The monster turned. For a split second, the human part of its face flickered—almost recognition. Then the smirk returned.

“Still alive?” Ivaan’s voice was twisted now, deeper, multi-toned. “Persistent as ever.”

Damien didn’t answer. Aquila screeched, diving. Wind essence spiraled around its talons as it slashed downward.

Ivaan raised his hand, catching the strike barehanded. The air imploded between them.

The explosion sent shockwaves rippling through the city again.

Aquila screeched in pain as black tendrils wrapped around its wings, forcing Damien to leap free midair. He hit the ground, rolled, and launched himself forward with burning feet.

His fist, wreathed in layers of magic essence, connected with Ivaan’s chest. The ground ruptured beneath them.

But the general didn’t move. He only tilted his head. “Is that all?”

Damien snarled, eyes flashing. “Not even close.”

Behind him, Fenrir burst forth from a blue portal, wild wind exploding outward. The massive wolf lunged, jaws clamping around one of Ivaan’s wings, tearing it free in a spray of dark essence.

The possessed man roared—finally pushed back.

Aquila recovered, slicing from above with compressed gales. The combined assault forced Ivaan to defend, tendrils deflecting blow after blow, explosions of light and darkness rocking the already-ruined district.

But every strike Damien landed cost him essence—too much essence.

He knew it. And Ivaan did too.

“You can’t keep this up,” Ivaan said with almost pitying amusement. “You’ll burn yourself out.”

Damien wiped the blood from his lip. “Then I’ll burn everything else with me. Especially you!”

He launched forward again, summoning Luton mid-charge. The slime expanded instantly, splitting into dozens of fragments that latched onto Ivaan’s limbs, dragging him down, siphoning his corrupted mana to slow his movement.

For the first time, Ivaan staggered.

Damien clenched his fist, charging a condensed orb of shadow and flame. His body screamed from the strain, but he didn’t stop.

“Let’s end this—”

Before he could release it, Ivaan burst free of Luton’s grasp, appearing behind him in a blink.

Damien didn’t even have time to react before the backhand hit him.

The world inverted. The strike sent him flying through two buildings, rubble collapsing over him.

Aquila shrieked in fury and dove again, only to be caught mid-air and hurled aside like a toy.

Ivaan stood amidst the ruin, essence bleeding from him like fire. His remaining wing spread wide.

He looked toward the horizon where the Gate still pulsed faintly through the forest mist.

“It’s time,” he said quietly, almost reverently. “To finish what was begun.”

He began to ascend again, black energy spiraling around him.

Apnoch, barely conscious, shouted after him, voice raw with rage and grief. “You’ll destroy everything!”

Ivaan glanced down once, the faintest smile twisting his mouth. “That’s the point.”

He vanished into the clouds, leaving behind a city burning and a man buried beneath stone who, even half-dead, would not stop fighting.

Dust filled the air. The skies above Delwig had turned black — not from clouds, but from the thick swirl of mana essence rising like smoke. The barrier that once shimmered over the city flickered wildly, its runes failing one after another.

And high above it all, General Ivaan hovered — a streak of crimson and black radiance bleeding from his armor. The veins in his face pulsed with dark energy, his eyes glowing red as a corrupted essence raged within his core.

The Gate had answered his chant.

And now, Delwig was paying the price.

Below, the streets were chaos. Warriors screamed as the life drained from their bodies, their cores bleeding essence into the sky like glowing mist. Everything Ivaan had fought to protect now fueled his ascension.

Damien stumbled through the shattered plaza, his chest heaving. His essence reserves were nearly empty, his body trembling from overuse.

Fenrir was gone — dismissed after being almost torn apart by Ivaan’s first wave. Aquila had been struck down mid-flight, its cry still echoing through the wreckage.

Luton — his most loyal summon — clung to his arm like molten tar, spitting out potion after potion from its mass. Damien drank them without pause, ignoring the pain, ignoring the metallic taste of blood that came with every breath.

He couldn’t stop now.

Not when Delwig burned above him.

Not when Arielle still fought.

He looked up. Through the haze and fire, he saw her — Arielle, radiant even amid the ruin, standing at the far end of the plaza. She was the last light left, her aura burning gold as she held her whip of radiant essence against Ivaan’s shadow storm.

For a moment, Damien thought she might actually reach him.

But then Ivaan raised a single hand.

The air itself shuddered — and she was gone.

