Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sun in the horizon burned, streaks of orange light defining the world with shadows and sharpness. In the top of a mountain, in the warmth of a boulder, a slender body danced. Its hair shifted violently between blonde and ebony, two twin suns alternating as crowns of the forehead in the same vicious succession.

The wind split with light and shadow. Two souls. One body. Fighting for dominance in a silent battle.

“Brother Lucius… I can’t let you take control of me,” Julius gasped, blood running from his nose, his hair flashing gold and black. “I’ve seen the future you aim to create, and I reject it.”

Lucius’ voice thundered from their shared throat, calm yet burning. “Our contract with Astaroth was meant to benefit us both. I had hoped you would stop your theatrics and accept my guidance. Together, we could save them.”

“Save them?!” Julius spat, his blood hot. “Why do they have to die to become perfect? Aren’t they perfect as they are!?”

Lucius’ eyes glowed red for a second, madness in their depths. “The greed in their hearts will poison them forever. But I can erase it. Make them pure. Loving. Powerful. Free of envy and despair. No more hunger, no more discrimination, no more suffering. A world with no false rulers, no peasants, no divisions. Only peace.”

Julius’ hands shook as his control struggled, but his voice rose, fierce and confident like a king. “And what about their choices? Their flawed, messy, beautiful lives? The unique magics born of struggle? The thrill of battle, the ache of heartbreak, the joy of love? Pain and sorrow give meaning to happiness! Without them, there is no humanity!”

“You don’t understand, Julius,” Lucius snarled, clutching their shared chest. “The world is not ready to change!”

“Then I’ll make it ready!” Julius slammed both hands into the ground, and ancient runes began blazing beneath them with a golden glow, tearing the earth apart with each one of them. “Even if I have to die!”

Lucius’ fury cracked through their veins. “You’ve seen the same future I have! Stop this meaningless thrashing and join me! Even if you seal me now, I won’t die, I will still get my way… but you… you will suffer!”

The dark haired twin tore their throat in rage, eyes small and twitching. “You will lose your magic, your memories, everything that makes you whole. You will be alone!”

Julius ground his teeth, light pouring from his body into the runes like a star about to collapse. “Then so be it. If that's is the price, I’ll pay it! Better to stand alone and broken in truth than with you in a lie!”

Lucius screamed, voice shaking with rage and betrayal. “You fool! You betray me, you betray our family, you even betray God! We Zogratis were chosen! Our Life magic was meant to rebuild the world, to perfect it! By trading your magic for my isolation, you deprive the world of our blessing!”

His words broke into a fevered cry, red eyes blazing wildly in denial. “Life itself is incomplete without connection!”

The word seared through Julius’ heart like a curse and a revelation all at once. But he did not falter. He stood tall, shaking as the runes raised from the ground and surrounded him, a gyroscope of an offering.

“I will do anything, Lucius. Even forget who I am. Even forget my own dreams. All to change the future in ways you cannot see… to make sure you fall, when the world is ready.” His body collapsed to one knee, runes closing into him, burning through flesh and soul.

The wind picked up, violently ruffling their shifting hair.

Julius' heart overflowed with fear, his body shook as the runes shackled them down. This was not a fight for himself or his future. Long ago he'd decided that the only life worth living was the one where everybody got to be free, even at the expense of his own life. It was his duty as a mage to stop his beloved brother, the closest friend he had, his confidante —his literal twin soul. For all those who lived, for those who had died fighting for a better world, for those yet to live, to love!

He had no choice. He looked at the nascent stars in the sky, the golden threads of the world that held the fabric of life together. The beautiful magics that had originated from imperfect being. A part of nature, flawed as they were.

“Let this be my last promise, brother…” His voice cracked as tears carved down his face. “Next time we meet like this… you will die. And I will kill you myself.”

The sealing rune consumed them, swallowing Lucius’ scream as Astaroth’s whisper slithered in like a shadow. The runes were a command, older than time, stronger than it. The black figure manifested and its darkness swallowed the world.

«As you wish, my host.»

The trade was done.

The sky itself shattered. Stars fell, storms raged, the earth cracked open. And in that cataclysm, one soul got sealed away by his twin —and another gave himself to the Devil of Time.

Julius woke to the sound of soft breeze and the faint smell of steel and lilac. He sat upright, disoriented, pain humming behind his eyes. The sheets under his palms were soft, yet his body felt wrong, too light and too heavy at once. Every muscle screamed as he moved.

All he could remember was a dark silhouette eclipsing the sunset, and a pain that had teared his chest in half. He pressed his palm to his forehead, trying to blink away a pressure that consumed his thoughts. He grunted, noticing how most of his body was bandaged, his neck and chest particularly tender to the touch.

“What… happened? Where am I?” he wondered out loud, confused to be in a luxurious room. Bright afternoon light shone through a lace curtain, reflecting softly on the marbled floors. It was not necessarily big, but it was well equipped: a desk with a chair, a wardrobe, a pair of fine nightstands, and an armchair to the side of the bed. At the right part of the room, near the window, there was a wooden door… open.

“Hey! You’re awake?”

A young woman with silver hair stood in the doorway, studying him intensively. Her white and pink robes were luxurious and loose, framed with a delicate grimoire belt, all decorated with a silver cross blazon. Maybe a royal? Julius thought, tilting his head with curiosity —which made his neck hurt sharply, and he closed his eyes in pain for a second.

“Hi… who are you?” Julius asked after recovering, his voice rasping. He must had been gone a long time. A child peeked shyly from behind the woman hip, wide pink eyes.

“Oh! Sorry. I’m Acier, House Silva, Clover Kingdom.” She smiled, stepping closer. Her daughter moved her little arms up for her to lift her, following her closely. She took the toddler and sat on the chair next to the bed.

So she was a high ranking noble or royal, from the Clover Kingdom. The words felt familiar but distant. Julius searched his mind. He knew facts —fragments about magic, about science— but his own life was a blur. Names, faces, even the nature of his magic…it all hurt to touch.

“I… think I don’t remember much after my… accident,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” Acier said gently, bouncing the baby in her arms. “It was a massive explosion. I’ve never seen so much mana in one place. Sincerely, I’m surprised you’re alive.”

The small girl tugged at her mother’s clothes and pouted; Acier chuckled and set her on the floor.

“Were you fighting someone?” she asked curious, eyes narrowing.

“I believe… but I can’t remember a thing.”

The woman huffed. “And do you at least remember your name?”

For a heartbeat, golden letters shimmered in the void of his mind —a promise, or a cover.

“Julius. Julius Novachrono… I think.”

Acier tilted her head. “That’s a noble name. Well, we’ll have someone look into it. For now, dinner will be in thirty minutes, downstairs. For your peace of mind, I didn’t find any other mana signatures nearby.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “I’m curious what you were doing in the middle of a Grand Mana Zone, but I don’t think we’ll get answers right now.”

Julius hesitated, feeling anxious for a moment. His instincts told him he was safe, that he should trust this woman that had apparently rescued and taken care of him, after the incident. “Why are you helping me?”

Something in Acier’s eyes flickered —a shadow of the great warrior she was. “Because you’re strong… And animals like you,” she said at last with a small smile. “You have a brave soul. Surely you’d make a great knight.”

“A knight…”

“Yeah. I’m the Captain of the Silver Eagles Squad. You’d pass the exam easily.”

She left without another word, following her baby. He sat, confused, looking at his bandaged hands. Julius Novachrono… is that really who he was? What happened to him? And why… was he there?

An strange feeling reined in his chest along with his pain, like there was an important part of him missing. Could it be just forgotten memories? Had he lost someone? Was he from another land? Who was he fighting? There was no use in drowning himself with doubts in the moment, and he could only hope to regain his memories soon.

Later, in the dining room, Mr. Silva sipped from a silver goblet. “Novachrono, you say? I recall a noble merchant of that name. Lives on the edge of the Noble Realm. Had a son who went to Spade for business…” He shrugged. “Tomorrow we could take you to a nearby town so you can contact them.”

Spade Kingdom… no, it did not ring his memory. He sighed, grateful for the information at last.

“You’ve all been very welcoming,” Julius said, bowing his head slightly. “I’m beyond grateful for your kindness.”

“You know what would be a really cool repay?” Acier grinned, putting her cutlery down. “That you trained with me.”

Her father scoffed fondly behind his napkin. “Dearest Acier, the young man has just recovered from a grave injury…”

“It’s alright, sir.” Julius interrupted, the thrill of battle calling in his veins. Interesting. “I feel well enough. And it might be useful since I can’t remember much about my magic at all.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, young man,” Mr. Silva said, but there was a spark of amusement in his eyes.

That evening, in the secluded training grounds, Acier stood clad in steel armor, her aura sharp like a blade. Julius, confused but determined, stared at his grimoire —a strange, coverless book hovering in the air, spinning slowly. No spine. No seal. Just pages of shifting words.

“What an interesting grimoire you have! Let's see what it can do!”

The Steel War Princess jumped, her lance directly towards him.

He managed to catch her once with Chronostasis before the time bubble shattered. Even with increased speed, she was still faster. Sweat ran down his temples as he tried new variations —accelerating his body and slowing his surroundings, feeling for something deeper in the magic he’d forgotten.

“Oh! A mana zone spell,” Acier called, making a thousand steel feathers rain across the arena. “You’re mightier than I thought!”

What the hell was a mana zone? He had no idea. But it felt right, letting him sense the flow of her steel magic, the subtle flickers of mana before she bolted. It allowed him to predict her spells to a degree, freezing feathers midair with ease. Still, he couldn’t reach her.

He collapsed, breathless, as he stopped the last of the silver lances she had sent on his way. In the background, two kids cheered for her mom, and the old Silva grandfather laughed freely.

“I’m sorry,” he called out as she approached. He looked up from the ground, sweat dripping down his shin, “I didn’t want to use certain spells on you.”

“You held back?” She laughed sharply, extending a hand. “I was just starting to have fun!”

Julius took her hand, still covered in steel gauntlets. He hadn't had much time to understand deeply the mechanisms of his time magic, but the doubts he had were not light for him to go over blindly.

“It appears my magic steals time from people. I’d rather not test that on you…” His gaze flicked to the two children smiling and waving at them.

“Animals weren’t wrong,” Acier said softly, her armor vanishing. “You’re kind of heart. I look forward to seeing you in a magic squad, Julius Novachrono.”

She had absolutely no doubt in her words. He nodded, unsure. Magic knight… didn't hurt to try, right?

Time passed. Julius joined the Grey Deer. He rose in rank. Met Zora, a Knight that had taught him the value of not giving up, that had given him a purpose in life. He then met Conrad, and latter William and Yami. He became Captain. Then Wizard King. Mentored countless knights. Built a family of friends, comrades, mentees, and mascots.

Even if he never got his memories back, he had a fulfilling life.

But the void in his heart never faded.

Some nights, when dreams slipped through the cracks, a voice echoed like a distant bell:

“Just wait, Julius. Soon my plan will take place, and I’ll free you from your burden, brother. I’ll create a new world where you don’t have to suffer…”

He would wake with an ache in his chest and no memory of why.

That changed the day when Damnatio had gone to his office to inform him of the findings of his research… the only one, ever, in the registry of Clover Kingdom, to have Time Magic… was the Supreme Devil Astaroth. Grand Duke of Hell. One of the rules of the Underworld. That meant… he had to be Astaroth's host.

«That's correct.»

The shackles broke. His heart skipped a beat.

Time stilled.

His soul screamed as another took control of his body, of his magic, of his will.

“Brother dearest… It's time for the world to witness the true power of humankind.”

The last thing he saw was Lucius consuming Lucifero's heart.

Chapter Text

A white, endless void. Emptiness so vast space and time had no meaning.

A soul, trapped by magic, watching the nightmare his own hands were committing. Violence, crude, untamed, cruel to its limits. Lucius, reviving the dead from their peaceful rest to have their own families fight them. Destroying the city and killing wizards. He saw it all thought the other's eyes in a blurry image, which got him wondering…

Where was he?

Was he alive?

Julius could not open his eyes fully… If he was alive, why?

It made no sense.

But there, stripped of everything, he felt something he had not in years… but he could not name it. Like he had just woken up from a long dream. Like the pieces of his being, scattered and blurred for so long, clicked into place. His old memories hovered just beyond reach, as words caught on the tip of his tongue.

And yet that idea of possible completeness burned against something darker: guilt, raw and suffocating. Pain so dense it swallowed him from the inside.

Because he knew the truth now.

There had always been another soul inside his body. His twin. Lucius. The self-proclaimed savior who would kill the world to build his “paradise.” A false messiah dressed in God’s name. And Julius —Julius— had been the vessel that let him hide in plain sight.

Worse still… the Dark Triad. Dante, Vanica, Zenon. Not just villains, not just hosts of devils of the top of the Qlithoph —his siblings. Zogratis blood, the same as his. The ones who had razed the Spade Kingdom, murdered his knights, kidnapped Yami and William. The ones who had taken countless lives… and they were his family.

His breath caught, sharp and ragged. His heart slammed against his ribs. He could feel Lucius’ grip around his soul, cold fingers pressing down on his mind, choking him with every stolen life. Each scream, each death, pressed into him until he could hardly think.

Damnatio. Sister Lily. Turned into Paladins.
Morgen. Acier. Even Moris. Revived, twisted to Paladins too, forced to fight their own loved ones.

And Julius, the Wizard King, the alleged protector… couldn’t stop it.

He was completely at the mercy of his maniac twin.

Why, why bother letting him live if Lucius purpose was killing everyone to create his pretended paradise, to make them all born anew as his puppets. It was sickening, really. A heart ache so great it ground him to that void, a constant current of guilt and pain. An anchor to a place that did not exist.

And yet… there was that something different in him. Under the influence of the curse, little could he do to study himself, groaning in pain just laying in the blankness.

Outside, his brave warriors fought Lucius cruelty with courage, giving their lives in battle to stop the tyrant Lucius had revealed himself to be. Noelle, the youngest of the Silvas, facing her own manipulated mother in a deadly dance, tide and steel clashing. Mereoleona and the Crimson Lions standing against Paladin Morris, their bodies crumbling to pieces with each hit, but their pride kept them strong even if they knew death was the outcome. Yami, fighting ghosts from his past alone as Paladin Morgen dared him, light against dark, hope versus faith. Yuno, carrying the responsibility of all lives in the capital, countering lethal time magic, giving it all confronting one of Lucius copies… Each Knight, each Captain, fighting to protect the kingdom.

But Asta… where was Asta? And the Black Bulls? Even Dorothy was out of the picture, Kirsh having taken her place in battle. Were they dead? Unlikely, since the Captain of the Coral Peacocks could easily be away using Glamour World; and the Black Bulls were one of the toughest squads. He wondered if Lucius had played another dirty move on the Bulls, but his intuition told him he was missing something else entirely. Ah, but his head hurt intensively, as he actively fought Lucius.

The truth was there at his reach. He could not stay arms crossed as the whole kingdom tried to defeat the alleged savior his brother was playing to be.

Yami clashed with Paladin Morgen, his blade heavy and his breathing ragged. Two friends once close as brothers locked in a duel that shook the very ground beneath them. Each strike sang with grief. Each blow carried years of sorrow resurfacing. And yet, Yami concluded, this was no Morgen. The kind knight would have never said nor done such atrocities… he'd taken Jack's life like he'd meant nothing. He could not let Lucius keep the souls of the innocent, he had to fight!

And above the ruined capital of the Clover Kingdom, after long and tiring minutes, Yuno had struck down Lucius —only for another to rise from the dust. Then dozens of Lucius copies appeared at once, scattering across the battlefield as fragments of the capital began to drift upwards, suspended by the unnatural mana they oozed.

Despair crept in… Until Marx’s voice echoed through the communication spell, trembling but steady.

He told them the truth. The enemy had stolen the Wizard King’s body —that the man they once trusted was imprisoned within Lucius Zogratis. Hopefully alive. He told them that the Captains and Magic Knights still fought, defying fate itself for the chance to save their world.

Then Mimosa’s voice joined his. She told the citizens that Yuno and the Captains were holding the line, that though their city was crumbling and their knights bloodied, they were still alive.

(… Except Jack, but that truth could wait.)

She told them to fight back, to protect one another, to keep believing in Clover’s light.

And so they did.

