“The ceiling… isn’t there. Only the sky.”

I rose from the dust like smoke and tried to call up my Authority Domain.

Relief came first, a warm tide; then I flexed fingers and toes. No problem. Even a trip to Death and back left few aftershocks.

Neck’s fine, spine’s steady, organs… right, does my current station even have organs?

I touched my belly, like testing a drumskin; seems I still do, and they’re working.

Good. I’m back at full strength—and I brought a gift new as dawn, a present from Death. He broke off three fingers and they became three daggers, each a token for a death beyond fate.

Compared to his request, that price is only fair coin tossed in a river.

I turned and caught Augustus and Anna looking at me like they’d seen a ghost crawling out of a grave.

Looks like Augustus made it in time; best outcome. If he hadn’t, Gugwen would’ve led Stini’s group and some students to escape. As long as living tongues can spread “humanity’s Demon King ally,” I win.

“Anna I get. But you too, Augustus? That hurts,” I said with a half-laugh, like a cracked mirror.

Anna stabbed my brain earlier with her small scythe. My head’s fine—no scrambled memories.

My mask’s not. That’s the part that feels like a storm tearing the roof.

I touched my face and felt air on one eye and half a brow. Good enough. Augustus shouldn’t have seen my face, so the road ahead stays smooth.

“You… you were dead,” he stammered, like a candle in wind.

“Nope. I came back without even seeing Death. Guess the Divine Being doesn’t like me, kicked me out,” I said, tossing it off like a leaf in a stream.

“That’s impossible! You had ‘died.’ I killed you.”

“Then call me ‘dead-yet-returned Andor’—Demon Realm pronunciation,” I said, playing it like a flute.

Anna and Augustus were certain I had “died,” so my return rattled them. But to the Son of the Demon King—things beyond mortal thought are weather you learn to read. Let them assume I’ve got some special trick.

Even if they ask Death, they’ll get no answer.

Death never speaks.

No one knows the truth except Head, and Head won’t say a word.

The dead have nothing to do with the living. I’m the exception of exceptions—entering Death undying, and Death spoke to me.

“Alright. Let’s pretend I didn’t just die. Where were we? Augustus, Anna—are you fighting or calling it off?” I asked, like breaking ice with a stick.

Gold motes flickered on Augustus, fireflies I couldn’t name. In my eyes he no longer looked like a mortal woven from concepts—he was something vaster, more sacred, like a sun behind thin cloud.

“Augustus, congrats on your promotion. And Anna—want to go another round with a Divine Being?”

I let my gaze slide to their clenched weapons, cool as moonlight.

Anna held her Giant Scythe, a demonic armament that doesn’t break or die; nothing to read there. Augustus had a gun in his left, a sword in his right. Not his usual holy lance, Thousand Gallop. Just common steel, chipped at the edges like a worn blade.

They’d tested each other already; you can smell rain after the first drops.

Neither of them is good with words. Leave them alone, and they’ll talk with steel, not tongues.

Anna burned a lot of mana in our wheel battle. This isn’t her domain. Her mana’s thin as winter sunlight. She can resurrect, sure, but without mana she’ll just take hits; no one likes standing in the hail.

Augustus still wore unhealed wounds, raw as open bark. He finished Head’s God Among Mortals trial and raced back. He’s not in great shape, and his weapons are plain. He doesn’t want another storm.

But two hot heads start arguing, and fists follow like thunder after lightning.

To quarrel to the point of killing over a line—too dumb. You’re grown; try wisdom.

They kept each other in their sights, bows strung tight. I eased my voice like pouring tea.

“Let me guess the lay of the land. Augustus, your body looks rough. Promotion or not, you’re still flesh. You want to leave Thousand Gallop to Stini, so you switched to common weapons to keep your divine tint off the lance.”

Augustus’s look tightened like a knot. He still doesn’t trust me. Does no one hold the basic faith between people?

“Anna, your mana’s low, right? That big move—Life-Return Interdict—how many shots left? You’re holding on, scraping by on scant mana.”

Her answer was a small scythe flying at me, swift as a swallow. I flicked it aside with my halberd, Nandu.

Good thing Augustus didn’t rush in while Anna glanced away, or the storm would’ve cracked open again.

“So, both sides are in bad shape. How about a truce? Head home, heal up, fight later,” I said, like laying a fan on a table.

“Andor, where’s my daughter?”

Anna wavered, a leaf hesitating on wind.

Augustus didn’t answer her. He turned to me, voice like a taut string.

“She’s fine. A Hero’s recovery kicks in as long as she’s alive.”

“Is she hurt?” he asked, worry rising like tide.

“Otherwise she wouldn’t sit obediently in a pocket space, watching others strive while doing nothing.”

“How bad?” His words sped like hooves.

“I said it—she’ll heal on her own. A Hero’s body knits like new bark.”

“Face injuries? Healing’s no problem, but will she scar? Sometimes facial wounds tug a muscle, make expressions odd. Girls care about these small storms. I think little flaws are cute, but girls don’t. And her body—how deep are the wounds? Do we need alchemy to rebuild organs? She won’t die, right?”

