"Do you know... what death truly means?"
The question left Agaroth’s lips as he stood at the center of the Shadow Sect, surrounded by houses and buildings on all sides, each one sheltering what remained of humanity in this world.
Frey was there as well.
But he couldn’t move.
He tried—but Agaroth formed a spear of strange dark aura in his palm and hurled it with precision, pinning it deep into Frey’s thigh.
Another followed immediately, driven through his other leg, nailing him to the ground.
"My question is simple," the King continued calmly.
"But I am certain you will not be able to answer it."
"Because the concept of death... is different for you and me, compared to them."
Agaroth spread his arms wide, his dark cloak fluttering like living shadow around him.
"Their deaths mean nothing more than the loss of dried ink... no different from erasing a few words from an old book."
"Words whose existence is no different from their absence. They do not affect the course of events... nor do they change the essence of the story."
"That is why... they can be erased so easily."
"Their lives mean nothing."
"And I can kill millions of them... without so much as blinking."
He raised his hand.
And his shadow expanded once more, swallowing the entire Shadow Sect.
Frey understood immediately what that meant.
He knew exactly what was about to happen.
A massacre was about to begin.
And there was nothing he could do... except watch.
Because Agaroth drove even more spears into his body, binding him completely in place.
"Listen carefully," the King said.
The shadow spears rose into the air, each one piercing through dozens of humans at once.
They were lifted above the Sect like skewered flesh, as if the world itself had become a grotesque display of slaughter.
There was no resistance.
No battle.
The people here were not fighters.
All they could do... was die.
One after another.
Screaming. Crying. Begging at the top of their lungs.
The shadows swept away even the strongest among them.
Angry—the furious statue—could do nothing against a direct assault from the Demon King.
Even Adir and Ghost, who had taken refuge underground... did not survive.
The Shadow Sect warrior sat in place, while Ghost stood beside him.
Both stared silently, devoid of any visible emotion, as the shadows surged toward them.
It was as if they had already accepted their fate.
Adir smiled.
Ghost slowly closed his eyes.
"This is the end of a Chapter... a long, exhausting Chapter," Adir said with a faint smile.
Then he closed his eyes.
And the shadows destroyed them both.
"There’s only a little left... so do not fail... Gehrman..."
And Adir died.
Ghost died.
Just as every human died—one after another.
The statues crumbled.
Everything was erased.
Some died in the streets.
Others within their homes.
The Sect was painted in blood and shadow.
Corpses filled every corner.
The screams faded... little by little.
Until silence consumed everything.
Even the crows did not dare approach, fearing the tyrant that stood there.
Agaroth turned slightly once the slaughter was complete.
"I don’t sense him... is he hiding?" the King murmured, a faint smile forming as his shadows failed to locate the blue-eyed Engineer.
That alone confirmed it.
Gehrman was still planning something.
And Agaroth did not mind.
"It’s more entertaining this way... I just hope he doesn’t disappoint."
As the entire Shadow Sect burned, Agaroth turned back toward Frey.
Who had witnessed everything.
He had seen a scale of slaughter he had never witnessed before.
And the King had spared no one.
Frey trembled beneath the dark spears, struggling to do anything... but failing.
He did not scream.
He did not speak.
But his eyes bled.
Blood streamed from the corners of his reddened eyes, veins pulsing violently within them.
His mind was in chaos.
Something inside him... was breaking.
Even his Kratt body, which suppressed his emotions, had begun to overflow.
And yet...
He did not lose control.
Despite the overwhelming pressure crashing down on him—a pressure enough to drive any sane man into madness—he endured.
Seeing him like this, Agaroth’s eyes narrowed slightly.
"You’re still standing," the King said.
"After everything I’ve shown you... you’ve changed."
"You’ve become more like your other self... the one behind the mask."
"But it’s still not enough."
He extended his hand.
"You need one final push... a decisive blow that will shatter the last chain binding you... and binding me."
With a single motion ...
Space collapsed.