Yuno, Yami, Kaiser, Charlotte, William —every Captain, every knight. They fought through exhaustion, pain, and despair. But the balance began to tip when help arrived.

The Black Bulls, cloaked in shared Anti-Magic, stronger than ever, descended from a portal like dark stars. Beside them came the witches, and a warrior girl from a faraway land; each burning with purpose.

Asta met Lucius’s gaze. And with a single, defiant strike, sent the so-called savior crashing towards a building.

Now he and Yuno fought back to back against a horde of Lucius copies. Nacht and Ichika rushed to Yami’s side; Nacht to confront his fallen brother, and Ichika to push a Kijin pill into Yami’s hand, her silent faith burning brighter than her words.

All across the field, the Bulls had gone wild: tearing through guardian angels, even facing Lucius clones head-on. Magna and Luck fought closely as one, bound by the Soul Chain Death Match, their spirits blazing in sync.

For a moment, it all seemed to be working out. The air filled with hope, expectant eyes of the citizens watching the battle. And yet, grief lingered among the wariors. The unbearable weight of fighting mages who wore the faces of their heroes. Of their friends. Of their family. Of their Wizard King.

That fragile hope shattered when the Qliphoth Tree rose, purified and gleaming, its roots of light spreading through the heavens and dragging the ruins of the Noble Realm and Royal Capital into the air.

Asta’s voice rang clear across the storm.

“Yuno! Lucius foresaw only two who could defeat him —me, and you!”

The final copies surged forward, a storm of magic converging on the foster brothers. But the Black Bulls appeared to help them, blazing anti-magic, smiles on their faces.

“Asta, you’re always one step ahead! Leave this to us!” Finral shouted, using Fallen Angel Flapping to send magic beams and shots away.

“Go get him!” Magna seconded, jumping among rubble to dive towards a Lucius while Luck did the same from the other side. Asta let his gaze wonder through his found family, fondly taking their battle ready faces as he nodded. This was their time to shine, too.

Then, the two strongest knights exchanged a single look —a promise that resurfaced through every battle they’d shared— and vanished, streaks of green and black cutting towards the top of the Tree.

The real battle was about to begin.

Lucius stared as the foster brothers expertly dodged each blow from his clones. Mana loved Yuno, while it completely ignored Asta. He'd known that Yuno was one of the toughest opponents he would face in his feat to make the world better, but this —he had not expected it. He wielded two grimories. He had the Spirit of the Wind, which was also highly attuned with him, demonstrated with the level of spiritual connection they shared. Years of training and crude battles must have made him stronger and harder to defeat.

All because of that imperfection.

In every future he had seen, Asta had never existed. A blind spot. A variable that defied the order of his paradise. And now, here he stood: a void in mana’s embrace, a contradiction made flesh.

Lucius inhaled slowly, steadying his pulse. No matter. His perfect world would come to pass. Every anomaly, every rebel soul would eventually find salvation in his light. He had prepared for every possibility.

...Almost every.

Somewhere deep within the shared vessel, he could still feel Julius struggling. A faint, flickering resistance pressing against his will. The faintest echo of his brother’s consciousness refusing to submit. And worse… the shadow of Astaroth shifting in the depths of their souls, occasionally surfacing just long enough for Lucius to sense his mocking presence.

How irritating. The devil didn’t even bother to hide anymore.

Lucius exhaled through his nose, forcing composure. It doesn’t matter. Julius was weak, a mess of broken memories and confusing thoughts. And Astaroth... whatever game the Time Devil was playing, it would end as soon as Lucius ascended. He could finally gather the power to purify even his ageless soul.

His focus shifted from the battlefield to the intricate array of runes forming under his hands. The grimoire towers pulsed faintly from afar, each a beacon of ancient magic waiting for his command. A constellation of power scattered across the kingdom.

A flicker of mana caught his attention. He checked the Paladins… Morgen. His light and darkness swirled together beautifully, his duel with Yami, Nacht, and Ichika pushing the balance between despair and redemption. Three souls framed by shared grief, their resonance pure. They would make fine humans in the new world.

And then —silence. Morgen’s light vanished.

Lucius blinked once, impassive. Dead.
No matter. When the towers were connected to him, resurrection would be trivial.

For now, he simply needed time.

Good thing he'd made so many clones of himself.

Mereoleona stood still on the middle of the burning battlefield.

It felt as if she had finally merge with the fabric of life. Beyond Mana Zone laid the foundations of magic itself… the souls. The environment. The matter and substance. The invisible threads that connected it all. She could finally breathe fully for the first time. The image before her eyes was clearer than ever before. She could feal the heartbeats of all the creatures surrounding her, and the glowing identities of them.

As the corpses of her fallen comrades kept piling under Moris, their death bodies began to feel different. Their amber glow grew fussier around the edges, as if the mana struggled to be contained in its vessel, the energy that held together the body and the magic began to fade.

As the Paladin made one hit after the other she could feel clearly how the mana of all those brave men merged with nature, the Mother of all claiming them in her arms.

The realization shook her like a volcanic explosion.

Those flames that held together the mana and the body… they were the souls.

The human souls.

Without mana they roamed in the air, dissipating slowly, diluting in their surrounding as they ascended up the sky. Not unlike dense smoke, that dissolved in the air a molecule at the time when there was no wind.

One of Fuegoleon's closest friends from the Crimson Lions put all his mana on his last hit, disintegrating as his fiery fist began to collide with the Paladin. She inhaled sharply, noticing how his whole soul had been inflicted in that hit. His dreams, his hope for a better future, his frustration at his weakness, his total trust on her. She felt it all in the mana of that glowy fist. His whole body disappeared in seconds, but the power of the hit remained, dense with mana, and carrying its soul for seconds after the hit landed.

Mereoleona shrieked, looking down at her own injured body. Moris revealed his second magical attribute, casting a legion of humanoid dirt golems running towards her. Her pulse quickened. A chance, just as she needed.

Burning the mana around her, the puppets got sucked by the flames and their edges disintegrated, but their regeneration was too fast. At this rate they would get to her in no time. Even with her best spells they probably could come back from even a dash of grime. Which meant only one thing: she had to burn it all.

The Captain of the Royal Knights looked briefly up the grey skies. Her own body began disintegrating into mana as she punched those mountains of dirt. There was no other way… what even were limits for? All her life, she had surpassed the expectation of everyone else around her, but to herself, it was never enough. Even before having her grimoire, the noble Crimson Knights refused to train with her, saying that she was too strong even without complex spells. Sister Theresa had tried teaching her to fight, but even for such a dexterous Magic Knight, her pure strength had been too much. The only true rival she'd had, Acier, had died a year after giving birth to Noelle, and she'd been craving for an opponent to surpass her limits.

To get stronger she'd visited the most dangerous places in the neutral zone between the Kingdoms, the Grand Magic Zones. Harsh climate, giant monsters, volcanic eruptions, sand storms, overpowered thunderstorms… she'd almost reached the peak of her power, but there was only so much farther she could go by herself.

She'd felt the limits when she'd fought in the Spade Kingdom against those ancient demons. She'd struggled for months to understand what had happened to her body, studying hours in the library, meditating in the volcano, trying again and again to reach over the edge of her power to no avail. However, now after she'd seen all of her warriors fight and crumble under that devil, she understood.

The shape of the human soul.

Fuegoleon jumped down from grown form Salamander, landing next to her. She didn't even bother to look at him, overwhelmed by the realization. Her whole body began to shake, the mana fracturing in flames around her.

"My apologies for the wait, Mereoleona!"

Mereoleona chuckled, feeling as if she was the flame on a coal mixing with the inferno inside a volcano. Her own mana was mixing with the atmosphere.

"Who said I was waiting for you!?"

The ground rumbled as it shattered, flashes of fire appeared from the air as flames emerged from under the rocks and debris. Her grimoire opened in front of her, multiple cursive lines of a new spell getting written of the pages. She faced Moris defiant, extending her arms to the sky as flames ate her body, turning the sky orange when the whole ground around her ignited. All these warriors had showed her all she needed to learn, now it was time to put it to good use. To show them their efforts had not been in vain. That they had been right to trust her, for her pride as a warrior!

"If you weren't aware, Moris… I am constantly burning my limits!"

The letters finished writing themselves in the book.

"Ultimate Flame Magic: Excelictus Leonum!"

The ground broke. The flames rose from the cracks. Her new spell found the souls of all of the warriors that had given their life for her to learn. Using their surrounding mana, she gave them immaterial bodies, trading her own body to become mana itself as well.

Moris stared in awe, wondering what kind of hell that woman had gone through to get that information. What was that spell? He had been blessed by God himself to learn how to create the monstrous creatures of mud, and there she was reviving her teammates! It was not fair! It was the power of master Lucius! The Divine Blessing!

Ruben spoke uncertain, checking himself. "I'm… pretty sure I died, but…!?"

"What!?"

The revived warrior stared speechless at their fiery bodies, checking their extremities and moving. They were all alive. They bodies had turned into mana. They all stared at Mereoleona in astonished.

"Don't dare thinking that dying means that you can take it easier!" Their Lioness turned her head to face them, her orange glow brighter than ever before. "Even if you die, follow me, you fools!"

A deep feeling of pride and trust washed over them, as they shouted in unison. "Yes, Ma'am!"

Moris did not stand a hit. He was ashes before he could even understand what was going on.

Lucius stared in awe from his throne in the highest part of Qlithoph Tree how Mereoleona Veremillion incinerated her body, letting go of her last restrains. In all the futures he had predicted, never once had she been able to break free of her earthly limits. What a nuisance. Moris, for as useful as he had been in accelerating the ritual to construct the Qliphoth and bringing Lucifero out of the underworld, was a bad warrior. He lacked strategic planning and the use of his available spells was underwhelming. Was it too bad that he wanted to the Lioness to kill him, so that he could resuscitate him into a better person?

He was about to set the last set of runes when through one of his guardian angels, he witnessed Mereoleona's ultimate flame magic spell, speechless. An impossible feat, and yet, there she was, reviving her squad mates. Once again in this timeline, humans had managed to surprise him. The power to manipulate the soul was his and only his! It endangered his plan to a certain degree. However… he also knew that the redhead had a tendency to choose battle over almost anything else. Surely there was an easier way to defeat her with an immaterial body, but poor Moris could not know that yet. Soon, he would have the power of all the grimories, and there just had to be an spell somewhere that helped his Paladins to defeat Mereoleona, and if not, no problem. He'd do it himself.

Moris was incinerated next.

Noelle’s hands trembled as she gathered the storm of mana between them —a sphere of turbulent, untamed water, alive with divine power. Nebra and Solid flanked her, straining to hold her wrists steady, their magic flaring to keep the torrent contained. Their noses bled, their skin blistered, but none of it compared to the pain they’d inflicted on their sister over the years.

High above, Nozel fought to protect his siblings, his Silver Guardian gleaming white-hot under the grey sky, dancing around Acier's feather storm and lances, withstanding it all.

“I have to rebuilt my relationship with my siblings!” Nozel roared as Acier hurled him through a crumbling tower. “This is my redemption!”

Guilt rippled through the middle siblings, the weight of their behavior pilling up, chocking them. Yet they stood their ground. Nebra confessed her envy, Solid his fear and insecurity, the poison they had nurtured for years. They had belittled Noelle, shamed her, tormented her… and she had grown beyond them all, strong enough to forgive.

Then both of the middle siblings looked at each other, their deepest confession spilling out of their mouths as they turned to face their oldest brother resisting.

“Noelle, I’m sorry!” both cried at once, voices breaking through the storm.

Noelle’s eyes stung. The pressure building in her palms surged past containment. Her Valkyrie Dress flickered and dissolved, replaced by a pure current of raw will.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Then she let go.

The world around them turned to water. Leviathan’s roar echoed through her veins as the spell exploded forward, a celestial wave that swallowed Acier’s steel eagle whole.

The Paladin Captain raised her hand —too late.

The blast pierced her armor and burned through the corruption, her body fracturing into shards of silver and water.

Yet, Acier smiled. Calm and proud. “What a shame… but I got to see my children all grown up.” Her eyes softened, and even as her form disintegrated, she whispered, “As a mother… I’m satisfied.”

The rooftop collapsed beneath them, Nozel falling gracefully as his armor dissolving. The Silvas stood together, bruised, trembling, staring at the empty sky where their mother’s radiance had vanished.

Kahono’s voice broke through the static, clear and soothing like an embrace. “Song magic: Heal Lullaby!” She and Paplo arrived rapidly, Kahono’s notes weaving through the rubble while Paplo’s bubbles lifted them to the roof. The battlefield hushed as healing notes washed over them.

Kaito followed them soon, spinning over the battleground as he kicked a guardian angel to its death, graceful and in the zone as ever.

Noelle sank to her knees, gasping for air. That had been so hard… mom was truly an excellent warrior. She felt bittersweet, because after all, Acier was proud of them. Of the children she never got to raise. Of the power their blood carried. Of their teamwork as a family, after years of problems. Kahono rushed to her side, hugging her tight despite the grime and exhaustion. “You did it, Noelle! You’ve gotten so strong, our Sea God must be proud!”

Leviathan coiled sleepily around Noelle’s shoulder, humming in approval. The silver-haired girl smiled faintly, feeling grateful of all the friends she had found on the way. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Her gaze lifted to the sky. Black and green comets streaked toward the Qliphoth’s peak —Asta’s energy unmistakable. A small, proud laugh left her lips, relief washing over her as sank on her heels. “He’s alive and fighting. Of course he is.”

Kahono followed her gaze, grinning. “Then so will we. Idols don’t quit halfway through the song.” She winked and hugged her again before standing. The sea girl had gotten stronger the last years, and now she was glad to have her as an ally in the battleground. They needed all the help they could get. A sound distracted her, making her turn tiredly to the side.

Kiato bowed low before Noelle, stars practically shining in his eyes. The water mage braced for his words, blinking multiple times, and Kahono just rolled her eyes, jumping off the roof. God, let it be brief.

“Sea Goddess Noelle, I shall protect the kingdom you’ve graced with your strength. May my dance always please you!” He sang proudly, as a promise, jumping gracefully in the air.

Nozel, as tired as he was, shot a killing glance towards the dancer as he rose like a zombie. Nebra laughed softly behind her hand, and Solid just looked plain confused. Noticing this, Noelle blushed deeply, holding her head high. Here comes the tease.

"Seems you have an admirer, Noelle…" Nebra muttered, trying to conceal her smile.

"Of course! I’m royalty," she said, pushing her hair over her Leviathan-less shoulder with dignity. "…But I only have eyes for Bakasta."

Kiato’s grin widened. He gave a flourishing bow, sunlight catching on his green blade as he spun away. "You can’t stop me from trying!" he called, dancing off after Kahono, his steps leaving glimmers of mana across the shattered rooftops.

At Noelle's words, Nebra grimaced and Nozel forced the most neutral expression he could manage. The least he could do was tolerate his little sister’s crushes… and the anti-magic knight, though uncivilized, crude, and short, was —well— the best damn magic knight he’d ever met. He'd won his little sister's heart, and after the last couple years, his admiration. Nozel looked around the battlefield, hoping that his fellow Captains and Knights would be alright.

Lucius had not foreseen this. The four Silva siblings, reunited. Talking, mending their differences and plotting a way to defeat their mother. Together.

They had destroyed Acier's perfect paladin body, Noelle's power disintegrating her into nothingness. Erased his influence on her soul, allowing her to rest once again.

Noelle Silva. The girl with immense power that she shouldn't have been able to master, the eternally blamed sibling for Acier's demise. The once shame of the family, resurfacing against all odds, powerful and almost as divine as her mother. What would have been a ripple of water was now a full typhoon. A storm deserving the power of the Sea God Leviathan.

A perfect specimen of unpredictable evolution.

So much for “predictable humanity.”

He sighed, mind racing with all the futures he's foreseen, searching for new possibilities and problems. How to tackle them to assure his victory. Play with the probabilities to choose the best outcome. Bend the scenario for himself. His hands moved rapidly on the air with practiced precision, golden runes spiraling around him, humming mechanically with magic. The mark on his forehead shone white.

As he finished the last array of commands, the runes shimmered and rose, expanding to the branches and roots of the Qlithoph. The whole structure vibrated as the magic began to settle, one after another, like ticks of a clock.

Good. It had started. Now he just had to wait for the ritual to complete.

