The battlefield was silent—except for the sound of Draumir's quiet footsteps echoing across the starless abyss.
Suna collapsed to one knee, her arm still frozen and trembling. Hollie coughed violently nearby, her sword dim, vines withered into ash. Maya and Belial lay unconscious at the edge of the void, barely breathing. Cocobeal tried to shield them with a temporal barrier, but it was flickering—like even time didn't want to stay here.
Draumir stood in the center of it all. Unbothered. Still. That inhuman, maskless face showing nothing but cold detachment.
"I offered a lesson," he said flatly. "You answered with defiance. So I will show you the cost of believing you're more than dust."
He vanished.
—And reappeared beside Suna.
A whisper of shadow passed through her. Her eyes widened, and she collapsed before she even registered the hit—magic symbols around her flickering out.
Next was Hollie.
She slashed wildly, but Draumir bent reality around her movements. One step forward, and her sword arm froze mid-swing. Another step, and he struck her stomach with an open palm.
She hit the void hard, gasping.
"You fought with heart," he muttered. "But that's all you had."
Azire staggered up, chest rising and falling hard. His knuckles were white around the grip of Umbrual.
He looked around.
Everyone—everyone—was down.
And Draumir finally turned to face him.
Only him.
"And now," Draumir said, "only the boy who clings to a cursed blade remains."
Azire's heart pounded like a war drum. He could barely stand, but his grip never loosened. He walked forward—slowly, steadily—until he stood alone in front of the entity that just annihilated his friends.
"No more words," Azire said. "Just fight me."
Draumir's pale eyes narrowed. "So be it."
They clashed.
It was like light and void colliding. Azire's blade burned with shadowflame, striking over and over, dodging phase attacks, countering with sheer instinct. But Draumir was perfect. Every movement of his was effortless—timed, calculated, surgical.
Azire was fighting a force of nature.
His ribs cracked. His shoulder dislocated. His wings nearly shredded.
Still—he stood.
Still—he fought.
"Why do you keep getting up?" Draumir asked, voice sharper now. "What are you holding onto?"
Azire coughed blood, grinning through the pain.
"Everyone... needs someone who won't fall."
Draumir raised a hand to strike the final blow.
And that's when Umbrual began to glow.
Not with shadow. Not with fire. With something… new.
A blinding, violet light surged through Azire's body—neither holy nor demonic, but something in-between. A magic that didn't exist in any grimoire. One born from pain, resolve, and unity.
Cocobeal's voice cracked through the void.
"Impossible… Azire, you're awakening the Astral Core."
The light burst from within Azire, wings unfurling—no longer demonic or angelic, but crystalline, pulsating like galaxies. His eyes glowed with starlight. Umbrual reshaped in his hand, forming into a double-edged longsword with runes wrapping along its blade.
"This power…" Azire whispered. "It's everyone's. It's mine because I refused to let go."
"Final Technique—Astral Rupture."
He launched forward faster than light—no distortion, no buildup, just impact.
The blade met Draumir's chest.
Time bent.
Space fractured.
The void cracked like glass—and a roar tore through the dimension.
Draumir's body burst with energy as he was blown back for the first time—his perfect form breaking, mask reforming in shatters, voice echoing out in disbelief.
"This… shouldn't be…"
Azire stood in the swirling remnants of the void, sword smoking with cosmic energy.
"You were right, Draumir. We were just dust…"
"But even dust… becomes stars."
They clashed.
It was like light and void colliding. Azire's blade burned with shadowflame, striking over and over, dodging phase attacks, countering with sheer instinct. But Draumir was perfect. Every movement of his was effortless—timed, calculated, surgical.
Azire was fighting a force of nature.
His ribs cracked. His shoulder dislocated. His wings nearly shredded.
Still—he stood.
Still—he fought.
"Why do you keep getting up?" Draumir asked, voice sharper now. "What are you holding onto?"
Azire coughed blood, grinning through the pain.
"Everyone... needs someone who won't fall."
Draumir raised a hand to strike the final blow.
And that's when Umbrual began to glow.
Not with shadow. Not with fire. With something… new.
A blinding, violet light surged through Azire's body—neither holy nor demonic, but something in-between. A magic that didn't exist in any grimoire. One born from pain, resolve, and unity.
Cocobeal's voice cracked through the void.
"Impossible… Azire, you're awakening the Astral Core."
The light burst from within Azire, wings unfurling—no longer demonic or angelic, but crystalline, pulsating like galaxies. His eyes glowed with starlight. Umbrual reshaped in his hand, forming into a double-edged longsword with runes wrapping along its blade.
"This power…" Azire whispered. "It's everyone's. It's mine because I refused to let go."
"Final Technique—Astral Rupture."
He launched forward faster than light—no distortion, no buildup, just impact.
The blade met Draumir's chest.
Time bent.
Space fractured.
The void cracked like glass—and a roar tore through the dimension.
Draumir's body burst with energy as he was blown back for the first time—his perfect form breaking, mask reforming in shatters, voice echoing out in disbelief.
"This… shouldn't be…"
Azire stood in the swirling remnants of the void, sword smoking with cosmic energy.
