The infernal arena, already ravaged by the nine circles of the tournament, shuddered under a burst of pure light so intense it seemed to devour the eternal flames dancing in the air. The white portal, hovering above the stands, unleashed a relentless flood of celestial beings—angels with golden wings, their armor gleaming like stars, their gilded spears casting beams of light that pierced the hellish darkness. The demonic crowd, once frenzied with delight, now screamed in panic, flames snuffing out beneath the celestial glow, stands crumbling under the impact of divine rays. This was no longer a tournament—it was an invasion.
The 10 survivors, still reeling from the trial of Egoism, found themselves at the heart of the storm. Gills, his arm bloodied, helped Orak to his feet, his red flames flickering under the angels' oppressive aura. "We need to organize!" he shouted, his voice barely cutting through the chaos. Orak, gravely wounded, his ice lance half-shattered, growled, "These pigeons… they're after the Crown!" A few meters away, Soehpt, in his hybrid Soehpt/Volgurax form, shielded Kira, his blue-and-black flames defying the radiant beams. "We can't let them have it!" he roared, his voice resonating with demonic power. Kira, her Cestus of Astrugg ablaze, nodded, her eyes gleaming with resolve. "We fight together, Soehpt!"
Nearby, Bhaadon, levitating with telekinesis, supported Solom, whose lightning crackled faintly. "These angels… they remind me of the ones who abandoned Iff," Bhaadon murmured, his voice trembling with rage. Solom, exhausted, clenched his fists. "Then we make them pay, Bhaadon!"
The Styx Reapers, fractured by betrayal, regrouped despite their rift. Tyrnat, injured but upright, summoned Nidhoss, the demonic serpent rising with a guttural roar. Yulius, his sword Massacre dripping with blood, fixed the angels with a cold stare. Nera, her shadow threads quivering, whispered, "If we want to survive, we put our differences aside… for now." Lastly, the masked warrior, clutching his bloody stump, gazed at the angels with icy intensity, his black rune-etched blade glinting. "You're too late…" he murmured, his deep voice a defiant echo.
The angels, led by an imposing figure, descended in formation, their spread wings casting golden shadows across the arena. At their head stood a Seraph, a majestic being with six wings of pure light, his armor adorned with celestial glyphs, a massive golden lance in his right hand. His eyes, a blazing blue, burned with divine wrath. This was Mikaël, the Seraph of Justice, known in the heavens as the Creator's right hand, who had once fought alongside the Chosen before his fall. "Damned creatures of the hells!" he thundered, his voice resonating like a heavenly choir. "This cursed tournament ends today! The Black Flames Crown will be destroyed, and your impure souls will be purified by the light!"
The survivors, now Grand Tyrans through the Ring of the Tyrant, felt their power surge. Gills raised his ring, and an ash hound bowed before him, ready to obey. "Attack!" he cried, unleashing a wave of red flames at a group of angels. Soehpt roared, his blue-and-black flames forming a shield around Kira, who charged, her Cestus of Astrugg shattering an angel's armor in a burst of light and fire. Orak, despite his wounds, summoned a frozen tempest, ice shards piercing an angel's wings, sending it crashing down. Bhaadon, levitating, hefted massive rocks with telekinesis, hurling them at the angels, while Solom dove, his lightning blasting multiple foes. Tyrnat commanded Nidhoss to charge, the serpent spewing corrosive venom, as Yulius and Nera combined their assaults—blood lances and shadow threads trapping an angel in a deadly web.
But the angels were relentless. Their golden spears fired beams of light that seared demonic flesh, and their wings whipped up gusts that repelled flames and shadows. An angel lunged at Soehpt, its spear aimed at his heart, but he dodged, his spectral fire wings propelling him skyward. "You'll pay!" he roared, unleashing a flame wave that consumed the angel, reducing it to golden ash. Kira, beside him, smashed another with a fiery punch, but a light beam struck her shoulder, forcing her back with a cry of pain. "Kira!" Soehpt shouted, stepping in front of her, his flames forming a protective wall.
Bhaadon and Solom, grappling with an angel squadron, fought for survival. Bhaadon, enraged, crushed an angel beneath a massive rock, but another struck his back with a light beam, dropping him to the ground. Solom dove, his lightning repelling the attacker, but their numbers overwhelmed them. "We won't hold much longer!" Solom cried, his voice shaking. Tyrnat, Yulius, and Nera, despite their coordination, were pushed back by a light wave, Nidhoss howling as a beam pierced its scales. Orak, alone, was hurled against a rock by an angel, his frozen tempest fading under the celestial glare.
