"So, hearing all that," Grimm's voice cut through the oppressive heat of molten lava like a blade, his tone unhurried, his arrogance clear to all. His unreadable helmet tilted slightly as he stared down at the two luminous beings before him. "Do you have what it takes to fight me? This will be your last chance to surrender."
A tense smile still graced Lilith's face, but even a fool could see it was a farce. Her usual charm, that effortless confidence she wielded like a weapon, was now strained—barely holding beneath the weight of what stood before them. Her incandescent blue eyes flicked to Reylthorn.
Her younger brother stood beside her, unflinching, his regal robes billowing slightly from the distant tremors that still rattled the broken land. The deep wound Grimm had carved into his chest had long since mended, yet she could see it—the unease, the guarded way he held himself.
Lilith sighed, her lips pursing. "This is exactly why I didn't want you participating in these festivals," she murmured, the words leaving her like an exhausted whisper. "It was only a matter of time till we ran into someone like him."
Reylthorn scoffed, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off her words. "I don't want to hear you nagging, especially not now," he rebutted, his voice sharp with defiance. "I can handle myself."
Lilith's gaze lingered on him, her expression unreadable. He was young—too young for this. Yet braver than most. Lesser men would have faltered the moment they felt Grimm's presence, let alone suffered his blade. Yet Reylthorn stood, unyielding, despite knowing exactly what they were up against.
("Knowing my idiot of a sister, she probably wants me to forfeit,") Reylthorn thought bitterly, eyes narrowing as he stared at Grimm. ("She thinks she can handle this guy alone but…")
No. That wasn't an option.
They were not mere warriors, nor were they simple sorcerers. They wielded the dominion of space and time—not magic, but the very concept itself. They could rewrite the wounds inflicted upon them, reverse the destruction of their own forms with nothing more than a thought. It was their birthright, their inheritance. But even that power had limits.
They were not immune to Death.
And Grimm… Grimm reeked of it.
Among the Inheritors, only six could truly wield the raw authority of their God's chosen power—not through artificial mimicry, not through spells, but through pure, innate dominion. Lilith and Reylthorn had been fortunate enough to be among them, blessed with the mastery of space and time itself.
Yet, even as that power coursed through his veins, Reylthorn could feel it—doubt.
("We never had this much trouble with an opponent before.")
He exhaled sharply, fingers curling into fists. They still had cards left to play, but looking at Grimm, standing there so unmoved, so assured, so terrifyingly calm—every single one of their tactics suddenly felt worthless.
Grimm did not look like a general. He looked like a warlord.
No, worse.
A force of nature. A being that existed beyond the trivial concepts of war and battle. His blade, held with such casual lethality, seemed eager for violence. His stance spoke of infinite readiness, every muscle poised to strike at a moment's notice.
And that helmet. That damn helmet.
Its expressionless facade made it impossible to read him, to even get a sliver of understanding of his intent. Was he even taking this seriously?
Grimm twirled his blade effortlessly, the motion smooth yet filled with implied menace. "Is this festival really important enough for you to be throwing your lives away so freely?" His voice was indifferent, unimpressed. "You seem so adamant on fighting me."
Lilith tilted her head, her golden accessories catching the molten glow of the broken land. A smile, thin and sharpened, tugged at her lips. "You act as though the battle is already a foregone conclusion." Her voice carried a melodic lilt, but beneath it was steel. "I admit I was surprised—I did not expect someone from Vel'ryr to have such an ability. But you aren't conveniently forgetting that we've attacked only three times, are you?"
She let the words linger, allowing Grimm to process the implication.
They still had so much more.
Reylthorn parted his lips to add something, but his breath hitched.
"Uh, sis," he suddenly whispered, low and urgent.
Lilith blinked, turning her gaze to him. "What?"
"I can't use clairvoyance on him."
Lilith's smile froze. "...What do you mean?"
"He's...he's like Mikoto Yukio," Reylthorn murmured, his voice uncharacteristically shaken. "I can't get a grasp on his specific future. And by extension, ours in this battle. His destiny is a damn blur."
A rare curse left his lips, something he rarely did.
If the situation weren't so dire, Lilith might have chastised him. But now?
Now, she felt the same cold dread crawl down her spine.
