The holy armies were invading the elven realm; young elves were falling one by one, children hiding among the roots and the ruins of shattered temples. Thousands of elven corpses covered the ground. The elves could not hold. The battle was so fierce it left no room to breathe.
Asmodeus was on the front lines. Thanks to his elven guise, no one knew who he truly was. He slipped among the holy soldiers, breaking their formation with a single strike. Each blow was silent; more than screams, only bodies falling could be heard.
Aeris, meanwhile, was cleaving through the holy ranks. As her violet eyes flared, sacred armor cracked and prayers were cut short.
"That elf over there is very strong," Mael thought, locking his gaze on Asmodeus.
"He can't be just a guardian…"
The moment Asmodeus sensed Mael's attention, he did not hesitate. He surged forward. A holy spear tore through the air; he ducked beneath it and passed. Then the tip of his blade rose from the ground. The seal beneath the armor shattered. The soldier dropped to his knees.
Mael pulled back. A moment's hesitation meant death for a commander.
"Close the circle!" he shouted. "Separate that elf!"
Holy spells were unleashed at once. Light pierced the forest's darkness. Trees groaned. Roots burned as elven screams rose.
Aeris drove her sword into the ground; mana rippled outward in waves. The light was pushed back, but the cost was heavy—several more elves collapsed.
Asmodeus took a step toward Aeris.
"Fall back," he said in a low voice. "This is a massacre."
Aeris clenched his teeth.
"If we end it here, they'll never come back."
Sacred sigils appeared in the sky. New forces were being summoned.
Mael smiled.
"The hunt has begun," he whispered.
Asmodeus's eyes darkened. Beneath his elven form, a suppressed power stirred. The ground cracked. Darkness began to gnaw at the edges of the holy light.
The battle was no longer only for the elven realm—it was for the fate of an entire world.
When the sacred sigils fully formed in the sky, the balance finally shattered. New units descended into the heart of the forest—gleaming armor, ceaseless prayers… The elven lines could no longer hold. Young elves fell back, elders dragged children into the roots. The battle was lost.
Aeris charged one last time. His blade tore through the holy light, but there were too many. A blow to his shoulder dropped him to his knees. At that moment, Aeltharion slammed his blood-soaked spear into the ground.
"Now!" he shouted.
The earth split open. Roots rose. The ancient spirits of the forest had been awakened.
Aerolas stayed behind; his hands trembled as he began chanting an ancient hymn. The wind shifted, smoke poured into the holy ranks. Vision vanished. Formation collapsed.
Aeltharion grabbed Aeris by the arm.
"You're running," he said. "If you die here, it means nothing."
Asmodeus saw it. He understood the battle was lost. At that moment, Mael raised his holy spear.
"You won't escape," he said. "This land will be cleansed today."
Asmodeus stepped forward. His elven form flickered for an instant. The power he had suppressed surged.
Mael's eyes narrowed.
"You—" he tried to say, but it was too late.
Asmodeus's blade traced a single arc. No burst of light. No scream.
Only a sharp sound.
Mael's arm was severed at the shoulder.
Armor fell to the ground. Then the arm. Blood splashed across the holy symbols.
Mael staggered back, screaming.
"Chain him!" he shouted.
Sacred chains burst from the earth, wrapping around Asmodeus's arms and legs. His power was suppressed—but the moment gained was enough.
Aeltharion turned to Aerolas.
"Open the path!"
Aerolas struck his staff against the ground. The forest groaned once more. Roots dragged holy soldiers down, trees collapsed. Elves began to run toward the rear passages with the children.
Aeris looked back one last time. Asmodeus stood upright among the chains. Their eyes met. Asmodeus gave a slight nod.
"Go," he said softly.
But Aeris did not abandon Asmodeus. He shattered the chains with the sword in his hand.
Thousands of elves threw themselves forward, shielding Asmodeus and Aeris so they could escape. At that very moment, time stopped. Asmodeus felt as though he existed on a different timeline.
"You did everything you could, hero—but you do not have the power to defeat them," Yggdrasil said. "Take my branches, and before you go to the Cursed Island, you must obtain the emblems from the Dragon and Dwarven realms. Without that power, you cannot stand against either the island or the Church."
Time began to flow again. Aeris used the sacred artifact in his hand, and in an instant they were transported from the heart of the battle to the academy. They were covered in blood, gasping for breath.
The elves escaped.
Aeltharion and Aerolas entered the darkest passage of the forest.
This was not a war. It was a genocide. If the Pope had not come and stopped Uriel, the elven race would have been wiped out. Aside from those who failed to escape, only children remained. Thousands of elves had died; the realm was engulfed in flames.
The holy armies cried out in victory.
The elven realm had fallen.
But Mael was left with only one arm.
And from that day on, the name Asmodeus was spoken only in whispers.
The child of prophecy was alive.
Mael knew their last encounter was not over.
The child of prophecy was alive.
Mael felt it—not from the burning pain where his arm had been severed, but from the unease settling deep within him. This was not the sign of a battle, but of a destiny left unfinished.
As the holy army shouted in triumph, Mael knelt. Priests rushed to his side, trying to seal his wound with sigils. But Mael was not watching them. He stared at the still-trembling earth between the burned trees.
"This was not our last meeting," he whispered. "Not yet."
---
The air in the academy was heavy.
When Aeris and Asmodeus fell out of the light, the stone floor was stained with blood. They were gasping. Aeris's hands trembled; the glow of the sacred artifact had faded, cracks spreading across it.
"So close…" Aeris said hoarsely. "One second later and—"
Asmodeus tried to stand and staggered. The marks left by the chains still circled his arms.
"The elves…" he said. "Did Aeltharion and Aerolas make it out?"
Aeris lowered his head.
"They opened the path. They entered the darkest passage of the forest with the surviving children."
Asmodeus closed his eyes. He felt that frozen instant of time again. Yggdrasil's voice still echoed in his ears—not a divine command, not a prophecy, just an unavoidable truth.
> "You did not have the power to defeat them."
But now… it was time to prepare.
---
In the distance, toward the Cursed Island, the sky darkened.
Ancient seals stirred in the Dragon realm.
In the Dwarven realm, forgotten emblems felt the call once more.
And the Church…
The Pope had been too late to stop Uriel. But Mael was alive.
And Mael knew that one day he would face that child—the child of prophecy—again.
Uriel's power was growing rapidly. Pope Malachor I was aware of it, and he too was preparing in his own way against Uriel. The Church stood on the brink of civil war—but for now, the armies were shouting in celebration.
"At last—at last—Yggdrasil is mine!" Uriel shouted.
"Open the gates of Yggdrasil!"
No matter how much holy power they unleashed, they could not reach Yggdrasil.
Uriel was on the verge of madness.
In the end, even sealed, Yggdrasil was a god. Its roots killed intruders one by one.
"Damn that foolish tree—I didn't expect this," Uriel cursed.
And in that moment, Uriel gave an order no one could comprehend.
"BURN YGGDRASIL."