FSHUUU!
The golden lights no longer shimmered—they burned.
What once descended as radiant calm now surged like a storm, and from within their brilliance stepped forms not born of flesh or blood, but of purpose.
They were Angels.
Not the kind from legends or religions, but beings of a higher order, sculpted from law, divine pressure, and ancient codes meant to bind existence. Their wings gleamed with otherworldly steel. Their eyes saw through time. Their presence alone bent the void around them into spirals of trembling light.
At their head was one who shone brighter than the rest—his armor forged from starlight, his wings layered and vast, his eyes as cold as judgment itself.
He carried a golden spear taller than most mortals and sharper than any blade Rey had ever seen.
"I am Raphael," the lead Angel said, his voice steady and absolute.
"First Spear of the Empyrean Squad. Guardian of the Eleventh Sequence. Commander in the Ancient's Celestial Legion."
He raised a hand, and the void around them fell deathly silent.
"You are the singularity that originated from the Ea Sector and has now corrupted far more than an insignificant portion of the System."
Rey stood there, light fading from his body, every step of movement peeling off flakes of his remaining power like ash.
Yet his eyes didn't waver.
Raphael continued. "You altered the fabric of existence. You created a divergent plane. And you stole a world from the reach of the Ancients."
"Did I?" Rey said, a half-smile forming. "Must've been someone else."
Raphael's brow twitched. "This is not a negotiation. Your presence is a breach. Your actions, an affront. H'Trae does not belong to you."
"You're wrong," Rey replied. "It never belonged to you."
The Angels stirred at his defiance. Ten of them in total. Each one glowing with immense power—more than even Seraph had possessed. Rey's body was crumbling, his Skills barely remaining, his Class reduced to memory.
Still, he took a step forward.
"You should leave."
Raphael looked at the others. "Detain him."
The first Angel moved with impossible speed, flashing toward Rey like a comet. A blade wreathed in divine fire slashed downward—but Rey raised his hand and caught it.
The void cracked.
The Angel's eyes widened.
Rey clenched his fist and shattered the blade, elbowed the Angel in the gut, then spun and hurled him across the sea of nothingness. The being exploded in a burst of golden feathers, its light dispersing like broken glass.
"I said," Rey growled, "you should leave."
But they didn't.
They attacked.
One after another.
Two came from above, wings arced into spears. Rey ducked and swept low, grabbing one by the leg and slamming it into the other. He caught a thrown lance mid-air and redirected it, impaling a third through the chest.
But they adapted quickly.
The fifth Angel struck with chains of law that bound space itself. They wrapped around Rey's limbs, tightening like iron forged in eternity. Rey roared and broke through them, his very will fracturing the chains.
He was bleeding now—his blood flickering between light and shadow.
The sixth used illusions, twisting the void into nightmares, conjuring every failure, every regret Rey had ever known.
He simply smiled.
"I've seen worse," he whispered, then crushed the Angel's heart with his bare hand.
The seventh and eighth fought in tandem, blades spinning like suns, their wings moving in perfect symmetry. But Rey had fought alone for too long—his instincts too sharp, his defiance too deep. He weaved through them like smoke, dodging with precision, countering with brutality.
He tore through them all.
By the time the ninth fell—her chest caved in by a brutal punch—Rey was staggering. His legs trembled. His eyes dimmed. The embers inside him were almost gone.
And still, Raphael stood.
Unmoved. Untouched.
He stepped forward, golden spear in hand.
"You are remarkable," Raphael said softly. "Truly. To think you originated from a low-tier existence and could face ten of the Eleventh Sequence's finest and even prevail."
Rey smiled. "Is that admiration I hear?"
"No," Raphael said, raising his spear. "Pity."
"..."
"While I do find you curious and would like to converse more, I can not remain in this gutter for too long, else I lose my tether to the world above. I will ask you again, while the path is still open, will you surrender and face the Council?"
Rey didn't even need time to answer.
"No."
He struck.
Rey moved to dodge—but he was too slow. The tip of the spear pierced his chest.
The pain wasn't physical. It was existential.
The spear didn't just wound him—it unmade him. His form began to tear apart at the edges, like pages being ripped from a book. Fragments of his soul flaked away, vanishing into the void.
Raphael stood close, watching.
"I wanted to take you alive," he said. "The Throne would have dissected you. Learned from you. But you are too dangerous. Too... unstable."
Rey coughed, blood—if it could be called that anymore—dripping from his lips. He smiled through the pain.
"I was going to perish anyway."
Raphael frowned.
Rey raised his fading hands and placed them on the spear still embedded in his chest.
"But since this is my last run…" he whispered, "…I don't mind taking one more of you with me."
Raphael's eyes widened. "No—"
It was too late.
The light in Rey's body surged all at once—brighter than it ever had before.
Not a Skill. Not a Spell. Just Will.
The final explosion rippled across the Last Frontier, like a collapsing star. A silent burst that erased everything within its reach.
Raphael tried to pull away, tried to fly back—but Rey held him tight, smiling as his body turned to white flames.
"Goodbye."
The world vanished in a flash of pure brilliance.
And then—
Silence.
From beneath the sea of the void, two glowing eyes watched.
The cat-like Lucifer sat perched on a flat rock, tail flicking idly. The glow of the explosion had long since faded, leaving behind only traces.
He closed his eyes.
A rare moment of stillness passed through him.
"…Farewell," he murmured. "And see you soon."
He stood, turned, and vanished into the dark.