His copies still fought across the battlefield, echoes of his will burning, freezing, crumbling. Each one a sacrifice to time. Even in the rare instances where they were defeated, the result was the same. The end was the same.
It always would be.

He sat back on the throne that crowned the world, runes pulsing gently in the air around him. He closed his eyes, surveying the clashes of battle through the field of his mind. The captains fought like dying stars, beautiful and futile. The Paladins had fallen, every one. Most of his guardian angels were gone.

And somewhere, far below, Adramelech’s presence slithered across the edge of his mana zone, feeding on chaos. Lucius allowed himself a small smirk, let him have his fun…. Soon, the feathered parasite would fall to the ritual’s cleansing light.

Only one shadow remained to be silenced.

Julius.

It almost saddened him.

Julius had always been the dreamer, the idealist. He’d wanted freedom —chaotic freedom. Freedom that bred inequality, sorrow, death. But Lucius… Lucius had ascended beyond such petty sentiment.

Soon, his brother would understand.

When the light of salvation enveloped the world, Julius’s pain —and all human pain— would finally end.

Lucius smiled faintly, resting his chin upon his hand as the twin auras of Anti-Magic and Starry Wind surged closer. The Qliphoth trembled under their combined power. His grimoire shook on his lap, ready for battle.

He smiled when the two Knights reached the top.

Adramelech watched with languid eyes as the warriors tore through Lucius’ copies one by one. Each explosion of magic reflected in his black eyes like fading stars.

“I wonder…” he mused, voice airy with mock curiosity, “…did Lucius foresee this little outcome of his?”

He reclined atop a fragment of the shattered fortress, lazily floating above the chaos below. The Qliphoth’s humming field of mana shimmered far beneath him, close enough to feel its pull, far enough to avoid Lucius’s immediate notice.

He yawned, stretching out as a cat lounging for an afternoon nap under the sun. Only this sun was blocked with smoke and the copper glow of fires. And yet, through the haze, his constellations still burned silver —cold, precise, immovable. The true rulers of the field.

“Now, Lucius…” he murmured, raising a clawed hand to trace invisible lines between those stars, “…what will you do when they destroy your last copy? Will you finally show me something new?”

Silver threads gleamed faintly between his fingers, drifting like strands of light caught on suspended dust.

“Hmm. Maybe I should intervene… just a little.”

He flicked his hand, and a distant star flared bright, then steady. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Ah. It seems the fates agree.”

His tail curled lazily behind him as he unfurled his wings, wide and soft with their peacock feathers. With one last look at the dwindling battle —Asta and Yuno cornering Lucius’s final copy back through swords and wind— he smiled, sharp and bright.

“Let’s see if the humans can surprise even me.”

And with that, the Devil of Fate dove. Silver threads trailed behind him like falling starlight, toward the crumbling outskirts of the city.

Chapter Text

Lucius continued with his torture, forcing him to watch as his monsters killed knights left to right. The kind Morgen, one of the most pure man he'd ever had the pleasure to meet was now twisted and corrupted. As his former Captain and friend, his death had been brutal… but the pain he'd felt when the Paladin had stricken Jack was above any kind of suffering he'd the memory of experiencing. Jack the Ripper, with such a unique magic born out of his childhood struggles hunting, with an unmatched passion for cutting… killed by one of Lucius creations. All the knights he'd seen grown in squad —decimated. Killed in duty like their lives had no meaning in this world at all.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

And not satisfied with all the deaths at the hands of his copies and Paladins, Lucius had unleashed amalgams of souls with the shape of angels. A blasphemy meant for destruction. Killing machines. Souls devoid of will.

Tears welled and spilled, his voice breaking as sobs tore out into the void. His cries vanished without echo. No one to hear. No one to answer.

Alone.

…No.

Not quite.

At the edge of the nothingness, he felt it. A presence. Cold. Ancient. Watching.

Julius’ sobs died into the void, leaving only the hollow thrum of his own heartbeat. He pressed a trembling hand to his chest, desperate for something human, something comforting.

And then—

A bell tolled.

The void shuddered.

A click followed. Then another. Then another.

Like a clock breaking into existence where no time should be.

“It is time.”

The voice resonated from everywhere and nowhere, curling through the void like smoke. Julius opened his eyes to see dark particles swirling, condensing into form. The air itself seemed to collapse inward, folding into a silhouette taller than any man. Bat-like wings stretched wide, blotting out the endless white. Its body devoured light, a darkness so complete it made the void itself look pale.

The face was eerily human, framed by short black hair, two small horns rising from its crown. And its eyes… black as obsidian, yet gleaming with a curiosity far older than mankind.

The shadow of the world.

Astaroth. The Devil of Time.

The devil’s gaze fixed on him, unblinking. Patient. Hungry.

“We meet, at last.” He looked down, curling his wings with premeditated elegance. "Julius Novachrono."

The air stilled between them. Julius struggled to think about a response, clutching his head. Why was Astaroth there— how was the devil talking to him? Could they meet inside Lucius mind space without his twin's presence? Wasn't Lucius using his power? Ah, but a unique particularity got his attention, pulling him away from the constant push of the soul magic. The devil had called him by his Clover name. Was it related to his escape or exile from his family home in Spade Kingdom?

"That not my real name, it seems." He resorted to say, breathing heavily.

"It is as real as you want it to be." The devil sat, crossing his legs in front of him. His dark lips were curved in a smirk, seeming almost friendly. It made him shiver, pulling his knees to his chest, heart beating uncertain. "Now, I believe you are rather …confused."

"I wouldn't trust a devil to lend me truths." He spat, sitting more upright in the void. The presence of the creature felt heavy in the air, like mana behaved differently around the dark silhouette. Be cautious. Don't overshare.

"Aren't you forehanded, human." His eyes shone with amusement, curving his lips. Like he was pleased. "As expected. You aren't my host for nothing. Our contract means that I'm enslaved to your will to a certain degree."

Julius heart skipped a beat.

His host?

No, no, no, no. His host!? It was not possible.

"Isn't Lucius your host?" he asked panicked, a flicker of hope in his heart… and reprimanding himself for that.

"Not exactly." Astatorh answered, leaning back on his hands.

Before Damnatio had went to see him, he'd gotten to the conclusion that his time magic came from the devil that controlled time. But to ear it loud and clear from the devil himself —it hurt. Broke the pieces left of him even more. His chest contracted painfully, blinking away the thoughts of his troubled mind.

A devil host. A supreme devil host.

The confirmation crushed him, devastatingly so, and yet, he wanted to know more. The devil seemed to read his thoughts, as he continued. "I will answer truthfully your questions. But I can't change the cruel truths, for as cruel as they are. I came here to make sure you keep a promise."

Julius tilted his head, unsure and attentive. Promises? Hadn't Astaroth shown himself to him just moments ago? He hadn't known anything about the devil, until his research had gotten him to the conclusion. But also, there was a noticeable gap in his memory, as he could only remember his time in the Clover Kingdom, blissfully unaware of the atrocities of his family. The dilemma of asking and getting answers he did not want to hear… or staying in the darkness about his past and never knowing.

He nodded.

Astaroth limited himself to smile, showing his startlingly white teeth. It hurt his heart. He held his breath, waiting as his heart surged… a promise, to the Devil of Time? Sirens of danger rang in his tired brain, begging him to run away even if he could not.

When the devil spoke, it was smooth and velvety, almost seductive. "You need to kill Lucius."

If the situation was different he'd been relieved. How disappointing. He glared at the devil, pursing his lips. "That is not new information."

"It is not, but how to do it is new for you, at least for now."

Julius scowled, his head suddenly thrumming with migraine. His mouth dried and the flow of malignant mana began creeping around his thoughts and body. Damn it. Lucius had noticed that he let his guard down and haven't wasted a second to push his magic into him. His vision blurred, and as he collapsed, the devil began to vanish just as he'd appeared.

However, before completely disappearing, he whispered a command.

"Remember, Julius Novachrono."

His dreams spiraled. Vestiges, fragments. Snow and silence. A wheelchair slipping on frozen ground. Three children running, laughing. A shrine, cold and towering, devoted to the Devil of Time. Parents absent. Always absent.

Then one memory seized him by the throat.

"Hey, big brother! Can you let Julius out? He can tell us how to mix our magics!"

A young Vanica stood before the wheelchair, her braided ponytails bouncing as she tugged on them in excitement.

Lucius gaze softened, but the shadow in his eyes was unmistakable. Julius felt the truth tear through him —his soul had already been chained even then.

"Julius feels too weak today, sister."

Vanica’s little fists clenched at her sides.

"You’re lying! You just want Julius for yourself!"

Lucius only smiled, the kind that always made her stomp away frustrated… never knowing how right she was.

Julius jolted awake in the void of his mind, breath ragged. His head felt heavy and throbbing, his vision painful.

Those weren’t just dreams. They were Lucius’ memories. And now they were his.

A trembling hand pressed against his temple. How much of my life has ever been my own?

The blurry screen before him flickered with fragments of battle: Lucius’ clones fighting Captains, Paladins clashing with knights, guardian angels descending. Others struggled to evacuate citizens from the crumbling Noble Realm.

So much destruction. So many wounded. Too many dead.

“What did you remember?”

The voice slithered into the void like smoke. Julius startled as Astaroth emerged beside him in a swirl of black dust. His silhouette was sharper this time, nearly solid, his wings stretching lazily. He lost himself in the void for a moment, struggling to gather his bearings when all spiraled around him. Breath in, breath out. Hands gripping the floor to gain a sense of direction in the emptiness. He squared his shoulders, looking up to the devil.

“Vanica and Lucius… talking,” Julius admitted, voice small despite his efforts of composure. His head felt split in half, and no matter how much he tried to stay still, dizziness made him wobble. “But not much.”

“Ah.” The devil tilted his head, mouth curving in a humorless smile. “A pity. Lucius’ grip on your mind is still sharp. But you shall remember soon.”

Julius stared at the battle transmission, fists clenched tight on his knees. In that memory, Vanica had known about him, asking for his help. He had the impression that Lucius control went beyond that particular moment. His voice cracked, his little facade collapsing at the possibility of a life as a slave of his brother. “That dream… was it true? Was I just… Lucius’ puppet this whole time?”

He saw his own face mirrored in his twin’s twisted grin. Saw his own hands dripping with blood.

“Did I ever choose anything? Was any of it mine?”

Astaroth stepped closer, crouching before him. His shadow fell over Julius like an eclipse, blocking out the screen, shielding him with a inhuman illusion of safety.

“You ask the right questions,” the devil murmured, almost humorous. His obsidian eyes gleamed. “But what answer would you like? That you were free? That your choices mattered?”

Julius flinched, shutting his eyes tight. No. He did not have the heart now to hear the real answers. He let out a shaky breath, shaking his head. The devil chuckled lowly, turning back towards the stream of destruction.

“I told you, I will not lie. But I cannot tell you everything either. Know this: there is a reason you are alive. And it is not only because Lucius needs you to wield my power.”

Julius’ eyes flew open. His mind sharpened. Lucius needed him to use Astaroth? It made sense, since apparently the devil had a contract with him and not his twin. He stared at the devil, horrified. “Why… why tell me this?”

Astaroth’s gaze met his, a bottomless black, eternal void.

“Because I loathe Lucius. Among quite the arsenal of crimes, he stole what should never belong to mortals: the power of the King of Hell.” His voice was not loud, but it echoed through the void with concealed rage.

“Lucifero, Beelzebub, and I… we ruled together. As Rivals. Eternal companions. And now… I am the last standing.”

Julius’ blood turned cold. A devil… speaking of rivalry? Of loneliness?

“I cannot let that be the future.”

The devil’s smile was cruel, and then his form unraveled into dust, scattering into the white void.

“Time is running out, Julius.”

Agony split through his skull. Lucius crashed into his mind like a storm, ripping control away. Stronger than before. A scream tore from Julius’ throat as his world collapsed into black.

And in that restless dark, another memory surfaced.

"But brother! Without Julius our puppets don't live!"

Lucius extended his arm to his little brother, stroking his hair.

"Ah… Julius says we should find a way to make them move with only our magic. He told me he would research it."

Zenon's small eyes lit up with hope.

"Please, I want to show Allen our living puppets!"

Lucius’ smile deepened, fond but cold. None of them would ever know the truth of his experiments. The combination of the magics of the Zogratis was a divine blessing… the power of a god.

"Yes, we will work on it. Now, come here and hug your older brother."

Zenon's future was always brighter when he did not suffer until the very end.

Julius blinked, the void tilting around him. Another wave of consciousness hit —honed, tougher. His feverish haze was thinning quicker that the other times, though his body still trembled.

So, Zenon had also known about him… and he was starting to suspect that the motive Lucius kept him alive was deeper than he'd expected. Maybe it was not only his contract with Astaroth, but what his little brother had said in that memory: without Julius our puppets don't live. He could not remember the exact details and context, but it was clear to him that Lucius was thinking about the combination of their five magics together: soul, bone, blood, tissue, and his… which ever his magic was. The devil had hinted it. There was another motive.

From the nothingness, black dust coiled like smoke and condensed into a seated figure. Astaroth appeared, wings half-furled, an inscrutable smile on his lips as he twirled a peacock feather between his claws.

"End is near, dearest human." The devil snapped the feather between his fingers, and it broke into dust before reaching the floor. Black eyes found his, determined, cold as ice. As infinite as they were, curiosity was not hard to find. "A lot is going to happen real fast."

Is not that Julius had interacted with many devils before (that he knew), having just known that Asta's anti-magic came from one. But, Astaroth did not seem to comply to usual devil behavior.

“Why…” Julius rasped, “why tell me all this?”

The devil tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Didn’t I say? I like sharing knowledge with humans.”

“Devils don’t just give without taking.”

Astaroth’s smile deepened —not offended, but amused. “Ah, I’m wounded you think me ordinary. But you’re not wrong.”

Julius hesitated. The question burned his throat. “Then what do you plan to take?”

“Not plan,” Astaroth said softly. “When Lucius falls, the remnants of Lucifero’s heart will remain. I will claim it. That weight would chain you. It would break you. So I’ll unburden you… if you survive.”

Julius’ stomach turned. The blurry screen showed Yuno’s stars crashing against a Lucius clone in perfect synchronicity. He did not want to think about the connotations of the devil's comment entitled. “You would ‘unburden’ me? And then what?”

The devil’s wings shifted like an veiled sky. “When Lucius dies, our contract ends.”

“But you said you chose me—”

“I did. And you’ll know why in time.”

Julius swallowed. This creature saw farther than he ever had. Saw how to change timelines. Saw what Julius could not. “You already have time magic. Why covet Lucifero’s?”

Astaroth’s eyes flickered. “Gravity is the strongest of natural forces. Lucifero's power is what made him the King. Without him, the Underworld decays. Balance must be restored. A King of Hell must rise. Perhaps Lucifero. Perhaps another.”

“Why not you?” Julius shot back. “Isn’t that what devils want? Power without end?”

The devil’s laugh was low and hollow. “Endless power is endless labor. Ruling all things? How dull. No… another devil can take care of that. I prefer a rival.”

Julius brows shot up, crude laugh leaving his lips. How absurd that a devil chose a rival before unmatched power.

Astaroth looked back at the twinkling battle, his expression unreadable. “That’s what I’ve learned from humans: a rival invigorates the soul. Gives a reason to improve, go beyond, search the unknown. But I have borne truth for a long time. Anomalies… amaze me.”

A tremor of static went through Julius’ head, a missing piece refusing to click. “So you gave me your power… just to avenge Lucifero?”

“Ah.” The devil’s smile chilled him to the bone. “There are many things you don’t know yet, human.”

Before Julius could speak again, Lucius’ presence slammed into his mind like a brick wall. His breath hitched. The void spun. Astaroth’s form unraveled into dust as Julius fell into blackness once more… with seemingly another of Lucius memories tormenting him.

Dante supervised his sleeping brothers closely, marveling at the shifting colors of their hair and the iridescent marks that mirrored across their foreheads. The twins intrigued him deeply. Even prostrated in the wheelchair, unable to fight physically, they had been able to make a contract with Astaroth. Their own magic was a mystery that unsettled him. He’d always felt a surge of mana whenever Vanica or Zenon brushed against Lucius, so he’d grown reluctant to the contact. Surely his disabled brother thought of it as a childish phase, but the soon-to-be devil host could not resist his curiosity.

