel: they only needed to love Allen, and willingly offer both their bodies and their hearts to Allen—the man who was Raviel's husband.
It was a contract that could only be described as twisted and absurd, something that defied morality and reason alike. And yet, the goddesses no longer possessed the luxury of choice. Not now. Not anymore.
They had just witnessed Sefar sever Amaterasu's head, cleaving it apart with brutal ease using Photon Ray: Sword of the War God—a weapon forcibly taken from Ares himself. The sight alone was enough to shatter the last remnants of hope clinging to their hearts.
The goddesses understood then.
There was no escape. No alternative path.
And so, they signed.
They signed because nearly eighty percent of the land on Earth had already been reduced to scorched ruin or swallowed by the sea due to Sefar's advance. If they hesitated any longer—if they rejected this contract—then this world would not merely fall.
It would be completely erased.
Once the contract was finalized, Raviel calmly summoned a door—one that led directly into her private dimension. Its surface shimmered unnaturally, distorting the space around it.
"Alright. Good," Raviel said with a satisfied smile.
"Since you've signed the contract, go inside first and clean your bodies. I'll handle things here."
Her voice was light. Casual.
As if she were delegating chores rather than deciding the fate of an entire world.
The former goddesses—now reduced to fragile human forms—nodded silently. Without resistance, without hesitation, they stepped through the door one by one. The moment the last of them entered, the doorway vanished, as though it had never existed.
Silence followed.
Raviel slowly turned her gaze back toward the battlefield.
Only Ares and Sefar remained locked in combat— and their battle was far from over.
Instead of acting immediately, Raviel chose to wait.
She stood there calmly, as though she were merely an observer, patiently watching the clash unfold. It wasn't hesitation—it was principle. After all, it wouldn't be fair for her to gang up on Sefar while the battle was still ongoing.
And so, she waited.
Three full days passed.
For three relentless days, the battle between Ares and Sefar continued without pause. The sky remained shattered, the seas roared endlessly, and the land never stopped trembling beneath their collisions. Yet throughout it all, Raviel remained composed, silently enduring the passage of time.
While she waited, she did not remain idle.
Raviel calmly evacuated the people—ordinary humans who could no longer fight—moving them to places far removed from the battlefield, regions untouched by the titan's rampage. She did this without ceremony, without praise, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
By the time the third day drew to an end, Ares' Gundam-like body had been damaged beyond recognition. Cracks ran across his massive frame. Entire sections were missing. His movements had grown sluggish, his once overwhelming presence reduced to stubborn defiance.
And then came the end.
Sefar raised its sword.
With a single, merciless swing, the blade carved through Ares' body. The god of war was shattered into countless fragments, his remains scattering before being swallowed by the raging ocean waves below. No cry echoed. No miracle followed.
Only silence.
"Oh… it seems the battle is finally over," Raviel said softly.
She rose from where she stood.
Her posture was relaxed. Unhurried.
Yet the air around her subtly shifted.
With calm steps, Raviel began walking forward—
ready at last to face the White Titan alone.
Just as Raviel was about to act and finally deal with Sefar herself, she suddenly sensed something else.
Not far away—on a stretch of land that would one day be known as Britannia—there stood a young girl, alone. In her hands was a sword.
Excalibur.
A blade that had only just been completed—forged from the very core of the planet itself, its creation paid for with the sacrifice of thirteen fae lives. And the girl holding it… was a fae as well.
Raviel could tell immediately what was about to happen.
The girl was preparing to offer her own existence—to release the power of billions of stars in a single swing. A final strike meant to erase the White Titan. A sword that would one day become a symbol—a blade that promised victory to its wielder, no matter the cost.
"Hmmm… how interesting," Raviel murmured.
In the next instant, she teleported, appearing silently behind the girl.
"What is your name, little one?" Raviel asked gently—though she already knew the answer.
The fae girl turned around, startled, having not sensed Raviel's presence at all. Yet for some reason, her voice came naturally, as if compelled.
"My name is Castoria," the girl replied, unsure why she felt the urge to answer the beautiful woman before her.
Raviel smiled.
She stepped closer, lifted her hand, and softly held Castoria's cheek.
"What a beautiful name," Raviel said warmly.
"Would you like to become my sister as well?"
The question confused Castoria. She lowered her gaze, tightening her grip on Excalibur, then slowly shook her head.
"I'm sorry… even if I wanted to become your sister," Castoria said quietly, "I won't be able to live much longer anyway."
Her eyes shifted toward the horizon—toward the White Titan, slowly approaching.
"Oh?" Raviel asked, unoffended.
"Are you planning to sacrifice yourself to defeat that titan? Are you truly certain? Aren't you afraid of dying?"
Castoria nodded.
"I am afraid," she admitted, her voice trembling.
"But I have to do this. Too many people have already sacrificed everything to protect this world. Now… the only hope left is me—and this sword."
Raviel pulled her into a gentle embrace.
"A truly unfortunate girl," she whispered.
Then Raviel took Castoria's hand, studying it carefully.
"You know," Raviel said softly, her voice dropping to a whisper—smooth, persuasive, almost devilish—
"you don't have to sacrifice yourself."
Castoria froze.
"As long as you're willing to become my sister," Raviel continued, "you only need to say one thing."
"I want to live."
Castoria looked up at her.
"…Really?" she asked, her hands shaking violently now.
She knew the truth.
If she released Excalibur's full power, her death would not be ordinary. Her soul would be completely destroyed, burned endlessly by the force of countless stars until the very end of the world itself. There would be no salvation. No record in the Throne of Heroes. Not even the Counter Force could help her.
Raviel nodded.
"So?" she asked softly.
"Do you want to become my sister? If so, just nod. I promise you—safety."
Castoria hesitated only a moment.
Then she nodded.
"I… I want to live," she said, tears finally streaming down her face.
"Good," Raviel replied.
She turned away from Castoria and faced the White Titan.
"Then leave the rest to your beautiful sister," Raviel said calmly.
She raised her hand.
In an instant, Excalibur vanished from Castoria's grasp—and reappeared in Raviel's own.
The sword erupted violently, releasing heat and radiance like billions of stars screaming at once. Yet Raviel held it effortlessly, as though it were nothing more than an ornament.
With a single, graceful motion, she swung the blade.
Swish.
There was no explosion.
No blinding flash.
No dramatic roar.
Sefar didn't even feel pain.
Its body was cleanly severed, cut apart as easily as soft tofu, and slowly collapsed to the ground.
This—
was mercy.
Raviel could feel it. The sorrow of a being forced to exist only as a tool of destruction.
"Sleep well, unfortunate girl," Raviel whispered.
She lifted her gaze toward the moon—
toward the place where Sefar's true body still resided.