("This is unexpected—another anomaly in this festival.")
It had been the same for Dante. His future was unreadable, a complete unknown. And now, standing before them, was a third anomaly.
Three warriors. Three unreadable fates.
For the first time since their transformation, Lilith felt something she loathed.
Uncertainty.
"It doesn't matter," she said finally, though the words felt forced even to her. "If clairvoyance was all we had to offer, we wouldn't be fighting in the first place."
Grimm's head tilted ever so slightly. "...Is that so?"
"It is." Lilith's voice turned cold, her eyes glinting like cut gemstones. "We'll ensure your Death at the very least."
A quiet promise. A vow.
"When Reylthorn and I fight together, there is no battle we cannot win."
Grimm remained still for a moment, his unreadable visage locked onto them. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he raised his blade and pointed it at them.
"I have defied Death more times than I can count," he intoned, his voice a low, weighty declaration. "I have fought beasts and men alike, and yet here I stand."
His grip on his blade tightened.
"I do not merely intend to live here and in the future." His tone darkened. "I aim to defy all that stands in my way."
A heartbeat passed.
"To defy that which is divine. That which is ordinary. And that which is Death."
His stance shifted.
"So come."
The words carried a quiet, deadly finality.
"Put forth your best effort. Anything less—"
The air grew heavy.
"...and you might die."
Reylthorn, despite the weight of the declaration pressing down on him, inhaled deeply, steadying his frenzied heart. His fingers curled into tight fists, his knuckles cracking from the pressure. He was well aware of what came next—the moment where everything would hinge on their combined precision and power. His eyes flickered with a resolve, and with a voice laced with unwavering certainty, he uttered a name:
"Ephemeral Eternis."
At once, an invisible force rippled outward, distorting the very fabric of reality itself. The world, in an instant, became eerily still. The heat of the lava ceased its flickering dance, frozen mid-motion. The loose embers hung suspended in the air, trapped in the weightless domain of halted time. The trembling of the earth silenced, the very concept of movement shackled by Reylthorn's invocation.
The sound of existence dulled into absolute nothingness.
Yet within that void of motionless eternity, Reylthorn and Lilith remained untouched by the stillness, their forms shimmering slightly as if time itself strained to hold them, but failed against their dominion. The world was theirs to command.
Lilith did not hesitate. She exhaled sharply as her shadow writhed unnaturally beneath her feet, stretching outward in jagged tendrils before unfurling into an abyssal expanse—an ocean of pure blackness speckled with stars. It was as if she had torn open the fabric of the universe itself, unveiling the endless void beyond the mortal realm. A vast, cosmic image manifested from the depths of her very essence, and from its darkness, something ancient and boundless emerged.
It surged toward Grimm, the formless night consuming the frozen battlefield as it raced to engulf him, swallowing even the molten rivers in its advance. The sheer speed of its expansion was instantaneous, inevitable. In a world where time no longer flowed, escape was an impossibility.
And yet—
Grimm moved.
Like an unshakable inevitability, his form vanished from where he stood, reappearing several meters away, outside the reach of the void's encroaching grasp. He landed with a dull thud on solid ground, his stance unshaken, his posture completely composed.
Lilith and Reylthorn's eyes widened.
"What?"
Lilith's control wavered for but a fraction of a second—just long enough for the celestial abyss to flicker and unravel, dissipating like smoke caught in a sudden gust of wind. The vast cosmic darkness shrank back into her shadow, dissolving as if it had never existed in the first place.
The attack had been undone.
The weight of realization set in. Their absolute control over time—the very foundation of their existence—had been rendered meaningless. The impossibility of it clawed at Lilith's mind, her heart pounding against her ribs. She could feel the sweat beginning to form on her palms, not from exertion, but from something far worse.
Fear.
Reylthorn's throat went dry, his voice hoarse with disbelief. "You—moved?"
Grimm, standing amidst the eerie stillness of the halted world, exuded not the slightest trace of concern. If anything, his presence felt even heavier, as though he had simply stepped outside the bounds of comprehension. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his helmeted gaze toward them, the darkened visor betraying nothing.
Then, with an almost casual tone, he answered,
"Of course."