When he touched Julius’ mark while the boy’s hair shone blond, the world around him dissolved.

He stood in a white, endless void. Julius smiled at him, sleep still in his eyes.

"Brother Dante… what a wonderful distraction."

Lucifero’s future host did not waste his rare chance to be alone with the eldest.

"Are you always here, Julius?"

"That's Lucius will."

"Don't you wish to learn about the world by yourself?"

The blond smile turned bittersweet, shaking his head softly. There was so much sadness on his eyes that the teen failed to comprehend.

"There is nothing I want more. But my circumstances… are unique. I miss being with you all. Talking, playing. Through Lucius’ eyes I’ve seen you grow, prideful and strong. Our magics were meant as blessings, yet sometimes it feels my twin and I were never meant to agree on how they should be used. So I’ll ask you, Dante… don't let him steal your dreams."

He reached out, touching Dante gently, letting his magic pour warmth into him.

"You should go. Lucius will wake soon."

The teen blinked, and the void unraveled. He touched his chest, still feeling the echo of that warmth.

Lucius' red eyes were already open, watching him curiously.

"You look strange when you dream, brother Lucius," Dante said flatly, stepping back.

But Julius’ words echoed. Over the next years, Lucius' grip tightened. So much that even Vanica —always distracted by her brawls and her games— noticed his absence. Zenon would sometimes ask to see Julius too, but the boy always returned with that same blank, confused look, as if the memory had been erased the instant it was made.

It was not long before Lucius finally got a hold of his devil magic and used his spells on him too. Even if his will to conquer and rein did not flatter, his true pure motives of fairness and equality got erased from his soul. He sought power, and he got it by defeating Lucifero. Vanica, which almost got her personality completely erased, survived by her hunger to fight strong opponents, charming Megicula. And Zenon… Zenon gave himself willingly after Allen’s death, asking Lucius for a devil to fill the void in his soul.

Julius woke with a hit. He held his chest as he fought to breathe. So it had been Lucius all along the one who twisted his siblings’ dreams into weapons, who turned innocent children into living conduits for devils. Capital sins personified.

A bitter ache pierced him. For years he’d wondered about his childhood, if the old Lord Novachrono was truly his father, and if his suspicions were true, if he’d had brothers and sisters… and now that he knew a scrap of that truth he questioned if he really wanted to know more. So many years under Lucius’ shackles. Then how had he ever escaped to Clover at all? Was his life there another carefully staged move?

Why had he never suspected about another soul within him until one of the ancient devils had attacked the Kingdom? Why hadn't Patri said something? Had he been cursed by Megicula? Had Lucius erased himself from his mind and gone fully undetectable for decades?

No. That didn’t add up. If Lucius had truly held the reins from the start, he could have killed Asta long ago. Maybe he'd needed a good reason to kill him? But, even if it hurt to admit, his calculative and twisted twin did not seem the guy to need a reason to kill. Hell, he said he would revive them all, so why did it matter when he killed them?

He could have taken over well before the Dark Triad incident… Could have stopped Patri and used the elves as a cover for his plan… so there had to be a reason. Astaroth manifested from the nothingness, smiling enigmatically as he always did.

“Why did Lucius wait until Damnatio found out?” he demanded, his pulse quickening as he sat.

The devil's smile turned delighted, and Julius feared the truth. As if he had all the time of the world, the black figure sat cross legged in front of him. He even licked his lips before speaking.

“I had him trapped,” Astaroth said simply.

Julius’ blood ran cold. His mouth went dry. What?

“Per your request.”

Wait— what!?

"My… request?" his eyes narrowed, inhaling sharply. "Explain yourself."

“As you command,” the devil intoned, voice smooth. “You traded your magic with me on the condition that I kept Lucius away until the world was ready. As you phrased it.”

A fragment of a broken memory shot trough his brain, pieces of twilight, golden runes, and a cataclysm. He stared at his hands, flickers of light haunting him from his memories.

“I figured,” Astaroth continued calculatedly, “that your knights would be ready once they uncovered the true nature of the power you wielded.”

He'd betrayed Lucius. Created a whole plan to revert his control over his soul. Fought nail and tooth trying to save the world.

Years. All those years of gathering strength behind Lucius’ back, foreseeing every future his human mind could process. Planning, planning, planning. And still Lucius had the upper hand. He always had the upper hand. Julius pressed his palms into his eyes as pain lanced through his skull, a scream tearing at his throat as his will and memories clashed.

He wanted to accuse Astaroth, to curse him… but the devil’s words rang with a sick kind of logic. He had asked this? Was the 'best' future, the one he’d been shaping subconsciously, the one where he’d given up his…

"My magic…?" he wondered at last, black dots flooding his vision as the white void tilted around him.

"I dare to say” Astaroth purred, “your magic is as unique as mine, Julius Novachrono. Can't… can't you remember your own birthright?" His laughter was low and evil as he pressed a single finger to Julius’ temple, forcing him down. "It was special enough for me to give up my own power for a while."

"Shut up!" Julius managed to scramble as his mind swirled in a storm of broken images and sounds. Vestiges of a life that had been his own, but not really.

Lucius… Lucius had manipulated him for years. And Astaroth…

Astaroth too.

The same Devil of Time. The known-it-all. The master of cunning.

And he'd willingly traded his magic for his!?

No, he could not buy that.

“No… no, I can’t—”

“Ah, the sweetest truth is undeniable,” Astaroth murmured, voice bright with fascination. “You asked me not to lie. Your sorrow only feeds my mirth.”

Julius curled in on himself, knees to chest, hands pressed over his heart as if to keep it from shattering.

“But I’m not so cruel.” The devil’s tone softened, but he remained humorous. “Perhaps it’s for the best that you can’t remember everything. And so I shall tell you: you must be ready when Adramelech falls.”

Julius’s voice was faint, barely a whisper. “Adramelech? Another devil?”

“Not one of the rulers,” Astaroth replied, wings folding tight behind him, gaze fixed on the flickering battlefield above them. “Though he fancied himself worthy. The Devil of Fate.”

He chuckled, sharp like a bell. “Don't you find it amusing, that there is such devil when there is already a devil of time?”

Astaroth did not expect him to speak, and continued his monologue. “Fate and time are not the same thing. Even when time rewinds, certain events refuse to bend. Tug too hard, and the universe splits a new branch. You of all people should understand that, little seer. Remember your ‘prediction’ with the elf Patri? A fixed point. Immutable. No matter how hard you tried to change it.”

Julius glared up, forcing himself onto his knees despite his insistent headache. At the mention of the elf, he barely felt anything, consumed by the devil's words about their contract. Had he really traded his magic to keep Lucius dormant?

“You talk like you know everything.”

Astaroth grinned, teeth glinting white in the void. “Don’t I? Lucius chokes on his own arrogance. He calls himself omnipotent because he can project a handful of futures and abuse Lucifero's power.” His voice grew colder, crueler. “But foresight without omnipresence is just gambling with extra steps.”

The logic made Julius miserable. It made sense, that was the worst part. He wanted to deny it, to fight the coherence of it. And he had traded his own magic with Astaroth? And Astaroth had kept Lucius contained? Ah, his head throbbed insistently, pain blurring his vision.

“If you hate him so much,” he rasped, frowning, “why help me? What do you gain?”

The devil crouched before him, absorbing the light. “Helping?” Astaroth echoed, pleased. “Devils have no such concept. Let’s call it… investment.”

He flicked a clawed hand, in time with a storm of fire that the Crimson Lion Captain commanded outside. “When Adramelech dies, you’ll remember your true magic. You’ll need it. Consider it… a debt you already owe yourself.”

His real magic. Not time magic. Something necessary for Lucius puppets.

Julius’s breath caught. “And you expect me to trust that?”

The grin sharpened into something dangerously close to respect. “Trust?” Astaroth tilted his head. “I don’t need your trust, Julius Novachrono. I only need your time. And that,” he smirked, “has always been your specialty.”

He turned away, voice thinning into an echo. "Can you believe it? Out of all the futures Lucius worships as truth... only in this one does Fuegoleon stands against him."

The broadcast flickered brighter: a firestorm swallowing Adramelech’s silver web burning it to ashes. Fuegoleon landed a fiery hit on the devil, the first one of the battle. Julius’s heart clenched. He could almost feel the heat through the void.

Astaroth’s eyes shone, fixed on the sight like a spectator savoring an inevitability. “See, little seer? Even fate burns when humans decide it must.”

Julius stared at the blaze, a purpose and a resolution fighting his way across all the pain and sorrow of his broken heart. His Knights, his Captains… they were giving it all they had. He could not stay behind. It was his duty, as the Wizard King. As a magic knight. As a person.

Astaroth disappeared into white without another word, just his enigmatic, unsettling smile.

The void trembled again. The light of the battlefield grew. Lucius seemed to finish a rune array, and he felt a pulse of mana through him.

He had to think now. This was his chance.

A hand found his chest, where for many years a missing piece had been left vacant. Now, ever since he'd woken up in a nightmare of a reality, with broken memories and cruel past, he'd felt whole. Like what had been missing had been back. Like he was complete.

Now, mostly free from Lucius influence on his mind, he could feel a different mana running thought him. Fundamentally different from when he'd used time magic. It felt like second nature, flowing through him like his own blood. Moving from his body to the void.

Uh, so Lucius was actively using his magic. He glanced at the transmission, searching for a clue in his twins' actions: he'd just finished a rune array, golden letters of magic moving spinning in all the directions of the Qlithoph. A faint connection to each of its branches and roots, projecting forward towards the rest of the kingdom.

Something that ran deep within him, and that resonated all around them, everywhere.

Was it a mana zone spell? It did not feel like it. He had an idea of the state of the battlefield, telling apart expertly each mana signature and magical attack —but any experienced mage could feel the same. So, it wasn't that.

Ah, and he had no grimoire. He knew that for a fact. Lucius would have it in his control if he was using it, but he could only feel Lucius magic pass through what he believed had been his grimoire, the once coverless book that was revealed to have two spades rather than clover leafs. Yuno had a grimoire for each soul, why didn't he have one too?

Oh, but he'd never entered a grimoire tower in clover —something had always stopped him. Ah, even if Astaroth had sealed Lucius, it appeared that the twin had maintained at least some persuasion in his repertoire. And apparently, when he and Lucius were young, a sickness had left them wheelchair bound for years. So its not like he could have gone to a grimoire tower by himself on the other Kingdom, Lucius always having had control over their shared body. So I was possible that somewhere in one of the kingdoms, he had a grimoire to his name with his magic.

He gathered mana in his hand, forcefully diverting his twin's spell. Even if Lucius had control of his magic now, Julius had been the one to study how mana worked and multiple magical techniques. Colorful lights and golden sparks shone in his hand, incorporeal. He could almost taste its uniqueness, magic tickling his senses and feeling like home.

He closed his fist, absorbing the magic. 

In a single breath, he opened his eyes and was not in the void anymore.

Chapter Text

Fuegoleon surveilled the battlefield from Salamander's scaled back, mana-enhanced vision cutting through smoke and debris like a laser. Far in the distance, the Silva siblings caught their breath, resting atop a crumbling building. His gaze locked with Nozel's for a heartbeat, an unspoken exchange of trust and understatement. We did it. We are closer to ending this.

Pride burned warm in his chest, mirrored by the rumble of the Fire Spirit beneath him. The Paladins were gone. Acier and Morgen, freed from their nightmare. Morris rightfully incinerated by his sister.

Below, hundreds of knights still fought the last dozen of Lucius’s copies and guardian angels. Above them, Asta and Yuno had ascended towards the true enemy: the man who had stolen the Wizard King’s body. Fuegoleon’s fist tightened. Julius Novachrono had been a warrior who believed in fairness and progress, who’d worked tirelessly to bridge the divide between nobles and commoners. To think that such a vision —such a will— had been twisted by Lucius’s hands….

After this war, no one would ever again measure worth by mana alone. The strength of a mage lay not in the depth of his magic, but in the fire of his resolve.

And Julius’s dream had been usurped.

Fuegoleon’s sharp sight found a cluster of Black Bulls locked in combat with Lucius copies. Their spells struck true, and yet, something bent the trajectory of their attacks, making them slip past their marks, as if air itself redirected them. Salamander shifted beneath him, muscles tightening in alarm.

The witch's spell, the Spirit warned. It’s tainted with another devil’s magic.

The Captain frowned. Rouge's tail had silver threads. He frowned, following the shine of the almost invisible threads, up to the Qlithpoh —no, above. Up in the sky. Against the burnt air of the capital, behind the ashes and the lonely cloud… stars. Constellations. The firmament visible to the naked eye.

Stars of no world. A firmament that should not exist. In broad daylight.

A shiver shook his body as he focused back on the Bulls. The Raging Bull had destroyed Lucius, Grey and Nero took another, Vanessa had them tied by threads that were thinning out. He jumped down Salamander, casting a beam of fire to cut through the guardian angel that haunted them by the back. The Red Cat of Destiny stared at him, muttering a confused meow.

Destiny's fixed. Salamander muttered grimly, bitting the head off another angel.

Vanessa fell down, the hand of the Bull catching her in the air. Grey rushed to her side, trembling.

“V-vaness-sa! Are you good!?" the girl patted her to check for injuries. She found none. Fuegoleon fell gracefully next to the women.

“Yeah," the witch stood, dusting her clothes off. Rouge jumped to the floor facing her, confused. “But something is wrong with Rouge. It's like something is negating my spell."

Vanessa reached down to touch Rouge's tail. The fan of threads unwounded, an harp of infinite possibilities and red fates… and yet, two silver threads shone amidst the loom of red. The witch undid Rouge in an instant, turning to her squad mates with a grim expression.

“I can't use Rouge anymore…”

Grey squealed, hiding behind her hands. Nero flew down in her bird form to rest on the blue hair of the mage, speaking monotonously. "It had devil influence.”

“I thought the crazy man said he controlled all devils, right?” muttered Magna chomping down a ham sandwich Chamry had given them before disappearing with Finral.

“There is one devil that has not been purified or killed yet.” Spoke Nero, going back to her human form to seal a beam of destruction from a far away angel. “The one that entertained Yuno the day Asta was sent away.”

“The runaway devil from Spade… I'll go check."Fuegoleon began, addressing the battlefield and his fellow comrades. They had a chance. They had fought devils before. "Please, continue helping with this fight. There's a long road ahead, but with your efforts, we have gone farther than anyone thought. We have a chance, Knights. We have to show our kingdom that it's our duty and pride to protect.”

“Yes, sir!”

Fuegoleon jumped down from the Bull's fist into Salamander with grace. His grimoire felt heavy in his belt, and the airborne ashes reminded him of the monstrosity of the battlefield. If there was a devil manipulating destiny, he needed to neutralize it so that Asta and Yuno could defeat Lucius. And free Julius… because he refused to believe his Wizard King was dead.

There is no repay if I become a successor by death.

I want to fight for the right to be called Wizard King.

The general area from which the devil mana came was a mass of dense and dark fog, curled around what appeared to be an old cathedral. Approaching, the air grew heavy with magic, an alluring pull pushing him towards the zone like a magnet. Amidst the ruins and debris, a young woman pulled the bodies of fainted knights away with great effort, occasionally clutching her throat.

Fuegoleon jumped down right next to her, using an extension of his fiery arm to aid with the transport of the deceased warriors.

“Are you a Captain?” she asked with strained voice, clearing her throat multiple times in pain.

“Yes, I'm Captain Fuegoleon from the Crimson Lions. I came to check a devil influence that manipulates the battlefield.”

Kahono nodded multiple times. "It's unlike anything I've seen before. We can't even touch him. None of our magics worked… and the fog —it swallows you. I just got out because my brother pushed me away. Knights are trapped inside. It's—" her voice broke, frowning worriedly as she observed the shifting black mass, "It's a trap. A web that pulls you in."

“I understand. I'll go check. Do you know Finral?”

Kahono nodded eagerly.

“He's fetching knights that need urgent medical care.” Fuegoleon said, “I'll send a signal to hail him here. Please wait.” Efficiently, he dialed the signal with his communicator, leaving it in the priestess' hands. The singer nodded, gladly accepting the device.

“I'll stay here… I need to keep singing. I barely feel Kiato...”

