In the real world, that decayed body, down to bones, suddenly rang with a deep, powerful resonance, like a drum struck inside a tomb.

Phoenix and Roland had thought victory certain. Their faces changed. They stopped at once. Their minds rippled wide, trying to catch whether that heartbeat was truth or trick.

“What kind of joke is this? Rot’s already crawled through her vital points. How could—”

Roland’s face was pure terror. He yanked his blade back as he retreated, away from the mangled husk hanging in midair.

Phoenix wore the same disbelief, but he moved first. Twisted flame burst forth, splitting into a thousand spikes that ravaged the drifting shell.

He hadn’t schemed his way here to lose.

Black flame punched through Aphelia’s heart, skull, every last piece. Even withered, he spared nothing. Anything intact, he shattered; any remnant, he burned to ash.

Madness and murder flooded Phoenix’s mind. His strikes grew more savage. He would erase everything. Aphelia did not belong in this world. He would not allow it, and the world should not either.

He was a man pushed past the edge. Kill and fear filled him until his outline blurred. The jet-black phoenix within his hellfire shrieked, a cry soaked in malice and pain.

After the barrage, even Roland fell back. Warped black flame filled every corner of the space. Aphelia’s shell had vanished.

“Even if you’re a True God, you should—”

The black mist thinned. Phoenix’s broken smile locked in place. He forgot how to breathe.

Below, Roland stared wide-eyed, emptied out. His gray blade faded. His lips mumbled nonsense.

Where the blackfire cleared, a goddess-like silhouette rose through flame and stepped into the world.

Black streamers of light circled her, a night-feather robe tracing a flawless form. Hair like a dark waterfall lifted without wind. She floated with her eyes closed, near-perfect and silent.

A chill slipped down Phoenix’s spine. A fear born with birthright seeped through him like cold water. Even the phoenix inside his flames wailed and hid.

Instinct howled to flee. He couldn’t move. Cold sweat slid down his brow. He didn’t dare shift his gaze. One twitch, and that near-perfect woman felt like she’d swoop down and tear him apart.

It was the ancient fear of a natural predator, carved by ages of struggle. Serpent fangs. Eagle talons. A warning branded into prey-blood so descendants might live.

And now, a darkness like the bottomless Abyss stood before him.

“What… what kind of joke is this!”

Roland broke first. He howled, cornered and hysterical. Endless gray breath exploded around him. A warped human shape formed at his back, swinging a clutch of long blades straight at the woman’s neck.

She kept her eyes closed. She didn’t even seem to notice him. She let the blades arrive.

Rot surged, a breath from her face. At a hair’s breadth, those closed eyes opened.

In an instant, the whole world felt frozen. The lunging gray shadow and Roland locked in place. Terror cut their faces, but their bodies were statues.

The perfect woman breathed a soft sigh. She lifted slim arms. Black streamers flashed into a regal scepter. She turned with calm and tapped the air before Roland.

Even Phoenix felt no surge of power from that scepter. In his eyes, it was just a light tap. Yet Roland, midair, weathered like ancient rot, offered no resistance, and blew into ash.

“So this is her power… no…”

She watched the gray motes left from Roland’s undoing. She sighed and gathered them into her palm. Her black eyes showed no flicker, only an immortal depth and loneliness.

She looked to Phoenix. Murder flooded those dark irises. Black streamers covered the sky in a blink. A sky-swallowing serpent birthed from endless night, carrying its mistress’s hate, fixed on the stupefied Phoenix.

She stood like a proud empress—cruel, beautiful, overwhelming. A sleek body hid a feral streak beneath peerless grace.

The perfect woman was Aphelia, the one utterly destroyed moments ago. Now she felt suddenly grown, mature, a woman’s allure laid bare. To Phoenix, she was a hunting beast, every line radiating danger.

“This is my power.”

The serpent in the dark bared its fangs. Despite its vastness, it moved with spectral quiet. At Aphelia’s soft command, it lunged for the immobilized Phoenix.

Death didn’t fall, but missed him by a hair.

“Where is Violet’s soul? Give it to me, and I’ll let you die clean.”

Her voice was ice. Her sovereign gaze stabbed Phoenix and sparked his last ember of defiance.

“She’s been dead a long time, turned to my feed. Aphelia, you’ll never—”

The mad grin clung to his face, but no sound came.

Scarlet beast-eyes loomed. Pressure crushed until Phoenix could barely breathe. Memory flared. Pain ground his body flat. The whole world felt like it rejected him. Brain, blood, heart slipped out of his control. He watched the jet-black Reaper descend.

In a blink, blood spattered. The flame went out.

Aphelia’s lashes drooped, like she was hiding grief that wouldn’t stop. She clenched her teeth. That inner voice rang again, ever since she woke this power.

Since she’s gone, then let it all be destroyed.

A demon’s whisper. A forbidden fruit.

Aphelia opened her eyes and chose. Silver-white carvings crawled along her scepter, bright with Arcane Power, a work born perfect. Meet its gaze, and you couldn’t look away. Even the scepter felt alive.

Behind her, a pair of black wings unfurled with a hush.

She tapped the scepter. A clangor rolled through heaven and earth. Black and silver fused as one. At her feet, they poured into a mighty river that swept across the ruins.

The river spread. Things vanished.

All things in this world were scoured by that chaotic current, turned to countless motes of light, drawn back to Aphelia’s side.

“Look at you, Aphelia. You’re a living monster…”

A discordant voice cut the air. Twisted blackfire flared again, wavering like a dying wick. From it, Phoenix’s form took shape once more.

“Monster?”

Aphelia heard the word and let out a soft laugh.

In that instant, Phoenix shivered by instinct. In that heartbeat, he swore he saw the world end.

Aphelia didn’t spare him a thought. She murmured:

“The chaotic river descends from heaven.”

“The son of man shall be baptized, his sins reckoned.”

The world itself seemed to whisper. A distant, fathomless voice answered. As a phoenix born from flames of sin, an ancient shard of memory in Phoenix finally shifted.

He trembled, staring at figures with the same black wings, silver-white bowls in hand, rising behind Aphelia. His teeth chattered.

“Th—the Mandate of Heaven… upon her!”

Aphelia ignored his terror. Her quiet chant bled into that airy voice until they were nearly one.

“That is the Lord’s wrath…”

“That is our wrath…”

“Angels who bear the bowl of wrath, by the Lord’s will—pour into the sea, pour onto the earth…”

“…pour into the beast’s dominion; burn the strayed lambs who defy our will…”

It felt like an ethereal hymn and the final verdict on this age. In the last instant, the two voices almost merged.

“This is the wrath of God!”

“This is our wrath!”

Aphelia raised her scepter. What little feeling left in her black eyes faded to night.

“Stop! Aphelia!”

As she was about to speak the last line, a silver-white figure flashed before her. Endless radiance fell, split the chaotic river, and erased the seven angels with black wings.