Reylthorn gritted his teeth. "That—That shouldn't be possible! We stopped time! There is no movement! No cause, no effect! So tell me—" His voice sharpened, frustration slipping through. "How the hell are you moving?"
Grimm remained unbothered by his outrage. Instead, he lifted a single hand, tilting his wrist slightly as though inspecting the weight of his blade. His voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable gravity.
"You speak as though time is an absolute force," he mused, "as though the laws of this world remain unwavering, no matter what is imposed upon them."
His fingers curled around the hilt of his weapon as he slowly walked forward, every step impossibly deliberate—because in this frozen world, movement should not exist. And yet, he moved.
"But time is merely an expression of existence," he continued, his voice steady, unhurried. "It is not a singular concept, but a detailed construct built upon the fundamental elements of this universe. Do you truly believe that stopping 'time' in one layer of reality ceases all?"
Lilith's brows furrowed as a sickening feeling clawed at her mind. "What are you implying?"
Grimm finally stopped walking, his blade resting at his side. His next words carried a weight that pressed down upon them like the hand of an ancient, invisible force.
"I do not move within the time you've halted."
His head tilted ever so slightly.
"I move within the universe's will."
Grimm gestured to the world around them, where the frozen embers and lava remained perfectly still—yet he existed outside that stillness.
"Your power halts time in a localized framework, enforcing its laws within your domain," he explained, as if instructing a pupil rather than addressing enemies in battle. "But there exist forces beyond your dominion—fundamental, unyielding. The motion of celestial bodies, the expansion of space, the pulse of existence itself. Your ability grasps at time, but fails to clutch the underlying elements that compose it."
Reylthorn's hands clenched. "That's ridiculous. You're saying you—what? Tap into the very principles of the universe?"
Grimm inclined his head ever so slightly. "I do not tap into them. I am attuned to them. The moment your power sought to impose its will, I simply moved outside of what you could affect."
Lilith's fingers twitched at her sides, her mind racing. This wasn't mere arrogance—his words carried a terrifying truth. The implications ran deeper than she cared to admit.
("His power... isn't resisting our control over time.")
Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs.
("It doesn't need to.")
She exhaled sharply, her composure wavering for the first time since the battle began.
Grimm finally raised his weapon once more, the edge gleaming ominously beneath the motionless embers caught in the stagnant air.
"Come now," he intoned, his voice a low challenge. "Surely you did not expect this to be easy?"
Reylthorn exhaled, his eyes narrowing as he took a single step forward.
"Tenebris Aeon."
At once, reality resumed.
Their ability to stop time was useless here.
So Lilith wasted no time.
"The battle is far from over," she declared, her voice unwavering.
Without hesitation, she raised a single hand, and from the depths of her very being, she invoked a force that could crush mountains and ruptured the sky itself. The very air around her warped, a guttural vibration rattling through the battlefield as the unseen force took shape.
Gravity.
A force beyond comprehension descended upon the battlefield, targeting Grimm with absolute intensity. The weight of an entire celestial body condensed upon his form, a localized singularity in all but name. The land beneath Grimm imploded in an instant—rocks shrieked as they were compressed into dust, entire plateaus collapsed under the overwhelming force, and the once-molten fissures were pressed deep into the planet's crust. The devastation spread outward, a massive crater forming beneath him as the sheer pressure obliterated everything in a hundred-meter radius.
The very air itself crushed inward, forming an inverted shockwave that sent fragmented shards of the battlefield flying in all directions. The atmosphere screeched under the force, as though reality itself was protesting against the sheer density being inflicted upon it.
And yet—
Grimm walked.
Not stumbled. Not struggled. Not forced his way through.
He walked.
Through absolute, unparalleled gravity.
His movement was leisurely, almost disinterested. His sabatons touched down effortlessly upon terrain that should not have even existed, stepping through the collapsed space as though the very concept of weight was a mere suggestion.
Lilith's fingers twitched, her jaw tightening ever so slightly. That weight—it wasn't just meant to suppress him. It was meant to pulverize him. Yet he moved with the same ease as if strolling through an empty meadow.
Grimm tilted his head ever so slightly, as if he had already lost interest in the display.
Reylthorn, however, was already in motion. His eyes burned with brilliance as he raised both hands skyward, his fingers trembling from the sheer concentration required for the power he was about to unleash.
