In the heart of Earth's command center, far from the ruins of Gaia and Oda, King Ardaius sat surrounded by generals—grim faces that were no longer merely human, but symbols of a world fearful of its own future. Darkness enveloped the room, as if their moods were reflected on the cold, stony walls.
A hologram of the battlefield displayed leyline paths that were beginning to blacken, city centers that had turned to rubble, and remnants of angelic forces that had become more myth than reality. The air was thick with despair, clinging to their throats, making each breath feel heavy and burdensome.
General Valen, his left hand bandaged, spoke softly, his voice like the whispering wind cutting through the silence,
"All our supply routes have been severed by Michael's magic—by Joanna. All our automatons have been wiped out from the air. Our only hope lies in long-range ritual weapons. We no longer need to control the field; we just need to erase the enemy from a distance."
Lira nodded, her eyes sunken and nearly unblinking, tension radiating from her face as if she could feel every drop of blood spilled on this earth,
"No mercy is needed. The world has rejected negotiation. Now it's only the law of the jungle: those who kill first will survive the longest."
Ardaius bowed his head deeply, his voice low yet filled with vengeance, completely disregarding any hope that once existed,
"Bring all the seers, all the blood witches, reactivate the sacrifice altars. We will show the world—Earth can take lives without needing to wage war."
At a massive altar in the center of Earth, magi and scientists combined technology with ancient dark magic. The sound of whispered incantations and the clinking of magical instruments filled the air, creating a tense atmosphere, as if every heartbeat knew of the impending doom. Blood circles, crystal glass, and glyph control devices connected in a pattern resembling the Eye of Rejection itself, radiating a dark aura that chilled the bones.
The name of the ritual was: Eclipse Culling—a desperate attempt to kill anyone, anywhere, simply by uttering their name under the shadow of the new moon. Each time a name was spoken, a coldness crept through the skin, and the signal to kill would overshadow the resurgence of hope.
Throughout the day, people caught at the borders were herded to the altar, their blood used as a catalyst. Cold sweat dripped from the foreheads of those forced to walk toward their awaiting fate, trapped in the shadows of fear. Despair enveloped their hearts, while vacant gazes haunted those who knew what would happen next. The seers of Earth wrote the names of targets on black scrolls, each stroke of the pen like a hammer striking the deepest recesses of the soul:
"Joanna Fate."
"Queen Iris."
…and dozens of other names still standing, threatened by the dark forces creeping in silence.
Each time a name was uttered, crystals trembled, black shadows danced on the walls, and far away, protectors, soldiers, or ordinary citizens suddenly collapsed—some dying instantly, others slowly losing their souls. Silent screams echoed in the darkness, adding to the tension that gripped every corner; as if nature itself witnessed the destruction being wrought. The entire world was trapped in this horrific mission, where hope was merely a fleeting illusion, and death awaited at every turn.
In the underground corridors of Gaia,
Erisa suddenly jolted, blood pouring from her nose and ears. She embraced Iris, whispering softly,
"Something is taking my life… like an invisible hand… forgive me, Queen…"
Iris held back her tears. One by one, her protectors fell—not by sword, not by war spells, but by an unseen curse. The atmosphere grew increasingly oppressive, as if the aura of death enveloped them. The sky above appeared dark, filled with faintly glowing stars, overshadowing the stinging sorrow. All of this drove Iris to wonder if they would follow the fallen protectors.
In the remnants of Sanctuary Oda,
Akiko heard their names called from behind the shadows. She felt her body slowly freeze, as if touched by an endless winter.
Nobuzan, with heavy breaths, tried to strengthen Akiko,
"You must hold on… The world will forget us if we simply give up…"
In small towns, civilians who had never participated in the war suddenly collapsed for no reason. In dark corners, the whispers of the wind seemed to remind them of their emptiness. Their voices vanished, swallowed by the deep darkness. Every curve of lips that once smiled now hung limp, silenced by a curse they could not comprehend.