“Understood. Don't act reckless.”

Reinforced mana skin. Salamander was covered on fire, burning the magical particles of the fog that touched his scales. The black matter felt sticky, dense and consuming, like touching spider webs with morning dew.

As the fog diminished, the air grew lighter, and the light of the afternoon made it through the fog in small light beams. The crumbling façade of the church was right in front of him, but he found himself frozen in place. The malignant mana was stronger, choking presence in the depths of the building. And outside—

Dozens of knights wrapped in silver thread. Stuck on the walls and crumbling pillars, like the preys of a spider. The knights, fainted and in the verge of death, had their mana drained slowly through the silk, rushing across the web imprinted everywhere to its center. To the spider. Now he had no doubt that is was the doing of a devil, the malignant mana was clear in each of the thin silver threads all around them.

He stepped forward. The silver beneath his feet lighted in a pulse, running inside the church. It attempted to drain his mana reserves, but mana skin protected him strongly against the pull of devil magic. As he approached one of the cocoons, he turned the bundle around with care. The web was tight and abundant, and he managed to move the silver silk down to what appeared to be the head down a little.

His hands pulled back in an instant. A scream trapped in his throat.

Leopold.

He rushed to cut the sticky web with his magic, attempting time and time again to burn the restrains to no avail. Made a scissor with fire to cut it. Got out his dagger to cut it. It did not give in. It was elastic and strong, sticking to his skin and magic, absorbing every drop of magic of his spells. He blinked. The devil mana was dizzying. He inhaled deeply, checking the face again.

It did not feel right. His heart was uncertain.

It looked like Leo. It had a weak magical signature. But there was something about when he used his fire magic that made the body flinch away weakly in the magical daze. His little brother had never shied away from fire, not even in his sleep. It came like second nature. Much less from his own brother.

This was no Leo. He tipped on his toes, pulling the dense web to the neck of the body as far as he could, lighting the place with his fire. A glint of green, not red. A Green Mantis.

Not Leopold.

The web had started to climb up his feet, and Salamander roared as he tried to incinerate it. It weakened subtly, to which he used to pull free his shoes from the silver threads.

There was a legend that once a devil played with human's destinies. Played with their fate as chess, prawns at his mercy. He was particularly fond of a devil host family known as the Zogratis. Spoke Salamander.

His magic? Fuegoleon asked Salamander mentally, carefully approaching the destroyed entrance of the church, mindful of touching the least amount possible of web. The Spirit did not speak again. Other knights pilled in the walls, breathing faintly in their tight cocoons. They did not have much magic left, he had to hurry and stop the draining spell bestowed upon them, worse they would die in the battle… and he could not allow that.

Before entering, he tried stronger spells to cut the silver silk. Sol Linea. Leo Rugiens. Salamander's Breath. Nothing worked.

Aim for the host. Salamander urged, his claws flexing in irritation as the silk clung stubbornly to his scales. He grunted and pushed Fuegoleon gently forward, towards the heart of the ruin.

Inside, few of the church remained. Some of the benches were still in one piece, with knight cocoons tied to them like a rosary. The ceiling torn open, and the hazy sky was visible with clarity despite the dark fog around its edges. The stars shone clearly, and using mana enhanced vision, he saw how thousands of threads shook upwards to the artificial firmament. The whole floor and standing walls where christened with the web, pulling towards its center, at the altar of the church, where a dark figure stood with his back to the door.

“Welcome, dearest Captain.”

The devil’s voice rang with mockery in the crumbling cathedral. The web beneath Fuegoleon’s feet tensed; he leapt back just as silver cords whipped upward to ensnare him.

“Oh you are as good as I expected!”

The devil had fluffy ostrich feather fur covering most of his body, except his face, which was human like. Two big horns emerged from his head, curled. His eyes were black, red and infinite. From his slender hands, his nails shone silver with threads tangled in them, and the devil moved his hands as if he was weaving with them.

“A devil left? Did Lucius not want you?” Fuegoleon smiled, carefully calculating how many bodies were scattered around the room, and trying to feel how many were outside.

The devil looked at him blankly. Blinking unpaved.

“Lucius?” he wondered curiously. “I don't care about him. He's just another piece in the loom of creation.”

The captain’s gaze sharpened. His hand reached for his belt. “You weave lives into your web and call it creation. Even devils should know shame.”

A small smile curved the devil’s lips. “You mistake me. I don’t work for Lucius. I only used him. Someone had to tempt him to contact the Devil of Time.”

Fuegoleon’s eyes narrowed. The Time Devil… the one linked to Julius’s magic. Damnatio’s abandoned research whispered through his mind.

“Then why trap my knights?”

“Well,” the figure said, lifting his silver-threaded hand as if plucking at invisible strings, “I am a devil. It's in my nature to be cruel. My name is Adramelech. The Devil of Fate.”

The devil closed his right fist with elegance, moving some of the threads from the sky like a puppeteer. The church darkened as the threads trembled, thousands of lines humming with his will. Fuegoleon felt Salamander’s power flare behind him, the air itself heating into a promise of battle.

He raised his hand, ready to cast a spell. He thought back of the knight manipulated to look like Leopold, wondering how Fate Magic worked. It could defy Rouge's aid, forcing reality to paths. And the devil seemed to have destined a lot of his mana to the stars of silver thread in the sky.

The pull of magic intensified, as if it tried to suck his soul out of his body. Reality blurred around the edges and his vision filled with black dots. He inhaled sharply, steadying himself. This was the devil's doing. A tremendous mana zone. To steal mana from knights and to feed the devil's plans. It was time to stop the circus now.

“Free them.”

Fuegoleon’s voice was low and hard, a command that carried the weight of flame and faith. “Now.”

Adramelech tilted his head, a crooked smile curving his mouth. “But what fun would that be? I need them for my dream. I want the world for the devils to roam free. The chaos of their rising from the Underworld. And for that I need all you knights dead.”

Fuegoleon’s grimoire flared at his side, pages turning in the wind. Salamander rose behind him in a coil of molten air, heat shimmering through the fog. “So… your dream ends in death,” the Captain said evenly. “You will not make martyrs of my knights for sport. Release them —or I will burn this web to cinders.”

Fire surged across his arm, the edges of his cloak curling to smoke.

Twenty-four knights scattered through the fog. Their mana signatures flickered weakly, many already fading. If he failed to act, the web would start draining their life force next.

Adramelech rolled his eyes toward the ashen sky, reading constellations only he could see. “Why are you so stubborn, little lion? You’ll all die the same. If Lucius wins. If I win. Even if you win. What’s one more death?”

Fuegoleon stepped forward, until his boot brushed the nearest thread and it sang under the pressure. “There is a difference,” he said, voice like the edge of a blade. “A world where we choose how we die is worth more than a world you arrange for us. We carve our fate with our choices.”

The devil chuckled, half amused, half pitying. “Ah, the eternal human delusion.” His fingers danced, silver threads shimmering like starlight. “You really think you can rewrite what I’ve woven? I decide your fate, you moron.”

Fuegoleon’s jaw tightened. “We decide our fate.”

It wasn’t a shout —it was a vow, hot and absolute.

Adramelech’s smile widened, delight dancing in his red irises. “I want you to fight Lucius. I want him gone. For now, we share that goal. You should be grateful.”

“Gratitude,” Fuegoleon declared, his hair and eyeliner ablaze amidst his mana storm, “is not earned by words. Free my knights.”

The devil blinked once, mockingly innocent. “No.”

“Then I will make you let them go.”

A flicker of genuine amusement crossed Adramelech’s eyes, crossing his arms. “Fine,” he purred. “If you insist on dying bravely, who am I to spoil the entertainment?”

The web shivered. From the ruins, a guardian angel burst out, hurling a lance of celestial light. Fuegoleon countered with Sol Linea —the beam veered off-course, twisting unnaturally and arcing back toward him. He pivoted midair, fire lashing, deflecting his own spell into the ground. He saw the devil move, but he focused instead on studying how the web reacted to his spells. His heart thrummed loudly in his ears, adrenaline rushing to prepare him for battle. It was time for the Vermillions to show their resolve to the kingdom, to protect the lives of the innocents, to preserve the world and faith for a better future.

“Today you won’t land a blow,” Adramelech sang, perched atop a ruined column while the guardian angel kept shooting beams at them. “Says fate.”

Flames roared in Fuegoleon’s chest, fury and conviction fusing into one unbreakable core. “You don’t get to decide that!” he shouted, his mana erupting in an inferno. “We carve our path with our choices! Every thought, every scar, every flame is ours! I refuse to accept that our lives are a script carved in stone… and if I must burn you to ash to prove you wrong, then so be it!”

Salamander’s roar shook the air. Fuegoleon disintegrated the face of the guardian angel with a clean fiery punch. At that, the devil’s web shimmered in the reflected blaze, constellations flickering above them like dying stars.

Adramelech sighed, long and theatrical, already losing interest. “Fine. Burn bright if you must. It changes nothing. You’re still one spark in the pattern.”

He flicked his fingers —the sky-web rippled, one star fading from existence. “You are no longer needed for Lucius’ defeat,” he said softly, eyes narrowing. “So tell me, Fuegoleon Vermillion —how would you like to die?”

Fuegoleon’s answer was flame.

Each blow was carefully calculated, planned to test the trajectory of the malignant mana that surrounded the devil. A drop of sweat dripped down his shin, jumping from boulder to boulder that was thrown at him while protecting the cocoons Salamander had managed to break free from the main web. Although Adramelech seemed physically weak, the strength of his silver silk was greater than steel and flexible as rubber. Each time he tried to land a direct blow on the devil, his efforts were fruitless: the spell bifurcated, got absorbed into the web, thrown back at him, or simply vanished into nothingness.

Which got us to the point now. Fuegoleon knew that the devils' mana zone was unlike any other that he knew. His control over the magic went beyond mana current manipulation, reinvesting the mana the zone stole onto the silver sparks up in the sky… which appeared to have a direct relation to the outcome of his attacks.

Salamander growled low in the background, angrily staring at his host by his inability to take down such annoying devil.

Have any better ideas? I can't go near him! He screamed internally to the Fire Spirit as he lunged forward, dodging several tense strings thrown in his direction. The devil laughed delighted in the background, propelling himself with webs to punch Fuegoleon in the face. The Captain took advantage of the proximity to burn the mana around him fiercely, casting a firestorm around the devil.

Adramelech jumped in the air, moving back with his wings unharmed. His mischievous smile alerted the Captain milliseconds before the attack, barely dodging a knot of thread that could have severed his head.

"This is so fun!" the devil laughed closing his hands to close a cage of webs around himself and the Captain.

Fuse with me. The Salamander supplied, sending a blow of fire to the cage to help his master, forcefully deforming the webs with its claws.

Care to explain how to do that!? Fuegoleon asked, breathing heavily as he surrounded himself with a wall of fire to stop the web from slicing him like a cubed ham.

Our hearts have to align. Let the mana in the air resonate with your resolve. Spoke Salamander, his green venomous fire strong enough to clear a small patch for the Captain to scape. Fuegoleon frowned. He was not as gifted as Yuno in mana sensing, and had not the chance to train fusing with his spirit like Noelle did. For a long time, as he was newly disabled and learning to coordinate his fire arm, he'd through that it was better for Salamander and him to train as a team, the wielder and the blade, rather than fusing. That he would not be able since he was not attuned with the changes of his body. Of how his own damn pride and character that gave him force also kept him restrained. How wrong had he been. If for once he'd heard Nozel's word about learning the goddamn spirit dive. Shameful, for a man that prided himself of his growth to be struggling so greatly with a devil. He heaved, landing unsteady on his feet. Well, he had to learn now, then.

He let his mind wander as he dismissed his thoughts one by one.

The battle.

The future of the kingdom.

Mereoleona and Leo.

His knights.

Julius and the Captains.

His failure to progress.

The green sparks of mana dancing in the air took place instead, observing in his mind how the flux mangled unnaturally across the destroyed cathedral, gathering in Adramelech's fingertips before shooting up to the sky. The weak butterflies that left the knights to dance trapped in the web, avoiding Fuegoleon and Salamander like a plague.

And the Spirit that had chosen him, strong and brave, protecting the fallen bodies, retrieving the cocoons and guarding them like a loyal dog. The Spirit was loved by mana, and not even the devil's control could rein in the Spirit's magic.

Loyalty. Protection. Fire and resolution. He blurred his own mana attempting to match Salamander's. He breathed out.

He remembered once when he'd spoken with the child version of the Wizard King, strategizing about each one of the possible outcomes during the invasion to the Spade Kingdom and their fights against the Dark Triad, in the late of the night.

"Captain Fuegoleon, while planning and considering each possibility allows us peace of mind and preparation, there are rare instances in which one has to decide on the go, forfeiting what one knew and facing the odds face to face. Our duty is to protect, first and foremost. And that entitles defeating the cause of the problem itself."

"Sometimes, it means to sacrifice what we believe of ourselves." Julius spoke with his big violet eyes gazing the horizon distractedly. Said like a man that had been through too much and still chose to keep fighting.

Now, he wondered if that had been Lucius speaking.

A silver thread flew right next to his cheek. He though about himself fusing with Salamander, physically merging their mana and their soul. Of their fires singing ablaze. Of their will to protect and stand against the adversity with heads held high.

Elemental magic felt different on the body. It was first his arms, the green butterflies of pure mana gathering over this body like fireflies in the wind. His mind attracting Salamander's like a magnet.

Adramelech laughed cruelly, standing still a meter away from Fuegoleon. He felt the fake stars in the sky fickle and twist, before feeling impending doom flooding around him.

"Not even in your dreams, little lion!"

The mana bent unnaturally, severing his connection to the world for a moment as he felt the hit of a web cutting his skin, pushing him through the broken walls of the cathedral and backwards, crashing multiple walls in his journey.

He'd been so close. He could still taste the pure mana in his tongue. Now instead it was blood he coughed after breaking a couple ribs and getting hurt in the way. The web stuck in his skin, cutting if he moved. Salamander sent him a signal to check him in the distance, but his mind was disoriented after experiencing the abrupt cut of the spirit dive connection.

The fog around the church disappeared.

"Captain Fuegoleon!"

"Back up is here!" boldly declared Magna, jumping down from a cotton cloud from the sky, Luck appearing like a lightening bolt to his side. Vanessa swinged with her strings, landing right next to the captain. The two young knights dashed forward to the church, laughing maniacally as they held hands and combined their magics.

“Stop them!” Fuegoleon’s voice cut across the ruins, controlled but edged with urgency. “He manipulates mana— he wields fate magic!”

The silver threads shimmered red under Vanessa’s influence, and the witch grinned. “They’ll be fine.”

“Aurhggg—!” Luck was sent flying to a building nearby, while Magna kept on trying to get near the devil.

“Don't you run, you shiny freak!” Magna laughed as he swung his bat, seconds before the church bursted in flames. Salamander tried to get to Fuegoleon but it just happened to be caught in a giant silver web. Fuegoleon sighed as he saw his Spirit struggle burning the thick silver silk. 

“Your magic may break free the knights in the cocoons inside the church.” He instructed Vanessa, flexing his real arm to check the damage. Functional for now. Enough for battle. “I… I'll finish him.”

“Aye aye, Captain! Mother Vanessa to the rescue!”

The witch swung across the debris flawlessly with her strings, each of her steps turning the silver thread to scarlet lace.

“You!” Fuegoleon screamed across the ruins, getting the devil's attention as Magna's fireballs and Luck's lightning missed him like it was choreographed. “This is between us, Adramelech.”

“But your little friends are trying so hard!”

The devil marveled, dancing across the air deflecting the spells. His silk turned like water currents under his hands, trying and knotting a web that snarled both of the Black Bulls in a seamless turn. Magna and Luck groaned and whined, shifting inside the cocoon that dangled in the air.

Luck was trying his hardest to cut the silver webs that tangled him upside down next to Magna, both crushed together inside the shining cocoon.

“Get your but outta my face!” shouted Magna spitting silk out of his mouth.

“Stay still Magna, I can't cut this stuff!” complained Luck, using definitive magic to try to cut the silver without much progress.

“Try better! I can't see sh—”

The cocoon thickened and sealed, their voices suffocated mid-argument. Vanessa dashed towards them, but a sudden lash of silver forced her back crashing onto a set of benches. Salamander surged between them, wings flaring wide, shielding the witch from the new slicing threads the devil sent her way. Some of its scales were cut, falling to the floor in flames. 