The very heavens responded to his call.
A roar of raw, celestial energy surged through the battlefield, the sky itself splitting apart as a torrent of pure, unfiltered destruction coalesced between it. It was not elemental, not magical—it was the very essence of force itself, a wave of energy that held no mercy, no limitation, no purpose other than absolute devastation.
The atmosphere shattered as the celestial wave erupted forward, consuming everything in its wake. The land rippled violently, entire structures were reduced to nothingness, the very fabric of space burned away as the energy carved a path of obliteration across the battlefield. The force alone uprooted the entire terrain, a colossal shockwave expanding outward with such force that even the distant landscape suffered its wrath.
It was pure annihilation, raw and untamed.
And then—
A single cleave.
Grimm's blade descended.
One stroke. One effortless, dismissive motion.
The celestial wave—a force capable of rending continents—was split in two.
The raw energy was bisected cleanly, the halves of the devastation veering harmlessly away from Grimm's form, their power dispersing into the distant horizon as if they had never been unleashed at all. The battlefield, however, suffered. The already-scarred land had been gouged apart beyond recognition, the very earth trembling beneath the aftershock of such catastrophic forces clashing.
Grimm lowered his blade, his stance unbothered, his presence untouched. He exhaled, a soundless gesture beneath his helmet.
Then, with a voice laced with almost mocking amusement, he spoke:
"Very well."
He tilted his weapon ever so slightly, his grip as relaxed as ever.
"I shall take it easy on you both."
The declaration hung heavy in the air.
And then—
"I shall only use basic elements."
The air stilled.
Lilith's pulse quickened, her instincts screaming at her. Reylthorn's breathing became measured, his mind already racing to counter whatever was to come.
Because if what Grimm had just demonstrated was not 'basic' to him…
Then—
He snapped his fingers.
A sound so simple, so utterly insignificant in its casualness, yet it sent an unseen tremor rippling through the area. It was not a grand incantation, nor an elaborate gesture—it was effortless, dismissive, a mere whim given form. And the world obeyed.
Above.
From the torn, blackened heavens, an immense pillar of white fire descended.
It did not merely fall—it plummeted, an unforgiving lance of incandescent destruction, surging downward like divine punishment unleashed upon the earth. The sky itself seemed to rupture as it was consumed by the radiant blaze, the sheer intensity of the descending inferno eradicating all color from the world. It was a pristine white, untainted by any other hue, yet there was something utterly nightmarish about its purity. It was not a flame born from nature. It was not fire as it was meant to exist.
It was an element so absolute, so refined, that even reality itself seemed to recoil from its presence.
The atmosphere detonated the moment the pillar of fire began its descent, an all-consuming shockwave tearing through the battlefield. The land below fractured instantly, entire rock formations and remnants of mountains collapsing as the sheer gravitational force of the flames' approach compressed the world beneath it. Rivers of molten rock were forcibly ejected from the deep fissures of the shattered terrain, their red-hot currents snaking wildly through the broken land, now twisting and coiling like panicked serpents.
The temperature—
The very air ignited.
The battlefield boiled. The surrounding land, already reduced to scorched ruin, began to liquefy, the stones and debris melting into a blinding lake of searing gold. The oppressive pressure from the descending fire drove everything downward, forcing even the air itself to collapse under its might. The sky groaned. The distant horizon blurred, unable to contain the magnitude of destruction taking place.
And then the fire hit.
The moment of impact was catastrophic beyond reckoning.
The collision was not an explosion—it was an eradication.
The ground did not shatter—it was annihilated.
The instant the pillar of flames struck, a maelstrom of destruction erupted outward in a deafening, calamitous howl, sending colossal, searing shockwaves hurtling across the land. Entire miles of terrain were obliterated in an instant, the sheer impact force alone reducing all structures, rock formations, and broken remnants of the battlefield into nothingness.
The earth was no longer solid.
It had become a superheated storm of obliterated matter, swirling violently beneath the colossal column of white inferno. The remaining fragments of stone, metal, and reality itself were converted into raw energy, vaporized into formless objects.
Lilith had acted in that single instant.
Before the flames fully consumed them.
