The battlefield raged on, chaos spreading as the beasts aligned with Empyrean, leaving the seraphs no time to ponder the how or why. There was no room for strategy now—only survival and action as they fought to best their feral adversaries.
Amid the turmoil, on a plateau stained with blood and scorched earth, two figures stood locked in a deadly confrontation. One of them, Val Skyblade, coughed violently, crimson staining his lips. His grip tightened on the hilt of his massive sword, its edge shimmering faintly with divine light.
"Incredible," he rasped, his breath labored but his spirit unbroken. "To think someone like you exists! A mortal who could stand against me..."