His tone was steadied like a compass, but you could taste the quake under ice.

“…Augustus, you’re over-anxious. Trust Saint Mire,” I said. I should have clapped his shoulder like a friendly rain, but we’re not that close.

“…Right.”

He nodded quietly, let silence rest, then lifted his head and shouted like a bell over a valley:

“Stini, I know you can hear me. No sneaking out to date your boyfriend. Heal in peace!”

“It’s dangerous lately. No more adventures!”

“Eat more of Saint Mire’s Gragla fruit. It’s good for bones knitting.”

“Lie in bed… fine, walk inside the sanctuary, but don’t run off!”

“And your boyfriend—tell me who he is. Your dad needs to meet him!”

“Did you hear me? Remember it!”

Augustus finished, took a deep breath, and stilled like a lake.

He tapped gun and sword together twice, then raised them toward Anna, stance sharp as a drawn bow.

“Demon King—no, I get it now. You’re Sons of the Demon King. You, over there, you’re the strongest at that tier, right?”

“Not quite. The strongest stands next to you. The one you can’t kill,” Anna said, frowning like a stormline.

“You proud great ones don’t grasp a mortal’s heart. Maybe you do, but you won’t stoop to weigh mortal life and worth. I can see now—what gods and demons see of the world. I get why you wear that grim aspect.”

“Sounds like your station’s higher than last time. Wait, are you…” Anna started, voice tightening like wire.

Gold light on Augustus gathered, sunrise pooling in his palms.

His being rose to stand even with us, Sons of the Demon King.

That’s the fruit of Head’s God Among Mortals trial—lifting a mortal with the right to be enshrined to the highest tier the human world can hold.

“You won’t understand this. The softest place in a mortal’s heart isn’t for trash like you to touch,” he said, blade-flat and cold.

Dragons have a reverse scale; touch it and you die.

The Silver Era didn’t coin that phrase, but Anna heard the meaning like thunder.

“I may have risen, but my thoughts are still mortal. Not as transcendent as you. So I still love Stini more than anything under heaven. I’d die for her. Do you understand that?” His voice held fire, banked but bright.

“Andor, sorry. I know you want peace. I won’t let the one who hurt my daughter walk away unpunished.”

His gold dimmed to ash-black, like coals going dark.

It looked like a Demon King’s hue, but its nature was different—iron under velvet.

“Anna, right? Then watch this. A mortal’s rage can burn the sky,” he said, like flint to tinder.

Ash-black wrapped his body and weapons, floating into tattoo-like sigils. His black hair turned ash-black, storm-shadowed. His aura grew ominous, yet more solid, like a mountain under cloud.

Legendary magic: Asura from the Heart.

Not the malice of a Demon King’s authority, but a blade forged from a mortal’s soul and will.

He cast aside divine power and its boundless domain, and chose to wield feeling’s surge with mortal limits.

But it’s his feeling—the strongest Hero’s heart, beating like war drums.

Augustus crushed the ground and sprinted for Anna, and she swung back, scythe carving arcs like a crescent moon.

Calamity and godly might clashed again in the mortal world, a world-rending brawl that wouldn’t stop till one side broke.

Ahh. Mediation failed.

It’s fine. Augustus owes me one; that’s profit. Either way, this battle pays out.

Time to go. No need to watch the rest of this play.

I waved goodbye to the Hero Academy watching from the sky, and to the gods peering from the clouds like faces in mist, then slid into Shadow.

With Augustus promoted to God Among Mortals and fighting for real, I don’t think anyone in this world can threaten him.

Same for Anna. You can’t kill her, but she won’t sit still and let mana run dry and get sealed by a Hero. So the result’s set: Anna gets beaten hard, then escapes; Augustus can’t press further.

Push it to the edge—Anna won’t die. If Augustus dies, I’ll step into his role. His value is in being strong. I can carry that weight.

Either way, I win.

I pinned a spatial anchor near the mortal side of my Shadow Authority Domain and laid a Shadow ward over it. After this fight, Gugwen can drop the Hero Academy back to the human world. The foundation might sink a bit, but Applied mages can tune it. No big deal.

I swam through Shadow along the path scripted by the anchor, surfaced in a patch of darkness inside the Sanctuary of Life.

I shifted into Vega’s likeness and stepped out like a shadow becoming a person.

After that, I’ll switch back with her. The big event, the Academy Combat Festival, closes clean. Then we move to the next big arc… what was it again?

While I was thinking, I reached my ward’s door just as it swung open from inside.

Vega—no, Vega disguised as Andor—stepped out, wearing her usual deadpan like a mask.

She was straightening her rumpled underlayers, clothes askew like a curtain after wind. A girl’s voice spilled from the room, clear as a bell.

“Alright, Vega, what trouble did you make for me this time?” I said, pulling her into the corner, my smile twitching like a frayed thread.