In the stifling silence, thick with tension, Kai suddenly spoke up, his voice laced with doubt:
"…You two sure he's the owner of that massive spear? I mean... the size doesn't quite match."
Before anyone could answer, the towering man in front of us suddenly collapsed to one knee.
His body trembled slightly, breath ragged, and his armor let out grinding noises — like it was struggling under its own weight.
He seemed to be in an extremely weakened state.
Kai muttered under his breath, though loud enough for us to hear:
"Yeah, I think… I've got my answer now."
Before he could say more, Ashen whipped around and kicked Kai — not hard, but enough to send a message.
"Cut it out."
He stepped forward, eyes gleaming with caution and curiosity, then asked:
"Who are you?"
The man didn't reply immediately.
He slowly raised a hand and removed the heavy helmet from his head.
When the metal fell away, what we saw made all three of us freeze.
Beneath the helmet was the face of a middle-aged man — skin weathered by time and battle.
A long, wild white beard, frayed and unkempt.
Scars ran from his cheek down to his jaw like a bloodstained map of a war-torn life.
But the most striking thing... was his eyes.
They didn't just shine from the lingering energy within.
There was a light deep inside — as if those eyes had witnessed centuries of war, history, and the dying breath of hope.
No need for introductions. No need for a title.
Even in his exhausted state, his presence alone demanded respect.
He finally spoke — slowly, like a stone sinking into still water, and everything around us seemed to fall silent just to listen.
"I am Saeraphen."
"A High Angel. One who once stood beside those long dead... too long to still be called gods."
As he spoke, he forced himself to his feet.
The wings on his back beat powerfully, trying to lift the failing body off the ground.
"I once gave orders to those who flew."
"I once looked into the Abyss and gave the signal: Burn it down."
"Now, I am what remains of an unfinished sentence — tasked with eradicating the remnants of the Outer Gods."
He stepped closer — each step pressing heavily into the earth.
"You..." — his voice was hoarse, yet rang like a command.
"The ones who awakened me."
"Now speak — what's left of the world outside?"
We told him.
He listened in silence, his gaze sinking lower with every word.
Then he sat down.
His armor clanked against the stone floor.
The heavy dignity from before had evaporated like smoke — now just an old figure among the ashes of a fallen world.
"So... after all this time waiting..."
"The world has become that? A place where only chaos remains?"
Ashen didn't let him drown in those thoughts.
"Then... do you know anything about the pile of corpses outside? Or that giant mound of flesh?"
Saeraphen's eyes dulled.
He no longer looked at us — but through us, as if he was still standing among the bodies of his fallen comrades, where blood had dried and holy chants no longer echoed.
"Long ago, I led my army into this place. At first, we overwhelmed them easily."
"But then... the sorcerers — the worshipers of the Outer God, along with his eighty-eight lieutenants — performed a ritual."
"Every enemy we killed came back to life. Their wounds healed. Every victory was just a lie."
"Eventually, I discovered the weakness: with each resurrection, their souls thinned."
"So, we kept fighting — killing, letting them rise again, then killing them once more. Until nothing remained but empty husks."
"You saw intact corpses because the ritual hasn't ended. If the bodies decay, the rite restores them. Over and over... endlessly."
Ashen clenched his fists.
Saeraphen looked directly at him, his voice lowering:
"In the end, only I and a small elite unit remained. We fought one of the eighty-eight lieutenants — and sealed him."
"But the price... was that the entire unit was turned to stone."
"I was the only one... who retained a shred of consciousness — until you freed me."
"As for the giant flesh mound…"
Saeraphen shook his head.
"I don't know. It must've come after I was petrified."
He raised his head and stared at the three of us.
"You said... you were dragged into this world?"
Ashen nodded.
"That's right."
Saeraphen fell silent. A beat passed.
"...I thought your kind had already been in this world."
His words made all three of us freeze.
I couldn't help but ask:
"What do you mean? 'Already been in this world'?"
His gaze drifted — no longer focused on us.
It faded inward — like sinking into a layer of memory so deep, even he wasn't sure he wanted to recall it.
"Your ancestors... once stood among the ranks of the Elder Legion."
"But your species — truly — did not originate from this world."
"When the Elder Legion was on the brink of collapse…"
"…another being intervened to help us."
"Not an enemy... but a different Outer God."
"He sent a species — beings that bore... your likeness."
"That Outer God's name was—"
Sshhk!
Three massive shadows suddenly burst from the wall behind him — as if they had long been sleeping in the cracks of this place.
No time to react. No time to finish his sentence.
They stabbed through Saeraphen all at once — and from his body, golden blood sprayed like a torrent, painting the stone floor with the sacred color of death.
His body was lifted high, suspended mid-air.
His armor trembled faintly — as if whispering its final breath.
The room fell utterly silent.
Only the sound of golden blood dripping remained... and our stunned, unblinking eyes.
One of the three shadows tilted its head, then spoke.
The voice didn't come from its mouth, but echoed directly into our minds — dry, hollow, emotionless:
"Angel Saeraphen."
"You have broken the First Forbidden Law: No name of any Outer God shall ever be spoken."