Arielle’s body hit the broken stone hard, her golden aura collapsing like glass. She didn’t move again.

“Arielle!” Damien roared, trying to stand, but his legs refused to move. He forced his trembling arms to hold him upright, pushing against the shattered pavement. Every bone screamed in protest, his vision flickering white.

A shadow passed over him.

Lyone — the boy — was sprinting toward him, his boots scraping against the debris.

“Damien! Stay down!”

The young warrior’s voice cracked as he reached him, kneeling beside his battered form. He pressed a trembling hand to Damien’s shoulder, trying to help him rise.

But Damien’s weight was heavy, too heavy, and the older man’s skin was burning with unstable mana.

“Don’t—” Damien coughed blood. “Don’t go near him. He’s… he’s draining the city. Everything.”

Lyone looked up, horrified. “Draining—?”

But then he saw it. The black currents rising from Delwig’s towers — every person, every beast, every child — all unraveling into pure energy, being pulled toward the dark mass above.

The boy’s knees went weak. “He’s taking their essence…”

“All of it,” Damien said, forcing himself to breathe through the pain. “He’s feeding the Gate.”

Ivaan’s voice rolled like thunder across the plaza. “You don’t understand what you’re trying to stop, Damien.”

He hovered lower now, the aura around him expanding into waves that warped the air. His armor had long since melted away, leaving him half-covered in shifting red veins of power. The runes of the Gate still burned faintly across his forearms.

“This world is rotting from the inside. The Gate isn’t our doom — it’s our renewal!”

“By killing them?” Damien rasped. “By murdering your own people?”

“By sacrificing what’s necessary,” Ivaan said calmly, his voice distant — almost gentle. “You’ve seen it yourself, haven’t you? The weakness. The hesitation. The decay. I’m giving us a new core. A pure one.”

Damien spat blood. “You’re not cleansing it. You’re feeding it.”

Ivaan smiled, faintly. “Perhaps.”

Then he vanished.

The next second, he reappeared above Damien — descending like a crimson meteor.

The impact was deafening. The entire plaza exploded outward in a shockwave of red flame.

Lyone didn’t think. His body moved before his mind did.

Time around him bent. The air thickened. The falling debris slowed to a crawl.

His eyes blazed green as veins of energy burst from under his skin. Blood streamed from his nose and ears, but he pushed through it, throwing himself forward.

He reached Damien just in time — grabbed him by the collar and threw him aside with everything he had left.

The blast struck.

Lyone’s world turned white. Then pain. Then nothing.

The shockwave tore through him, flinging him across the square. He hit the wall of a collapsed building and disappeared beneath it.

Damien hit the ground hard but rolled, instinct carrying him through the motion. He coughed violently, his lungs burning from the dust and mana residue.

“Lyone!” he shouted, but there was no answer.

Ivaan rose again from the crater he’d made, his aura dimming only slightly from exertion. “He’s brave,” the general said quietly, almost approvingly. “But foolish.”

Damien’s fists clenched. “You killed him.”

“I gave him purpose,” Ivaan replied, turning his gaze toward the northern horizon — toward the Verdant Verge. “And now, I’ll finish what I started.”

He spread his arms, and the shadows bent toward him again. The sigils that marked his arms flared, and with a single bound, he launched himself into the air, streaking toward the forest.

Damien felt his heart lurch. He could feel the pull — the Gate calling, answering Ivaan’s corrupted essence like a heartbeat echoing through stone.

He tried to stand, but his legs buckled beneath him. His mana reserves were burned dry. Every nerve screamed for rest.

Luton clung to his arm again, humming softly as if to ask, “What now?”

Damien gritted his teeth. “Now… we finish this.”

He forced himself up, step by step. Each motion was agony. But he didn’t stop. He limped toward the rubble where Lyone had been thrown.

The boy was half-buried under shattered stone, his breathing shallow but still present. His arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, his ribs cracked, but he was alive.

Barely.

Damien’s eyes softened for just a moment. “You idiot,” he whispered. “You should’ve run.”

He crouched, pressing a hand against Lyone’s chest, transferring the faint remainder of his essence into the boy’s core — stabilizing him, if only for a while.

Luton helped too, oozing across Lyone’s wounds like living medicine, knitting flesh and muscle just enough to keep him breathing.

“Stay alive,” Damien muttered. “Just… stay alive.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep