The final battle between Myrddin Wyllt, the Last Magus Emperor, and the Demon Emperor was a cataclysmic clash that shook the very foundation of the world.
Myrddin stood tall, his brown melanin-rich skin gleaming in the harsh light of battle, his long mane of dreadlocks flowing like lightning itself. His piercing eyes burned with the intensity of a man whose soul had been honed by centuries of struggle and survival. He wielded his rune-covered sword with unmatched precision, the blade crackling with pure Lightning Magic as it hummed with his immense power, drawn from his perfected 9th Circle Emperor realm mana core. The air around him shimmered as arcs of raw electricity danced, reflecting his unyielding determination to protect his people.
Opposite him stood the Demon Emperor, his pale skin almost translucent, a grotesque contrast to the vibrant energy Myrddin commanded. Snow-white hair cascaded from his head, framing his blood-red eyes that seemed to drink in the very essence of darkness. The two black horns on his forehead twisted like menacing symbols of his demonic heritage, and his blood-red sword pulsed with the twisted, corrupt power of his dark mana core. He stood at the pinnacle of the Meridian realm, his body refinement an embodiment of sheer physical might, his every movement a symbol of raw, unrestrained power.
As their blades met, the world trembled. Myrddin's lightning crackled against the Demon Emperor's sword, and the sound of their clash reverberated across the heavens. Each strike was a thunderous shockwave, each spell a destruction of the very air. The battle was not just a contest of strength, but of wills. Myrddin fought not only for his life but for the survival of his people, while the Demon Emperor sought to stamp out the last remnants of human resistance.
The battle stretched on, neither willing to yield. However, Myrddin knew that to defeat the Demon Emperor, he would need to do more than overpower him—he had to seal the Demon Emperor's spirit, to sever the very source of his power. But in doing so, Myrddin took a fatal blow. His sword, infused with the power of his lightning, struck deep into the Demon Emperor's chest, but not before the Demon Emperor's blade found its mark. The slash was deep, the wound mortal, and Myrddin's vision blurred as he staggered, unable to fight off the crippling pain.
With his final act of will, Myrddin summoned a sealing ritual so potent that it ripped through space itself. The Demon Emperor's spirit was imprisoned within a binding force that shattered his body, but the price was steep—Myrddin's own life force was extinguished in the process.
As Myrddin fell, powerless, the earth beneath them began to crack and split. The southern continent, where his people had long thrived, began to break away from the northern lands, drifting slowly into the sea, torn asunder by the immense forces at play. The sky above rained down debris as the land split, and Myrddin, with his final breath, watched helplessly as the southern half of the continent—his people's homeland—drifted into the hands of the Demon race. His dreadlocked kin, the Melinated people, were now trapped in a realm of darkness, surrounded by the demonic forces they had fought so hard to overcome.
In his dying moments, Myrddin's eyes flickered with regret, but also with resolve. His people would survive. He had ensured their spirit would not be crushed. Though he could not protect them in life, his sacrifice would inspire generations to come. The battle had ended, but the war for his people's survival was far from over.