Kahono appeared at the church entrance, pale but determined, her melody rising through the dust as a balm for the injured. Fuegoleon felt his ribs ache less, his lungs clear. The spell of the priestess maintained stable the life force of the knights, but it was clear that she would not stand much longer singing. Vanessa rose from the broken wood with Kahono's help, nodding to the Captain once, readying her strings. Rouge manifested on her shoulder, her tail completely red now.

Adramelech eyes them with disinterest, turning his wicked smile to the Captain.

“This little theater was so cute. Now, what did you wanted to show me, little lion?”

His world vision shifted in seconds, painfully blurring as his body was sent flying by a piece of rock pushing his chest backwards. His breath was pulled out of his chest by the hit, crumbling against a tower in the distance. He coughed up blood, falling to the floor in the dust cloud.

A loud crash deafened him, the tower crumbling further as another big object landed on it. A mass of orange half buried in the remains of the construction. The mana around them shifted, convulsing unnaturally to shift the stars in the daylight sky. One of them faded slowly, like a comet turning away.

Silver silk surrounded the buildings in a massive net, anchored to the stone floor of the city. Inescapable. Absolute.

“Fire Creation Magic: Ignis Columna.” Fuegoleon roared, hurling a blazing column upwards to sear the encroaching web.

Adramelech only laughed, hovering in midair, his hands weaving silver light like a loom. “Ah, there it is! Show me that resilience humans are so proud of. I want to study it before I send you all to purgatory.”

Fuegoleon braced himself, shielding Salamander as the silken mass contracted. Fury burned through his exhaustion, a heat too pure for words. This mockery of a devil… this scavenger who dared toy with his knights, with his people.

What would Mereoleona say, seeing him struggle like this? What would Leo think —his little brother, always chasing his example— if he saw him falter now?

No. He refused.

The fire in his chest blazed hotter, a storm barely contained. His magic crackled in the air, unstable with wrath.

“You should not underestimate humanity,” he said quietly, his voice steady showing the leader he was. He raised his chin, eyes unflinching. “Our fire does not fade so easily.”

“Oh? Then show me. You are all bark and no bite, Captain. And that Fire Spirit of yours, useless. It can barely weaken my silks.”

Fuegoleon didn’t answer. The heat around him rippled like a mirage.

The devil flicked his wrists. The web came down like a guillotine, swallowing light, sound, and mana itself. Buildings folded under its weight. The air trembled and pillars collapsed, burying the Fire Spirit and his host.

And then there was only silence.

Chapter Text

A rattle, a low rumble crossing the whole battlefield to knock on the crumbling cathedral.

The devil turned to the witch, smiling like the kid who stole the last candy. He even licked his lips for good measure. Muffled screams and grunts made their way out of the gargantuan web that had just trapped Fuegoleon and Salamander, lifting a cloud of dust that hid the entire section of the city.

The whole ordeal appeared to delight him to no end.

Her threads moved the speed of light trying to get all the cocoons together: her magic turned the silver web into red strands —it did not unravel the cocoons. But at least it stopped the drainage of the mage’s mana, which was so faint she could not feel their magics in the dusty fog. By memory alone, she remembered a couple, so now, she relied on Rouge to find the others for her. Kahono had been singing to the rescued wizards, in an attempt to stop their most pressing injuries. However, at the last minute, with the dense dirt in the hair, the melodies of the priestess had gone died down.

Her gaze locked with the devil, who smiled smug as he hovered in the air.

“What a gift from the world to get just the only wizard in the world that can alter fate.” Adramelech said, using his wings to disperse the particles around him. He landed right in from of Vanessa, extending his hand that shone silver with invisible strands. He chuckled, visibly pleased. “Wait— it was me, actually.”

“You expecting a thank-you, sweetie?” she couldn't hold herself back, the bravado of the tease as a distraction of her tiny threads that Rouge guided. Her heart raced and the thread almost slipped from her hands. Magna's and Luck's cocoon laid just a meter away from the devil.

Adramelech grinned, showing his starkly white teeth.

“You are the prize.” He said simply, raising his hand to the sky.

Another weirdo that wants me? First Dante, now this? Thought the witch briefly, looking around for any help that could reach them… and just hoping whatever the Captain Fuegoleon was fighting under there was not enough for him to fall.

“The ultimate game. The trial carefully woven for me during centuries.”

“You act as if you were expecting me…” she commented, brushing her hair to the side with a side smile. “It would usually flatter me. Right now, it’s mostly weird.”

Her red thread made its way out of the cathedral, slowly creeping up ruins and debris up to the trap where the Captain was held. but it was so far… Adramelech's fist closed.

Spark of mana.

A single silver silk —thrown at her neck.

Rouge jumping from the settling dust and moving the magical guillotine.

“Wonderful!” the devil exclaimed, clapping his hands with amusement. “If we merge out magic, we would be invincible. We could take down Lucius with no issue."

“… weren't you working for him?”

“Ah, but what fun would it be if he won! That's no thrill for me. I like the struggle, the fight, the play.” He sighed dreamily, grazing up the sky to his constellations that flickered. “Now, I propose you a deal: you help me with Lucius, and then I don't kill you.”

“I heard your murderous ideals and have no interest in parting in that, sweetheart. Even if you help us with the big bad guy.”

The devil tilted his head, confused.

“I don't think you understand. Just as that little useless lion did: I am your ally. I want Lucius gone. After that, it's another business. We can renegotiate then… when time's due.”

“Let's say I go help you with Lucius.” She began flatly. “What it’s the plan?"

More knights scattered in cocoons, slowly waking in their tense silk prisons. Time, she needed more time…

“Your Captain,” Adramelech said thoughtfully, a maniac glow in his eyes, “the one with Dark Magic— he’s perfect. I make a contract with him, and together we kill Lucius.”

Vanessa froze.

“…You want Captain Yami?”

“And then I kill him,” the devil added cheerfully. “And all of you too.”

Her threads almost snapped, rage pouring into them like liquid fire.

“You what?”

Adramelech blinked, baffled by her anger. He even stopped his silken threads.

“I can spare your life,” he added generously, “if you entertain me.”

“I don't think you understand that we don't want to get killed.”

“You could be my eternal companion.” The devil offered, tilting his head to the side, expecting her answer.

“No.”

…

Adramelech sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes up toward his false stars. His own magic had ruined the fun again —mortals turning into self-made martyrs was getting old. Still, a brief diversion was better than watching Lucius’ inevitable, tediously perfect victory.

“Fine, let's see if a brief spar changes your mind.” The devil rolled his shoulders back, standing the tallest he'd been the whole time. His tail unfurled, revealing a fan of peacock feathers that shone silver in the light of noon. “Come then. Vanessa the Witch. Show me what you can do.”

The fight began with little setback. The Fate Devil constantly shot Vanessa fragments of debris and slashing silks, to which she avoided at the last possible moment with Rouge. Her threads shone with their faint fuchsia glow, doing her best to disable the webs from the abandoned mana zone spell of the devil —and trying her hardest to seem like she was focusing on the fight.

Rouge jumped like a spider from thread to thread, allowing her to move the cocoons to a safe space while sending occasional traps to Adramelech. It appeared to work, since the devil laughed delighted at each restraint, bench or stone she threw in his direction.

“That little cat is amazing!” Adramelech complimented, jumping backwards to land vertically in a crumbling column. His red eyes shone with childlike curiosity. “It could really mess up with my stars!”

Vanessa allowed herself to take the moment to catch a breather. Only two cocoons left, Magna and Luck's, and Kiato, who were all laying inside the cathedral. She observed the city with hopes of asking for help, but the other Bulls were busy dealing with the remaining guardian angels, and the Captains were finishing with the last copies of Lucius. And gods knew what had happened to Captain Fuegoleon. She just hoped he was alive.

“Thank you,” she thanked him, bowing a little. If he turned, she might get enough time to enchant the silk with her magic. She needed a distraction.

Adramelech smiled. His nails sharpened to claws and his horns appeared to grow in size along with his tail. The malignant mana she'd felt when arriving to the cathedral doubled, making the air thick with magic. The world felt like closing in, collapsing from all angles.

“Oh no, that's no good.” The devil jumped down, holding his hands in prayer with a cruel grin on his lips. “It means I'll have to kill you."

Her threads rushed to push the two last cocoons out of the zone, sending them flying in the air. The black hole of magic closed all around her in a dark fog.

“Fate magic: Delusion Play—”

Rouge disappeared. The devil vanished with a flicker of Finral's Fallen Angel Flapping, a surprised yelp getting cut by the teleportation. She turned, running to the mass of silver webs that had trapped the captain.

“Hey girl! Reinforcement has come!” Finral saluted from one of his portals, in which she saw how Nero and Zora played with the devil with complex traps.

“Finral! Thank gods!” she breathed, taking the spatial mage out of the portal. They briefly hugged, and she dusted her clothes. What a crazy situation. She'd been certain that the devil had said something before getting pulled by Finral's magic. She glanced up at the sky, confused at the lack of artificial stars. “Didn't you see…”

“Captain Fuegoleon!” Finral shouted, running to the mass of web that was currently getting burned away to crisp by a handsome captain. The Crimson Lion had ridiculous dragon arms and some horns…

“Finral, Vanessa. Thank you for helping me out with that brat. Now it's time we show him what Clover Knights are made of."

“Yes sir!” she cheered, using her thread to bundle up all knights and putting them away with a portal courtesy from Finral. “Magna and Luck will be out for a while, that web sucked their magic.”

“And you seem quite fine, Vanessa. I barely could touch that devil. Impressive. Your magic has grown so much.”

“Guys… I think we should get going.” Finral said alarmed, and in seconds a blinding light eclipsed their vision.

A new paladin.

“Is that… captain Yami?"

“My dearest Bulls! Stop this nonsense… Lord Lucius knows better, he will make a world were outcasts like us are accepted and welcomed. No differences, no bullshit drama royalty, no nobles and crap. A proper family for us all.”

“Lies!” she screamed, wondering where the hell Rouge went. She still had plenty of mana, but her grimoire seemed stuck in time, unresponsive. By the corner of her eyes, she saw how each of her beloved mages got transformed into a monster in a matter of seconds. Lucius was teleporting right next to them, turning one after another into the purified garbage he called true humans.

“Captain Yami would never say that!”

A mass of white moving marble descended from the sky, four sets of monstrous wings weighted by the giant centaur with horns…

“Look Vanessa, I have magic!”

Familiar green eyes looked down at her, their friendliness and warmth absent.

"Asta… no. No, this cannot be it."

“Is this how you want them to die, witch?” sneered Adramelech to her side, his silver thread lacing around her chest multiple times.

“This is not real!” she cried.

The spell broke, revealing the real world with the black fog dispersing.

In just a second, she crafted a blade of red thread, that magically solidified into burgundy obsidian. The purest manifestation of her magic she was capable of. The silver thread tightened around her torso, starting to cut the skin. Rouge jumped to her face, covering one eye.

“Is your answer still no?"

She kicked Adramelech away with a grunt, cutting the silk with the blade. Rouge was thin, almost vanishing, allowing her to see a black mass throbbing inside the devil's body, just below where his belly button would have been.

The devil's heart.

“That hurt, witch."

A chance for her to destroy him. Her grip tightened around the blade.

With her free hand, she crafted lace to tie the devil's extremities. Adramelech danced around them with grace, answering with waves of slashing silks. Of web traps. Of sticky bounds.

Cut after cut she freed herself from his webs. She was losing a significant amount of blood, vision blurring at the edges and the reality spinning dizzily —but she could not give up.

The devil knew fate… that meant his illusions were not far from what could be reality.

And she could not let that happen.

A flicker in the sky made the devil look up worried, stopping his constant weaving of traps to study his stars. The perfect opening. Vanessa's threads were growing thin, but she managed to get enough force to propel herself into the devil's personal space, aiming for the navel.

The blade pierced dark fur. A single drop of black blood fell to the floor and then —she was choking. Silver lace held her like a puppet, tightening around her neck, her waist, her hands, her feet.

Adramelech licked his lips, amused.

“This is the closest I’ve ever been to a human,” he murmured, studying her face like an artist admiring a sculpture. “Fascinating creatures. Especially you. A pity I must kill you.”

“Then… don't.” She managed to say.

“You, of all humans, should know how fate works, witch.” He caressed her cheek with the back of a claw. “I thank you. Our battle was… entertaining. But that stupid cat won’t save you now.”

The devil distanced himself with his wings, landing lightly on the shattered floor. The world was dimming again for Vanessa, and this time it did not have the gentle illusion of the spell.

“Fate says you die now. Goodbye, my dearest.”

Vanessa’s vision went completely dark. Her body refused to move, her magic failing. So, this was it. She hoped she had done enough. She felt the end closing in.

And then… warmth.

It wasn’t just a friendly embrace. It was bigger, vaster, like standing before the sun itself. Fire roared through the ruins, scouring the silver threads to ash. The choking stopped. Her lungs filled with hot air, heart thumping, alive again.

A shadow rose from the rubble —tall, armored, blazing like a dragons' breath. Scales of fire, a mane of living flame, wings stretching wide behind him. A set of horns born from his hairline, muscular arms with clawed hands, and a strong tail.

Fuegoleon Vermillion stood wreathed in fire, his eyes burning like suns. Salamander solidified to his soul, their flames one and the same.

Adramelech’s grin faltered for the first time.

Fuegoleon’s ragged breaths cut through the silence, shallow and broken. Jagged pillars and shattered stone pinned him from all sides, pressing the weight of defeat into his chest.

Salamander’s voice burned in his mind; wings coiled protectively over his battered form. A lion brought low.

Defeat. An unfamiliar concept. His whole life, he had trained, endured, risen above —always striving to be stronger, wiser, worthier. The rival of Nozel, the brother of Mereoleona, the flawless captain, the Wizard King candidate. He had known setbacks, but never this hollow collapse.

Not like this.

Salamander rumbled again. Endure.

Fuegoleon coughed, lungs searing. His strikes against Adramelech… worthless. Not one had landed. If not for the three Black Bulls, he would be dead already. All his years of discipline, and here he was buried in rubble, caught in a web, unable to shield those who trusted him.

Nothing more than a wounded ego, Salamander growled.

His heart winced painfully at Salamander's words, but there was no malice on them. The Spirit was right.

For too long he's shielded away on the expectations of everybody else. Been the perfect captain. The loyal rival. The brave knight. The wise mentor. Salamander's host.

A golden cage…

Too perfect. Too restrained. Too caged.

Enough.

Heat welled up in his chest, tears stinging his eyes as Salamander roared beside his heart.

All his ideals had carried him far —but ideals alone could not protect his people. Not from devils. Not from Lucius. Not from fate itself.

Lions were untamed beasts. They did not care about what was fair or not, lions protected fiercely. The sheer desire to protect their own pack, their curbs, their mates… the drive to conquer, to protect their territory, to fight for the survival of their species.

His dreams meant nothing if there was no world left to dream in.

Fight! Salamander commanded.

Fuegoleon roared back, the rubble trembling. "For as long as I breathe… I will fight to protect what is mine!"

His grimoire ignited, pages flaring open in a storm of heat. Mana cracked like thunder around him.

The king of the savanna does not hesitate. Show me, Fuegoleon. Your hunger, your will to protect and conquer!

A feral fire lit in his eyes. His roar shook the ruins.

"This is my chance to prove myself worthy of recognition. To burn the expectations. To defy the odds and succeed… And if we have to burn fate to get there, let's burn it all!"

Spoken like a true warrior. Salamander’s flames surged. Now, let our souls roar as one. Together, we burn destiny itself!

The city trembled as fire erupted, rubble disintegrating in the blaze. Fuegoleon rose, clad in gleaming scales of flame, wings unfurled, mane ablaze with untamed power.

"Spirit Union: Salamander's Oath!"

Finral appeared finally, answering the call the Captain had made mere minutes ago —they felt like hours to Vanessa. A wall of flame separated the cocoons and them from the Captain and the devil, and they wasted no time getting out of there.

Captain Fuegoleon of the Crimson Lions floated in the middle of the battlefield, face to face with Adramelech. The devil had the decency to look something other than bored, a slight frown on his androgynous features.