At the arena's center, the masked warrior, despite his severed arm, faced an angel with contained fury. His black blade flashed, slicing off the angel's wing, sending it crashing down. But as he readied another strike, a light beam hit his chest, throwing him back. He rose, panting, his runes faintly glowing. "I won't fall… not yet…" he murmured, defiance in his voice.
Then Morningstar, the Fallen Seraph with six tenebrous wings, plunged into the fray, his shadow blade cleaving an angel with lethal precision. His black armor, etched with runes like the masked warrior's, glinted in the infernal flames. He turned toward the arena's center, where Mikaël, the Seraph of Justice, led the assault. Mikaël's eyes widened, a mix of shock and sorrow crossing his angelic face. "You!?" he exclaimed, his voice tolling like a bell. "The heavens' favored… you were the Chosen, the bringer of light, Lucifer! But since Father punished you, you consort with demons… What a fall, my brother…"
Morningstar, stoic, folded his arms, his rasping, ethereal voice echoing from beyond the grave. "Mikaël, what you don't know is that Father didn't punish me… He set me free. And now, I no longer bring light—I usher in the night!" He spread his six shadowy wings, their span casting a massive shadow over the arena, a pure darkness radiating from him. "Noctis Stigmata!" he roared, unleashing his signature strike. A swirling wave of shadows, streaked with scarlet runes, erupted from his blade, forming a vortex of darkness that engulfed everything in its path. Angels caught in the tempest screamed, their wings disintegrating, their armor melting like wax.
Mikaël, swift, raised his massive golden lance, summoning a shield of pure light. "Lumen Aegis!" he cried, a golden barrier absorbing part of Morningstar's assault, though the impact drove him back several meters, his wings trembling. "You may have forsaken the light, but I'll bring you to reason, Lucifer!" Mikaël roared, diving at Morningstar, his lance blazing like a sun. Morningstar dodged with supernatural agility, his shadow blade parrying in a burst of black-and-gold sparks. The two Seraphs clashed in a deadly dance, their strikes shaking the arena—beams of pure light against waves of darkness, golden lightning against swirling shadows. Each clash of their weapons sent shockwaves rippling outward, pushing back angels and demons alike.
The survivors, caught in the battle, fought for their lives. Gills, seizing an opening, unleashed a red flame wave, reducing an angel to ash, but another struck his back, dropping him to his knees. Orak lunged, his ice lance piercing the angel, though their strength waned. Soehpt and Kira, back-to-back, repelled an angel squadron, their combined flames forming a fiery wall, but the celestial light began to breach their defenses. Bhaadon, Solom, Tyrnat, Yulius, and Nera, despite their efforts, were overwhelmed, their infernal creatures falling one by one to angelic assaults.
Meanwhile, Natass Magna XIII, atop his floating platform, clutched the Black Flames Crown tightly, his eyes glinting with panic and malice. "These glowing pigeons won't get it!" he muttered, waving his cane to open an infernal portal. He dove through, the Crown pulsing with black-and-red energy in his grasp. The portal led to a sub-dimension of darkness and ash, but he didn't stop. He opened another, then another, traversing infernal realms—a bubbling lava lake, a forest of skeletal trees, a desert of black crystals—in a desperate flight from the angels.
Emerging in a dark cavern lit by luminescent crystals, he halted, eyes widening. Before him stood an imp mirroring his likeness in reverse. This imp wore an ivory suit embroidered with gold, an extra pair of wings adorning his back, and small round spectacles perched on his nose. "Fregass?!" Natass exclaimed, his voice quaking with surprise and irritation. "My brother… What's Satan's lapdog doing here?"
Fregass adjusted his glasses, a smug smile curling his lips. "He asked me to retrieve the Crown… naturally," he replied, his voice honeyed yet laced with subtle menace. He extended an ivory-gloved hand, his eyes gleaming with calculation. "So, Natass, will you hand it over willingly, or must I take it from you?"
Natass clutched the Crown tighter, his onyx horns glinting in the crystal light. "You want to play that game, huh?" he murmured, a Machiavellian grin spreading across his face. "Fine, little brother… let's see which of us is the cleverer."