"You were right, Draumir. We were just dust…"
"But even dust… becomes stars
The battlefield was silent—except for the sound of Draumir's quiet footsteps echoing across the starless abyss.
Suna collapsed to one knee, her arm still frozen and trembling. Hollie coughed violently nearby, her sword dim, vines withered into ash. Maya and Belial lay unconscious at the edge of the void, barely breathing. Cocobeal tried to shield them with a temporal barrier, but it was flickering—like even time didn't want to stay here.
Draumir stood in the center of it all. Unbothered. Still. That inhuman, maskless face showing nothing but cold detachment.
"I offered a lesson," he said flatly. "You answered with defiance. So I will show you the cost of believing you're more than dust."
He vanished.
—And reappeared beside Suna.
A whisper of shadow passed through her. Her eyes widened, and she collapsed before she even registered the hit—magic symbols around her flickering out.
Next was Hollie.
She slashed wildly, but Draumir bent reality around her movements. One step forward, and her sword arm froze mid-swing. Another step, and he struck her stomach with an open palm.
She hit the void hard, gasping.
"You fought with heart," he muttered. "But that's all you had."
Azire staggered up, chest rising and falling hard. His knuckles were white around the grip of Umbrual.
He looked around.
Everyone—everyone—was down.
And Draumir finally turned to face him.
Only him.
"And now," Draumir said, "only the boy who clings to a cursed blade remains."
Azire's heart pounded like a war drum. He could barely stand, but his grip never loosened. He walked forward—slowly, steadily—until he stood alone in front of the entity that just annihilated his friends.
"No more words," Azire said. "Just fight me."
Draumir's pale eyes narrowed. "So be it."
They clashed.
It was like light and void colliding. Azire's blade burned with shadowflame, striking over and over, dodging phase attacks, countering with sheer instinct. But Draumir was perfect. Every movement of his was effortless—timed, calculated, surgical.
Azire was fighting a force of nature.
His ribs cracked. His shoulder dislocated. His wings nearly shredded.
Still—he stood.
Still—he fought.
"Why do you keep getting up?" Draumir asked, voice sharper now. "What are you holding onto?"
Azire coughed blood, grinning through the pain.
"Everyone... needs someone who won't fall."
Draumir raised a hand to strike the final blow.
And that's when Umbrual began to glow.
Not with shadow. Not with fire. With something… new.
A blinding, violet light surged through Azire's body—neither holy nor demonic, but something in-between. A magic that didn't exist in any grimoire. One born from pain, resolve, and unity.
Cocobeal's voice cracked through the void.
"Impossible… Azire, you're awakening the Astral Core."
The light burst from within Azire, wings unfurling—no longer demonic or angelic, but crystalline, pulsating like galaxies. His eyes glowed with starlight. Umbrual reshaped in his hand, forming into a double-edged longsword with runes wrapping along its blade.
"This power…" Azire whispered. "It's everyone's. It's mine because I refused to let go."
"Final Technique—Astral Rupture."
He launched forward faster than light—no distortion, no buildup, just impact.
The blade met Draumir's chest.
Time bent.
Space fractured.
The void cracked like glass—and a roar tore through the dimension.
Draumir's body burst with energy as he was blown back for the first time—his perfect form breaking, mask reforming in shatters, voice echoing out in disbelief.
"This… shouldn't be…"
Azire stood in the swirling remnants of the void, sword smoking with cosmic energy.
"You were right, Draumir. We were just dust…"
"But even dust… becomes stars."
They clashed.
It was like light and void colliding. Azire's blade burned with shadowflame, striking over and over, dodging phase attacks, countering with sheer instinct. But Draumir was perfect. Every movement of his was effortless—timed, calculated, surgical.
Azire was fighting a force of nature.
His ribs cracked. His shoulder dislocated. His wings nearly shredded.
Still—he stood.
Still—he fought.
"Why do you keep getting up?" Draumir asked, voice sharper now. "What are you holding onto?"
Azire coughed blood, grinning through the pain.
"Everyone... needs someone who won't fall."
Draumir raised a hand to strike the final blow.
And that's when Umbrual began to glow.
Not with shadow. Not with fire. With something… new.
A blinding, violet light surged through Azire's body—neither holy nor demonic, but something in-between. A magic that didn't exist in any grimoire. One born from pain, resolve, and unity.
Cocobeal's voice cracked through the void.
"Impossible… Azire, you're awakening the Astral Core."
The light burst from within Azire, wings unfurling—no longer demonic or angelic, but crystalline, pulsating like galaxies. His eyes glowed with starlight. Umbrual reshaped in his hand, forming into a double-edged longsword with runes wrapping along its blade.
"This power…" Azire whispered. "It's everyone's. It's mine because I refused to let go."
"Final Technique—Astral Rupture."
He launched forward faster than light—no distortion, no buildup, just impact.
The blade met Draumir's chest.
Time bent.
Space fractured.
The void cracked like glass—and a roar tore through the dimension.
Draumir's body burst with energy as he was blown back for the first time—his perfect form breaking, mask reforming in shatters, voice echoing out in disbelief.
"This… shouldn't be…"
Azire stood in the swirling remnants of the void, sword smoking with cosmic energy.
"You were right, Draumir. We were just dust…"
"But even dust… becomes stars