Existence itself tore apart.
Reality inverted.
And that hand reached across an immense distance... until it grasped something far away.
Someone.
Agaroth pulled.
And with that motion, he dragged forth a girl with pure white hair.
The final bullet.
The last piece.
The one Frey had hidden beneath countless barriers outside the Shadow Sect.
Barriers that shattered effortlessly under Agaroth’s will.
And from beneath them... she was revealed.
Ada.
Ada Starlight.
She appeared out of nothingness, shock and fear written clearly across her face.
She looked at that nightmare in the form of a man... unable to meet his eyes for even a second.
Her gaze shifted desperately—anywhere but him.
And then...
She saw Frey.
"Brother..." she whispered, her voice trembling as Agaroth set her down gently, allowing her to stand.
"This is the final piece," Agaroth said.
"I hope this will be enough... to give you the push you need."
There was a faint implication in his voice.
As if even he did not know what he would do... if this failed.
But Frey didn’t hear a single word.
His eyes were locked on his sister.
"Ada..." he forced out, his voice strained, his throat shattered—unable to regenerate due to the nature of Agaroth’s attacks.
The Demon King raised his hand once more.
His shadows gathered.
And within them—
A sharp, dark blade was formed.
Then, without hesitation, he extended his hand... offering the blade to Ada, who took it against her will.
She trembled, terrified, unable to understand what was happening.
She tried to step away from that monster—but her body no longer obeyed her.
It obeyed him.
A strange spell had taken hold of her. Ada had become a puppet in his hands.
This was not the first time Agaroth had done such a thing.
But this time... he left her conscious.
She held the blade in trembling arms, barely able to lift it, waiting... for his command.
And the King did not keep her waiting.
"Kill yourself."
Agaroth did not bother doing it himself.
He did not stain his hands with her blood ... hands already drenched in the blood of every living human.
Ada obeyed.
She turned the blade slowly toward her neck, her hands shaking violently.
Tears streamed from her eyes, fear and sorrow intertwining... reflected clearly in Frey, who thrashed in place like a madman.
The edge of the blade touched her skin.
At first... gently.
A thin line of blood formed, trailing softly down her neck... and onto her chest.
Everything moved in slow motion.
Under the King’s gaze, who watched with amusement.
And under Frey’s eyes... who burned.
It was a tragedy no one could endure.
So unbearable... that some were willing to do anything to stop it.
Among them—
Fulghor.
The great warrior.
The broken, pitiful veteran who charged forward with a shattered body, half his face drenched in blood, his long red hair flowing wildly behind him after his helm had been destroyed.
In his hand, he formed a golden spear from the last fragments of aura he could gather.
He tried to intervene.
To stop the madness unfolding before him.
But it was futile.
Dozens of shadow serpents pierced through his body, impaling him hundreds of times in an instant.
The tendrils of darkness lifted Fulghor’s bloodied body into the air.
Life slowly faded from his eyes.
And the last thing he saw...
Was a brother forced to watch his sister kill herself before him.
"This... is wrong... something like this should never happen..." Fulghor struggled within the shadows, despair and fury twisting his voice.
Even with his final breath, he tried to break free... to help him.
But he failed.
And Fulghor died.
From Frey’s side ...
Everything turned red.
Blood flooded his vision, staining it like ink that would never fade.
The entire world became drenched in crimson darkness.
As if he had stepped into the deepest depths of hell.
And yet...
Despite that overwhelming red consuming everything—
Ada’s blood stood out.
Clear.
Distinct.
As if it carried a shade of red unlike any other in existence.
The blade pierced through her neck.
The flow of blood intensified—faster... heavier... more horrifying.
Until the blade emerged from the back of her neck.
Blood poured endlessly.
From her throat.
From her mouth—now incapable of forming even a single word.
The light faded from her eyes.
Darkness consumed them entirely.
Her arms fell lifelessly to her sides.
Her body collapsed forward... draped over the dark blade.
Ada died.