Children lost mothers in an instant, elderly men fell in their chairs, even guard dogs howled in the night without an adversary.
In the ruins of Spiral Court, Joanna felt the power of the Eye of Rejection twisting the leyline paths. She bowed her head, feeling thousands of names being called, souls disappearing from her reach. Dark shadows enveloped the place, as if the room itself lived with fear and regret. The scent of smoke and blood, though unseen, still lingered in the air, adding weight to the heavy atmosphere.
"This magic… is crueler than any war. They kill names before they kill bodies. The world is erasing its own history…"
The remaining angels were now divided. Some tried to protect humans, but they themselves began to waver, seeing their comrades fall not by strength, but because their "names" were ripped from the world. The sounds of sighs and roars from the angels echoed among the ruins, creating a dark melody that depicted emptiness and loss. Confusion clouded their hearts, and doubt crept into their minds, tearing apart the remaining spirit.
Zadkiel looked at Joanna,
"If this world is left with only names that fear death, what is the meaning of our immortality, Joanna?"
Joanna did not answer. She stepped to the former altar of Spiral Court, raised her hand, and recited one remaining fire spell of Michael—burning away the remnants of the curse in the air, trying to restore the leyline paths. Each word she spoke felt like a cut in the suffocating silence. However, the mysterious traces of that destructive power resisted every effort, signaling that hope might be nothing but an illusion. But the effect lasted only a moment. The world was too damaged, the system had rejected all forms of protection. The light that should have flowed through the leyline was now extinguished, trapped in an endless darkness, as if signaling that the more efforts were made, the stronger the darkness would try to ensnare them.
Among the ruins, the surviving people began to lose faith in anyone. Behind the remnants of crumbled buildings, pale faces appeared burdened by fear and despair. Eyes that once shone brightly were now dim, as if their souls had been stolen by the chaos of the remaining world.
Some worshipped the angels, hoping for a miracle to return. They gathered in circles beneath the ruins, their soft voices drowned in nearly extinguished hope. Others surrendered to Earth, hoping for forgiveness or merely a quicker death. Among them, some whispered, "Perhaps it's better to become one with the void."
The rest quietly gathered leftover food, weapons, and ancient spells—ready to survive as the last humans. Yet, in their hearts, doubt gnawed at them; even ancient spells began to feel like a painful joke.
Small factions emerged:
There was the group "Guardians of Names," who sought to record the names of those who had fallen, so they would not truly vanish from the world. With ink that was nearly dry and trembling hearts, they wrote on tattered papers, struggling against the lurking oblivion.
There were also the "Sons of Oblivion," a dark faction that believed the world could only be reborn if all names and memories were completely erased. They stood in the shadows, smirking as they watched people struggle to remember, deeming it a futile act.
As night fell, the starless sky, the Eye of Rejection continued to blaze in the heavens, reflecting the shadows of each victim. In the thick darkness, a chill crept in, as if every corner held deep longing and sorrow. The sound of the wind rustling among the debris added to the tense atmosphere, reminding that every lost name was a story cut short.
Joanna stood atop the ruins of Spiral Court, gazing toward the altar of Earth that burned thousands of names. The blazing fire emitted a dim red light, reflecting dark lines on her face. She knew that the next chapter was no longer about wars between nations, but a battle to preserve the meaning of life itself. In her mind, faint voices surged, a longing for those who had departed, echoing like a soul's farewell song.
In the distance, the sound of incantations could still be heard:
"With a name, we take the soul."
"With blood, we erase hope."
The world shrank—not measured by the expanse of land, but by how many names were still remembered before vanishing into emptiness. At that moment, Joanna felt a glimmer of light extinguished in her heart; she understood that every moment lived was a battle against time—time that could not be ignored, yet often clashed with her spirit. The courage to remember, or to forget—was a choice that never aligned within her soul.