She lunged forward, grabbing Reylthorn without hesitation, pulling him in close as she raised both hands skyward.
A colossal dome of translucent darkness erupted to life around them, a titanic sphere of defensive power forged in absolute desperation. The barrier surged outward with blinding speed, its edges pulsating as it fought to hold against the wrath of Grimm's attack.
The flames struck.
And the world screamed.
The barrier buckled instantly, the sheer force of the impact sending earthquakes rippling outward, causing entire plateaus to collapse beneath the weight of destruction. The ground outside the barrier did not merely break—it was erased, crumbling away into nothingness as the surrounding landscape ceased to exist.
Inside the barrier—
Lilith's body trembled violently.
The pressure from the impact was unbearable.
The sheer weight of the flames pressed against her shield like an unstoppable tidal wave, forcing her to her knees. The heat—it was not mere fire. It was a devouring force, one that sought to consume all it touched. Her bones groaned under the immense strain, her very skin blistering from the overwhelming temperature despite the protection of the barrier.
Her hands, still raised, shook uncontrollably. Sweat evaporated the instant it formed, her lungs burned from the mere act of breathing.
Reylthorn, still held close within her grasp, looked at her—
And for the first time in the battle, his expression faltered.
"Lilith…" His voice, usually steady, carried an edge of genuine concern.
The barrier cracked.
A single, thin fracture snaked across its surface, spreading outward like a curse.
Lilith clenched her teeth. ("No. Not yet. Not here. I-I won't falter with Reylthorn here!")
She would not fall.
She would not break.
And yet—her strength was slipping.
The flames continued pressing downward, their destructive will absolute, their hunger unrelenting. The once-impenetrable barrier was splintering, its integrity failing beneath the sheer colossal weight of the onslaught.
Another crack.
Then another.
The dome trembled, flickering, pulsing erratically. The sheer pressure was too much.
However before the destruction engulfed them—
A sound.
Soft. Ethereal.
A delicate, melodic resonance that should not have existed amidst the carnage.
The sound of a harp.
The gentle, resonant plucking of strings, distant yet piercing through the destruction like a light through absolute darkness. It was an impossibility, a sound so beautiful, so out of place in this infernal battleground, and yet—
It reached them.
Lilith's body surged with newfound power.
Strength beyond reason flooded her limbs, her once-exhausted muscles renewed with unstoppable vigor. The pain, the heat, the suffocating weight of Grimm's hellfire—all of it was overpowered in an instant.
Her blue eyes ignited, blazing with unbreakable will.
With a single, resounding roar, she thrust her arms forward—
And a titanic shockwave erupted from her form.
A pure, untamed wave of force surged outward, clashing violently against the descending inferno with enough power to send tectonic plates trembling.
The flames, once insurmountable, were pushed back.
The white fire, which had once been an unstoppable force of annihilation, was repelled—hurled back into the heavens from whence it came. The barrier held—no, it did more than hold. It expanded outward, forcing the residual fire to scatter like dying embers.
They had survived.
Lilith and Reylthorn, still catching their breath, slowly turned—
Their eyes locking onto the one who had aided them.
And beyond the fading embers, there she was—
A voice—soft yet resonant, uncertain yet filled with an undeniable warmth—rose through the aftermath of cataclysm.
"S-Sorry I was so late..."
The words drifted forth, almost meek in contrast to the carnage that had unfolded mere seconds ago, yet the presence behind them was anything but fragile.
Isabella hovered above the battlefield, her divine form outlined against the charred, ashen sky, the air still simmering with residual heat from the cataclysmic onslaught. Her enormous golden harp was held firmly in her grasp, its strings still humming with resonance. Her vibrant white garments billowed violently in the wake of destruction, their golden trimmings catching the harsh light of molten debris, flickering like liquid sunlight.
The way she floated—weightless, graceful, yet ever so slightly unsure—made it painfully clear she hadn't expected to stumble into such sheer annihilation.
"I was following Lady Lyra," she admitted, her soft voice tinged with sheepishness, eyes darting toward the shifting ruins beneath her. "But... I lost track of her." Her gaze flickered over to the two siblings before finally settling on the titanic presence that loomed beyond them.
And there he stood—
Grimm.