“You, messing with my fun again…” he muttered, adjusting a stray feather. “Can’t you just die for once?”

Fuegoleon’s smile was sharp, flames dancing in his mane of hair. The sheer strength of his fire destroyed the silver threads that the devil tried to weave around him.

“You spoke of dreams,” he said, voice vibrating like a lion’s roar. “To fulfill mine, I need a world left to protect. And for that, I must defeat you now."

Adramelech’s threads pulsed, weaving a net across the sky instead. “The thing is… the future is already decided. Lucius used Lord Astaroth's magic to see all possible outcomes. Even if you fuse with your spirit, even if you burn everything,” his voice darkened, “you still lose.”

The devil seemed over it, studying the silver web on the sky above them.

“Now go, help defeating Lucius or something.”

Adramelech turned, attempting to fly out of the city—

“Flames of Justice: Antechamber of Hell.”

His silks stopped the devil from hitting the mana wall that appeared before him. The cage attempted to drain his mana.

Mana zone: Arachnid’s Dominion.

The spell of devil of the peacock feathers cast his mana zone between himself and the cage, plastering the walls with spiderlike silver webs, stopping greatly the flow. Even so, he felt a slight drain of his force. Ah, what a bummer. His magic had not been able to predict the extent of the attack. He hissed tiredly.

“Don't think cheap tricks like this will defeat me."

The little mana that got stolen from the devil graced those fighting for their lives in the area, a friendly restoring flame embracing them.

“Why help them? They'll be dead in no time.” Adramelech noted, carefully weaving strings surrounding the cage with a frown on his face.

“It’s my duty and my desire. A devil like you will never understand what it is to care for another."

The devil clicked his tongue. “Don't you go around putting words in my mouth, little lion.”

The human-spirit union approached rapidly, almost touching the devil time and time again. Even with the zone of the spell, his influence on the outcome of the attacks still maintained. But after all, Adramelech had not been able to deflect Antechamber of Hell.

“Fate magic: Needle Threader.”

Fuegoleon saw the silk before it touched him, the reinforced threads shining against his fire. This time, he deflected them with a fire ball, dashing on the air to the cage. Adramelech closed his eyes as he felt the punch…

He’d seen his fate. He could not get out of the cage unharmed, but his mana zone spell had done more than just stopping the stealing of mana. Not all threads could be seen, our touch at all. Ah, but it hurt.

“You dare to touch me…” he snarled, his threads shining like moonlight.

The Antechamber of Hell spell broke like glass, surrendering under the tension of the webs.

“Now you will see what happens to those who dare defy destiny! Fate magic: Silken Guillotine!”

Adramelech tail feathers puffed, in full peacock majesty. From each of the tips of the black and grey feathers a thick rope of thread emerged, shooting towards the captain at immense speed.

The ropes cut through the air, the stones and the flames like they were butter. Fuegoleon avoided some, but the thin knives pierced his scaly armor, cutting his skin. His whole body was bleeding, the sharp tension of the threads burning after their success.

Adramelech continued making the thread dance in the air, weaving a prison around the Captain. He saw how the flaming armor broke under his stronger spells, damaging his opponent even more. But still, the lion-salamander smirked.

“Purging Flames: Salamander’s Renewal.”

The whole armor re-appeared, thicker, denser, hotter. Adramelech groaned, completely fed up.

“Let's see how long does that defensive spell of yours last—”

A flame grazed his skin. The devil grasped surprised, fury emerging from within. He screamed as he unleashed the thickest cutting ropes he managed, throwing the Captain to the carefully weaved trap, invisible and intangible.

The web received the Captain with a elastic bounce, sticky thread capturing his wings. The invisible web pulsed with magic, and being so close to the fake stars in the sky, he observed a faint trace of light dancing between the shining silver. A faint green glow, almost unnoticeable under the blue sky, ascending in between each star. A particularly strong strand of light connected the top of the Qlithoph with the central star, brighter than them all.

The light pulsed with magic.

An inherently different magic from Adramelech or any he knew of Lucius.

A magic that almost felt familiar.

Traces of smoke in the air forced him to focus again in his direct environment, encouraging his newly natural flame to incinerate the invisible web. Adramelech flew in his direction, and he had just enough time to prepare a last spell to end him. The future was in his hands now.

“Time is ticking…” Adramelech sang from the distance, extending his hands to the sky to unleash new silver threads that cut even the mana. “Your fate is coming.”

“I would not be so confident, boring devil!”

Time to try a new mana zone spell, inspired by his sister.

“Flames of Justice: Judgment Auditorium!”

The whole battlefield transformed into an infernal coliseum, flame pillars growing from the earth's core to frame the crumbling city. A deep orange tinged the air, fire hot and consuming even the stars above. This spell took the devil's mana, restricting his flow. Any spell the devil tried to cast would be judged, absorbed to give to the weak.

A massive lion manifested in the sky, facing Adramelech.

“A big lion? You picture me scared?”

“GUILTY,” the lion roared making the whole realm shake.

The spirit union chimera laughed.

Adramelech inhaled sharply, using his silks to cover his body to prevent himself from burning like his thinner threads.

“Flames of Justice: Purifying Flame of God.”

A beam of fire fell from the sun itself, striking Adramelech from every angle. His horns burned, his hands crisped, but at the last moment possible he cocooned himself with silks. It was his own magic that allowed him to survive… because otherwise, he'd be dead. Not even Lucius with the whole power of the Qlithoph could have resisted that.

Gathering every drop of power left in his body, Adramelech tore himself free from the spell with a violent burst of spider-web mana, panting. His threads turned translucent, nearly invisible, as he prepared his most absolute, catastrophic magic.

“Fate Magic: Eternal Fatalism!”

The world convulsed.

Mereoleona getting cut and vanishing into mana. Leopold getting decapitated. The other Captains surrounded by the guillotines of fate, succumbing before their opponents in this bloody battle. He saw himself, burning away in fury, exploding with the whole city.

Through the flood of tragedy, Adramelech smiled, serene and cruel.

“It ends here.”

The silver webs closed like a cocoon of inevitability, threads of pure destiny tightening from every angle. Every escape choked off. Every route doomed. The fate-devil’s trap was perfect.

But the blaze inside Fuegoleon burned hotter than fate, hotter than despair, hotter than the universe Lucius wished to create. His fire consumed air, mana —and even destiny itself.

“No devil will steal my dreams!”

Salamanders were symbols of rebirth, passion, purity against devils.

Lions, symbols of courage, wisdom, unbreakable will.

Fuegoleon was both.

And together, they fused into something mythic.

“Saint Stage: Nutrisco et Extinguo!”

From the infernal heart of the earth, wild primordial mana erupted, answering an ancient call. Flames spiraled into a towering chimera of molten lava lion and blazing salamander, a creature born of courage and eternity.

It roared, and reality seemed to pause.

Adramelech froze. His hands, his wings, his peacock feathers wove desperately through centuries of timelines, searching, recalculating, rewriting—

—and all of them converged to the same fate.

No divergence.

No escape.

No outcome but this.

It was impossible.

“Forbidden Fate Magic: Impending Doom!”

The false constellation above shattered. Silver stars fell like a meteor shower. Galaxies of endings screamed down toward Fuegoleon. Even Lucius turned to pause his fight in the top of the Qlithoph.

The battlefield warped in illusions of massacre:

worlds burning,

friends dying,

futures collapsing.

But his spirit cut through it all.

His soul and Salamander’s merged into a single, incandescent will.

Unbreakable.

Absolute.

Not fate, not a devil, not Lucius, not anything would stop him from protecting his world.

The colossal chimera of fire lunged and devoured Adramelech in holy flame.

Silver threads snapped all at once as the remaining stars of fate burst into dying sparks across the battlefield. Warriors froze in place, despair shifting to disbelief.

To hope.

Adramelech writhed inside the firestorm, wings incinerated, skin unraveling into ash. Yet… a strange peace touched his fading smile.

And then he saw it.

Through the burning sky, his fate-sight, fractured and collapsing, caught one final vision:

The central star —blinding, pulsing, alive— connected by a singular, impossible thread to the Qliphoth itself.

A thread glowing not silver, not devilish, but… aurora-light. Adramelech’s eyes widened, truly shaken for the first time, even at death's door.

“That connection… it’s not mine.”

He reached out blindly, as if trying to grasp the thread before it vanished.

“Lucius… doesn’t see it. He can’t see it.”

Fuegoleon’s fire surged hotter, consuming the devil’s form.

Adramelech laughed weakly —broken, exhilarated, terrified.

“Astaroth… you were right…”

His voice cracked, a whisper swallowed by flame. “Humans…”

Destiny danced in his eyes one last time, a play he would never direct. A future forged in flames.

“…they find a way.”

Then the black heart of the devil ignited, dissolving into ash.

That same second, a faint pulse of mana traveled across the whole world.

Chapter Text

Julius appeared in a different place. It was quiet and dimly lit, a big meeting room with a round table with multiple chairs. He walked, counting each of the luxurious wooden chairs in the place. 27. What an odd number to have. Next to a wall, commanding the room, a throne rested in all its glory, adorned with red velvet cushions and golden drapes. A plaque shone on the floor, at the edge of the throne. Julius Novachrono.

The 28th chair.

Could this be…?

He glanced at his hands, finding his form incorporeal. He was like an illustration, intense violet edges that shone in the penumbra of the command room. He opened his fist, sending a hesitant wave of mana to the center of the ceiling. The room alight with warm flames from a chandelier, pulsing with a wave of light blue magic.

He’d read it in Lumiel’s notes. Annora, one of the few Wizard Queens had described the place in staring detail: an immaterial palace where all the previous holders of the title could gather, given the occasion rose; a vault of intangible knowledge and resources for the Wizard Kings and Queens. A library, a fortress, a laboratory. A bridge between the physical world and afterlife. A place where souls could be stored, according to Conrad.

Elsdocia. The Imperial Sword.

The relic Conrad had nicely shattered. He chuckled dryly, wondering what use he could give to the broken artifact in his state. Probably this was a temporal interaction, given that Lucius could probably feel that a part of his soul was not trapped in the infinite void of his consciousness. However… there was a chance that a fragment of his soul had already been inside Elsdocia. Ever since he’d started his rein.

Despite his soreness about Conrad’s plan of destroying the world —much more compassionate and decent than Lucius’ plan, of course—, his knowledge and understanding of the Imperial Sword would be handy now. He sighed heavily. Without a clue about his own magic and what to do in this place, Conrad was really not a bad option. And he felt less bad about pulling him out of wherever place afterlife was than the other Wizard Kings and Queens.

He touched the back of the chair with the 27th plaque, sending a shot of his mysterious magic. It did not feel like transformation magic, that sure was. Neither time magic, although he sensed that they could be related to some degree. It felt warm and inviting, without being a representation of fire or an elemental magic, altogether. The mana he manipulated with the simple ‘spells’, moved completely differently from what he’d felt in his lifetime.

Astaroth had been right. If this was any type of magic he’d seen, he would have recognized it by the way it interacted with mana. His… felt like a change in currents. Like pathways. Almost if the little mana birds were following a thread. And it looked like lights. Green, violet, pink, blue lights. With a scarped pattern, like the top edges of a mountain.

His fascination over the mana was rapidly taken away from his mind with a barreling hug, lifting him in the air.

“Julius! You are alive!”

A luscious green soul. Strong, muscular silhouette. A hug he’d missed for over a decade.

Shock froze him, barely accounting for the situation as he was squeezed. Conrad… was not mad anymore. He’d recovered that joyous flicker in his mana, familiar and calm, not unlike sunshine. His friend… his best friend.

But how could this be real? Lucius magic was powerful, and the extent of the manipulations of the soul he could manage was immense. Neither Acier nor Morgen, Morgen especially, would have harmed anyone with ill intent, even less a family member. He’d never remembered on his own about Lucius, his family, or his childhood memories. He could not trust this. If Lucius could see his memories, this easily could be a play crafted to ease the sorrow of his soul. To entertain him while he pursued the final phase of his plan.

But his little magic flickers… and Conrad’s mana…

“Hey…” he heard faintly, as he was released to the floor gently. He could not meet his eyes. Not when they reminded so much of him.

What would Lucius do then to punish him? Turn Conrad into a paladin and doom them for further destruction of the Kingdom? Conrad had fallen into his most destructive tendencies, devastated after attempting to change the world and failing to notice immediate success… and well, that the royalist had killed his whole squad and his wife, Lovilia. All that plus 10 years of solitude after treason from his best friend and knights would do that to a soul. And Lucius taking his failure to save Conrad, making him a weapon against his own people again…

He clenched his fists so strongly the edges of his soul blurred. Even his mana flared. It felt dangerous, damaging, like it tore reality.

Lucius really enjoyed hurting him where it hurt the most.

Even so, he could not really bring himself to be mean to the illusion —or worse, a manipulated Conrad.

But, what if…

“I’m sorry, Conrad.” He whispered, losing his will to fight against whatever this was. He looked up, searching for his eyes. Conrad instantly lit up, offering a polite smile in return. He gestured the table, where an emblem of a light blue clover shone with crystal glow. He sighed, deciding to entertain Lucius with a worthy performance, taking a seat on what would have been Lumiel’s chair. How fitting. The King that had been sealed to protect his kingdom in the future versus the Wizard King that had had the power to foresee future and was directly related to the destruction of it. “It’s hard to believe we are here.”

“So, you remember it, yes?” Conrad hummed, looking at the chandelier. Some green lights still danced in the sky, a memory of the outburst of magic he’d tried earlier. Unlike anything he’d seen either.

“We are in Elsdocia.” Julius confirmed, observing the portraits of each of his predecessors in the walls of the hall. His own crowned the wall above the throne, clad in red and white, with his emblems and insignias. And old star forehead mark.

“I’m surprised you were able to repair the sword. Lumiel said that it was the magical crystal that broke, so he was unsure of anyone could ever bring it together again.” Conrad commented, not hiding his amusement. “Did you use time magic?”

Conrad’s easy going conversation mood just put him off further. He was trying his hardest to be understanding and kind, even if this all was a manipulation tactic from his twin; but after being kidnapped and mistreated by someone he had cared so much for, this particularly hurt. He had to be honest, at least. Maybe Lucius illusion slipped and told him what his magic was.

“No…” Did it matter, if he tried to see whether Conrad was really Conrad? “Lucius is using it, and he holds me hostage inside him. Time magic originates from the devil of time, to whom I’m the host.”

He studied the other’s teal soul with millimetric detail. His overall demeanor seemed to change at the information, looking at Julius with barely concealed pity. Conrad went as far as to take his hand to comfort him. Not saying a word.

He squared his shoulders, having the sudden urge to punch him on the face. So he gave in and did. Conrad did not stop him, closing his eyes in defeat at the hit.

“I guess I deserved that.”

“Last time we saw each other you made me watch as you tried to destroy the kingdom we worked so hard for! And now you show yourself in here all amicable and open… Lucius,” he spat, looking all around for a clue, reaching with mana as far as he could without a clear understanding. “Show yourself, coward.”

Conrad stayed at the table, massaging his sore cheek that had started to swell. “You punch better now,” the old Wizard King frowned, sighing. “I guess there is no way for me to demonstrate you now that I am, in fact, real. And it’s you who called me, Julius.”

“Prove yourself useful, if you at least keep a single drop of appreciation for an old friend.”

The key magic wizard shut down, considering the other’s words and evidently holding back a torrent of words. He sighed, rubbing his spectral face in his palms before meeting his eyes again. Whatever he reflected about, it seemed to clear his mind.

Lucius puppets have surprisingly simple personalities. This one… not, apparently.

“I’ve been keeping watch on the events of the Kingdom.” Confessed Conrad, frowning as he recalled the principal events of Judgment Day with great detail. Pride flowered in his chest, his total trust in his knights’ abilities solidifying further. If things kept the way they were unraveling, they had a chance. They just needed direction. And if he figured out his magic, he could do that.

“I reckoned your magic was not time as well, but I had no idea that it came from a devil. It’s hard to help you if you don’t have a grimoire at hand… maybe, if you cast a simple spell I could help.”

“Conrad, I really have no idea—” Julius began, feeling incredibly frustrated.

The other man interrupted him, lowering the incriminatory hand. “You repaired the sword and got here somehow. As far as I saw, Lucius does not have the Imperial Sword, and you have no access to your body, so you must have used magic. Show me. Anything.”

Cautious, extended his open palms to the ceiling, just as he’d done minutes before. The multicolored lights danced in the sky with their scarped mountain pattern, and he noticed that one of the streaks flew from him to Conrad, a mix of purple and teal glow. Interesting.

Up in the air, he began to notice a pattern: all portraits had a light connecting them to the clover in the center of the table. Birds of mana followed the pathways, seemingly happy to travel across the lines.

“See? They don’t do anything…”

Conrad’s observant gaze shifted from the bigger lights at the ceiling to the one across them, touching it with his hand. The room shone with a pulse of light, reacting to the mana Conrad had used to study the magic.

“Aurora lights.”

Julius felt a stab on his brain. The world around him spun, but his eyes kept fixed on the lights. A memory filled his every thought.

“Brother Julius! That’s a giant spell!”

Julius laughed good-naturedly, caressing the young boy’s hair. Dante was so small that he had no problem strolling with him in the icy cobblestones of the backyard. Up in the sky, the nocturnal aurora lights reined the darkness, dancing with a reddish glow tonight.

“Dante, that’s too big! A spell like that would drain me so much you’d have to take me back inside…” he tickled the boy, delighted at the innocent joy. “Aurora lights are natural here in our kingdom. My magic just happens to look like that.”

As to demonstrate, a little beam of yellow aurora manifested from Julius’ chest to Dante’s with a flicker of his hand. The toddler gasped amused, using his little hands to play with the light.

“Pretty light!”

The older brother chuckled lightly, adding with a voice filled with care. “This lights shows that we are connected, that we are brothers!”

The boy kicked his feet excitedly, turning to hug his brother’s chest. “When little sis comes, will she have one too?”

Julius smiled, but his demeanor turned bitter at the thought of his parents. Dante, of course, did not notice, lost looking at the lights in the sky. “Yes, we already have one… a tiny little red aurora. But when she’s born, it’ll be bigger. And prettier.”

Dante squealed, sliding out of the wheelchair to jump eagerly to the side.

“I have to tell my sis! Come, Jules!” he said excitedly, already running back inside where a fireplace waited for them. Lucius on the inside sighed lovingly, partially manifesting himself to look through one of Julius’ eyes.

“Your magic is surely amazing, brother dearest.” Hair half blond, half ebony, the two soul body looked up to the sky for a moment, a violet and a red eye curious of the world. “One day, we will go and see the world, using our magics to make it a better place.”

Julius inhaled sharply, what had been that? One of his memories? Maybe what Astaroth said was true: he was slowly unraveling his twin’s control over his mind. He held his head, feeling calmer when he opened his eyes and found Conrad still there, worriedly expecting an explanation.

“What was that?” the key magic wizard asked him, massaging his temples. Julius stared at him, confused.

“What thing?” he simply asked, reclining back on the chair.

“Was that a memory?”

“You… you saw it too?” he glanced down at the teal-violet light between them, that shone stronger than before. A couple thoughts began manifesting in his mind as he studied the light.

Best-friend. Predecessor. Former fellow Captain. Confidant. Momentary archenemy. Platonic love.

His head spun. His breath quickened. A curious wave of inquiry flooded his mind, wondering why it felt like a gate opening. Conrad stared at him, mouth agape.

Are you reading my thoughts?

“Yes!” Julius answered, feeling the thrill of observing a new magic in action take over him.

The lights continued speaking at him as he observed each of the lights of the room. Predecessors. Former Deer Squad Captains. Clover kingdom citizens. Nobility.

Then he turned, noticing the biggest aurora light, that just partially manifested in the room.

Twin brother. Nemesis. Born in Spade Kingdom.

“Conrad… the lights. This is my magic!” Julius said excitedly, mind quickly categorizing information and how the mana behaved differently around him. “It tells me the relationship things have, it repaired the sword, brought me here, and we even were able to share thoughts!”

Each aurora had its own history. Genealogical connections, work status, hierarchy, friendships, magic types… all that two people shared, how they were connected —it was there. The auroras were doing something; they told him the links and ties between them!

“I’d say it was more than just thoughts and memories, Julius.” Conrad observed, reaching to touch his spectral body, where a small portion of his violet soul had teal sparks, next to the aurora. “I’d say it connected our souls.”

…Connecting souls?

“Not only that, but this simple spell has also further solidified my soul into Elsdocia.”

They both stared at the light behind him. A connection from his body to the sword.

“Seems like your magic was not the only highly attuned to the sword.” Julius laughed happily for a moment, fascinated.

If his magic had been able to repair the sword from afar, there was the chance that he could call it and use it to fight Lucius. The problem was, how to fight for domination over their shared body when he was in the losing end? Lucius control depended exclusively on his magic, and given that he had devil mana and who-knows-what-card in his sleeve, they could not just simply tire him out or drain his mana.

But, in the stark contrast… If a body received too much mana at once, it paralyzed the soul’s ability to control magic. Mana overload. He hummed, looking at Conrad.

“Julius,” Conrad stared at him seriously, no doubt studying the mana movements around their souls. He felt through the remains of their shared mind connection the severity of his ideas. “Elsdocia has ability to move souls. Use it… This might be the only change we have.”

To use the sword to dislodge Lucius from their body once and for all.

One of Conrad’s gates opened, and his grimoire fell out. The real grimoire. Corporeal unlike them. How was that possible? Grimoires were supposed to go back to their towers once the wizard died. Conrad had attempted a forbidden spell, so maybe he’d been able to pull a legendary save of his grimoire before succumbing to the destruction of said spell. His key magic was truly amazing.

“But Lucius is too strong right now.” The other said, getting him out of his ramblings. “You have to find a way to make him weak enough, something as powerful to rip mana apart. Perhaps pure elemental magic, perhaps devil power, Asta’s anti-magic. Ask that devil of yours, he surely knows a thing or two.”

His grimoire fluttered in the air, opening in a new blank page where an spell was written quickly. Conrad’s soul flickered, losing a little of the intensity it had gained with Julius’ magic, but a new golden key appeared in his hand.

“I feel your presence fading.” Conrad noted gravely, extending his hand towards him. “Take this, Julius. It’s made of mana, you should be able to take it with you.”

A warranty. A way to tell whether this all was Lucius manipulation. He took it, closing his hand with hope in his eyes.

Conrad pursed his lips, humming. “What a mess this is. You are still full of surprises, Julius. This key should break any spell your soul is subjected to. Use it wisely.”

Julius’ eyes widened in surprise. “Conrad…”

“Consider this… a late apology.”

There were a million things he wanted to tell him. A thousand strategies to discuss to save the Kingdom. A dozen questions. Just one way out of Lucius mess.

Julius nodded, feeling more like himself he’d felt ever since Damnatio’s confession. The newfound thrum of his mana pulsed strongly down his spectral veins, almost overflowing, ready to reach out to the world. Without a grimoire at hand, it surely would be difficult. Nevertheless, the Kingdom was at stake, and he had something to prove. That even when all odds were against them, they had to keep fighting.

The world was changing. Zara’s dream. Conrad’s dream. Asta’s dream. His own dream. To fight for a new day. To let the world and magic roam free. To let people realize what mattered was much deeper than magic.

He could make it work. He’d not devoted his whole life to understanding the intricacies of magic for nothing.

“Don’t die…” he heard Conrad mutter softly, as the edges of the room began to fade. The remnants of their connection felt like a warm bridge between them, a proper farewell. The fire in Conrad’s eyes did not waver, holding his gaze solemnly as he began to dissipate as well. “Someone has to be out there to prove life is worth living.”

Julius appeared back at the white void, sparks of mana fading in the windy air with the manifestation of his soul. Feeling his mind clearer, sharper, like he’d woken from a sleepy haze after a long time.

Golden key in his hand. Gods, he felt so relieved he could cry —but his attention quickly ripped away the moment he noticed the only moving thing in the void: Lucius’ vision.

The transmission of the battlefield was clear now, displaying with staking detail how Lucius last rune spell took over the Qlithoph. Through Lucius’ eyes, he saw Asta and Yuno, swords in hand, ready to strike the next move. The void shook. Something drained his mana, which caused him to look up. He could not see the auroras as he had in Elsdocia, but it was clear to him now that the mana moved in pathways, beginning from him to the outside world. Thousands.

This could not be good.

The Grimoire Towers.

Shit. The currents of mana shot through his hands without consent, and even if his mind was now lucid and strong against Lucius submission spells, he found he could not stop the flow of magic that coursed thought him. How could that be possible? He tried to resist —just to feel a painful stab of magic in his heart. He tore his jacket and shirt open, with little regard for the garments, just to see flicker in gold an array of runes in the center of his chest.

The ancient spell has been for himself as much for the Qlithoph, it seemed. That bastard… he now had access to the power of the grimoire towers, he was basically copying Conrad! Ah, but there had to be more to it.

As to answer him, Lucius began speaking to Asta and Yuno about his clones, his spell, and ultimately, that he’d be able to use every spell in every grimoire that was connected to him. The evil personified… The young knights disappeared a frame from the transmission, in which Lucius gathered and teleported Marx, the ex-captain of the Purple Orcas, Gueldre, and Revchi, the one with the magic-sealing chains.

He felt the pull of magic a second before his heart shattered.

Lucius killed them in the spot.

Lucius… he had killed Marx.

No moment to defend himself. No second for Asta or Yuno to intervene. Nothing. Just a swing of Lucius’ hand, and Marx was gone. His grimoire disintegrated along with the others.

Marx…

His twin brother then used memory communication magic —Marx’s own— to broadcast the entire battle to the kingdom.

No mercy. No escape.

His mind had been a tumultuous whirlwind of memories and feelings with the blue-haired wizard, the one that had taken care of him the most when he was weak, even putting his life at risk to defend him. Marx, that liked gossip like no other, that was easy to win over with the right macarons and fine teas, that had a heart of gold and just liked to help. His personal advisor. One of the key wizards of the Kingdom. The kind Marx. Gone.

Why?

What had Marx done to deserve such ending?

And why… why couldn’t he do anything?

A spike on his mana may have been a product of his imagination or one of Lucius machinations. His mouth felt bitter, his lashes wet with unshed tears, numb to the world. And still… Astaroth's words rang clear in his mind. He had to remember. Conrad had helped him tremendously with figuring out his magic.

Now, feeling the pathways of mana, the simple name came clear to his mind it made him chuckle: Connection Magic.

He’d connected himself to Elsdocia, connected the sword back to its original glory, and Lucius had used his magic to connect himself to the grimoire towers.

Seeing the two starlight knights outshine all others, fighting as pairs against such evil —it gave him something to believe in. Something to hold while his soul wavered, his control shook. Max would not have liked it if he lost himself to sorrow. He had to fight. Fuegoleon had reached Saint Stage and killed the Fate fixing devil. Noelle and her siblings had taken Acier out of her nightmare. Yami, Natch and Ichika defeated Morgen. William had wielded a blade for the first time in his life, ending one of Lucius copies by himself. They had all forgone such changes in a short amount of time. Hell, even Conrad had helped him.

Time for the Wizard King to show what it took to be the boss. To fight for those still fighting.

breathe in

feel the pulse of mana across your soul

feel it dance in the currents of the void

feel it move through you and channel it

breathe out

Deep down in the eternal void, a beam of colored lights manifested with green and pinks, an aurora made of magic that covered the entire place like an infinite blanket. And stars. Hundreds of stars: alone, clustered in galaxies, drifting among the rainbows of colors everywhere. Some moved fast, others slow, most did not move at all. A couple bright and blinding as the sun, others shone in different colors, a few were very dim and weakening.

Lucius muttered something to the young knights, and for a moment, he felt his magic pulse. It lasted but an instant, and then a body appeared just as Asta was about to hit Lucius. A woman with blonde hair, straight up the female version of Asta. His mother. The devil host froze.

His eyes shifted rapidly from the battle to the auroras. A tiny black spark had manifested right next to the supernova. That was just facing a very bright green star and a black hole. The aurora appeared as Lucius crafted the woman’s body, shooting up. Above the battlefield. Above the Kingdom. Above the earth… above everything?

Was Lucius using his magic to reach for the souls of the dead?

Lucius hit Asta —an instinctual wave of magic forced Julius out of his shock. And he reached. And reached further. Reached out with all he had, forcing the pathways of mana to go where they were rejected. To push and to conquer. To connect his soul to Asta’s.

Please—

A bell tolled, stopping time. Asta's body manifested in the void.

“Asta!”

The boy was frozen in time, stuck in the position Lucius had injured him, separated from his devil brother. Since Asta’s soul had no mana he could not waste a second. Maintaining the spell drained him unlike anything he’d experienced, tiring his mind and his soul.

“You have to find the elemental spirit hosts. All the power you can gather. If we hit Lucius hard enough, I might be able to control my body again to kick him out. Elemental Spirits can locate each other with their primal magic and my help.”

Asta could not move, but across their shared bond he felt his overwhelming relief at finding him alive and fighting. Of wondering how he was alive and the way he could help them. And of course, he felt the young knight’s strong will and resolve, even after such low blow from Lucius.

“Lucius needs me to create his paladins. My own magic was never time, that’s Astaroth, the Devil of Time. I’m a devil host as well.” Asta’s mind flickered in surprise. “It’s my magic that allows us to share this instant, Asta. Connection magic.” He smiled as he showed the bright crimson light between them, feeling proud of his magic even when the world was crashing outside. A breather for his heart. “For what I’ve seen, Lucius did a complex rune spell to connect all grimoire towers to himself. The Qlithoph now not only grants him the power to use the devils, but the towers as well. Find how to destroy the spell. An amplifier for your anti-magic should be more than enough. Probably the Magical Gadgets Lab Team has a tool that could be useful. Now go! I know you can do it. I’ll help how I can from here.”

With a flicker of his hand, Asta’s form in the void turned to dust, leaving Julius breathless and expectant. He knew he could trust Asta. But he’d be lying if a part of his heart did not shatter at the thought of leaving the weight of their success in the Black Bull’s knight. Again. He was barely an adult. An incredibly determined adult. He sighed, slowly turning around to find Astaroth behind him once again, ready to talk.

Up in the sky, above the clouds in the floating palace of the Qlithoph, Lucius smiled. A dirty play bay all means, but useful no less. Although now he was stuck with the prince brat with borrowed anti-magic, his master plan was in headed towards success. The power of the grimoire towers was unlike anything he'd experienced: vast, infinite, instant. Insanely useful. Generation upon generation of highly skilled spells and magics, all crafted and fine-tuned for his use.

An step closer to becoming the Wizard Emperor. An step closer to ending the suffering in the world and fulfilling his and his twin's dream of a fair world.

Lucius had been surprised that Yuno was able to create a anti-mana zone with the borrowed anti-magic, showcasing his clear affinity to mana —or lack of it, thereof. He chuckled, feeling the single drop of blood that was dripping from the only cut that the Golden Dawn had been able to inflict on him. The sword was evidently heavy on his hands, movements slowing down slightly. Which would have been enough for him to try to touch him again, hadn't been for the anti-mana zone protecting the prince.

A matter of time, it seemed. He just had to play with Yuno until the anti-magic faded out, or that the young man drained his mana reserves. Whichever was first. On the meantime, he just needed his Paladins and Guardian Angels to keep cleansing the world. A factor that he did not know how to account for was his twin's soul: Julius had freed himself from his mind control magic and continued to fight his efforts to put him under again. It would be impossible for the blond twin to fight his control over their shared body. And his grimoire… it was not a problem. He'd taken care of that long ago. Astaroth was what truly unsettled him —nowhere to be felt. Complying enough to let him use his magic with no issue. Too complying.

But he was clever: even if Astaroth decided to go against him, he’d made out the most of his magic by now. It was just a warrant to use in case other magics failed him. Why even use Time Magic when he had all the magics in the world to use for his pleasure? Ah, Julius would surely be pleased. Watching the unique magics in action. He’d also taken measures to assure his twin was shackled, even when he could not control his own magic… one could never be sure enough.

But… why, why did he feel there was something he was missing completely?

Serious, dangerous. Unaccountable.

No, it must be for Asta. The last piece of his game. Either way, soon the warriors would be all too tired to keep fighting, and he’d pull his master card to annihilate all.

And then… all set for the new world. Tasks left: taking care of the anomaly.