Utterly unbothered.
Despite everything—the sheer destruction he had wrought, the force of an entire battlefield shattered beneath his feet, the cataclysm he had summoned with a mere snap of his fingers—he stood there, untouched.
The very ground beneath him had ceased to exist, replaced by a swirling vortex of ashen winds and molten rock, yet his presence remained absolute, his posture as nonchalant as if he were merely watching the clouds roll by. The searing radiance of his own white flames flickered faintly around him, casting elongated shadows that curled unnaturally.
The weight of his gaze alone sent an unshakable chill racing down Isabella's spine.
But she refused to flinch.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, her fingers tightening around her harp.
Reylthorn, however, was far less impressed.
"Of all the people who could've saved us..." he exhaled sharply, dragging a weary hand down his face. His voice, laced with equal parts relief and sheer exasperation, trembled on the edge of outright disbelief.
"...it was a novice like you?"
A sharp, resounding slap echoed through the battlefield as Lilith—without hesitation—smacked her younger brother directly on the back of the head.
Hard.
Reylthorn stumbled forward slightly, clutching his skull as if she had just caved in part of his existence.
"OW—WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!"
Lilith shot him a withering glare, her sharp blue eyes gleaming dangerously.
"Now's not the time to be a brat." Her voice was sharp, chiding yet commanding. "If she hadn't shown up, we'd be dust right now. So show some gratitude before I plant you into what's left of the ground."
Reylthorn scowled, rubbing the growing welt on his head, but wisely held his tongue.
Isabella, meanwhile, nodded softly, floating toward them.
"I never expected the two of you to struggle so much..." she murmured, eyes flickering between them before trailing back to Grimm's form. The sheer immensity of his presence—his aura, his stillness, the way reality itself seemed to bow to his existence—sent a wave of unease crawling up her spine. He wasn't just strong. He was something else entirely. ("An existence like that Ancestor. I recall seeing him in Vel'ryr.")
Lilith inhaled deeply before speaking, her voice grim, uncharacteristically heavy.
"Isabella... since this is your first festival, I need to tell you something."
The seriousness in her tone was palpable, enough that it stopped Isabella cold. Lilith was always confident. Always. Even in battle, she held herself with an air of untouchable certainty, as if she had already mapped out every possible future and prepared accordingly.
Yet now—
Now, she looked tense.
Her stance was rigid.
Her fingers curled, ever so slightly, as if bracing for something inescapable.
"This man," she continued, her gaze never once breaking from Grimm's towering form, "will not hesitate."
Lilith exhaled.
"He will aim to kill us."
The words hung in the air like a funeral bell.
She broke.
It was subtle, but Isabella saw it—the slight tremor in Lilith's fingers, the stiffness in her shoulders, the unspoken weight pressing against her lungs.
Lilith. Afraid.
"If you want to back out," she said, her voice quieter now, almost pleading, "do it now."
Isabella's heartbeat pounded.
There was a moment—just a moment—where she felt the urge to hesitate, to consider the reality of the situation, to grasp just how overwhelmingly outmatched they were.
And then she crushed that hesitation beneath her heel.
"No."
The defiance in her voice was immediate, unwavering.
Reylthorn and Lilith blinked.
Isabella's grip on her harp tightened, the strings shimmering with power.
"I've been running away too much," she admitted, her gaze burning with something raw, unyielding. "And I refuse to keep doing it."
Her voice rose—not in desperation, but in conviction.
"This won't be the first time I've faced death."
A sudden gust of wind swept outward from her form, sending embers spiraling around her in a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow.
"So please—" Her voice softened, but her resolve did not.
"—be at ease. I will do my best to support you."
A tense silence followed.
Then—
Lilith smiled.
It wasn't just gratitude—it was relief.
"Very well," she finally said, nodding, her earlier tension melting into something far stronger—something akin to camaraderie.
"Then please, lend us your power, Isabella."
The three Inheritors stood together.
Across from them, Grimm chuckled.
A low, amused sound, "Oh?" He tilted his head, resting one hand lazily on the hilt of his sword. "A trio now, is it?"
The space around him shivered, his very presence causing the air to fracture.
"Very well, then."
He hummed.
"Try to entertain me a little longer."