"You fool!" Dravos exploded, closing the distance in an instant.
"You think you're better than me?! I'm the man who rewrites your wrongs!"
Dravok dashed at him, both blades outstretched, slashing through the air and ready for a strike.
"I have no wrongs to be rewritten," he roared.
"CRRRASSH-THOOM...!!!"
Their blades met, sending out not just a shockwave but an explosion of power. The ground beneath them shattered, collapsing nearly six feet deep. The air around their blades vanished under the collision of time and reality, and a wormhole opened—ignited by the forces unleashed. But as their blades pulled back for another strike, the wormhole snapped shut.
The war-demon crusade only hastened to close the distance they had lost, clutching their hearts in fear. The battle between Dravok and Dravos was breathtaking; the entire air around them was thick with suffocating mana.
"Don't forget, I'm the grudge of the strongest human and spirit that ever lived. You stand no chance, Dravok," Dravos drawled, as both blades met again with divine force, pushing against each other like a tug of war. Sparks of fire flew from the collision.
But Dravok was not fighting like a mindless, cornered lion. His battle was one against millions, and he wielded the Time Blade far better than the demon lord knew.
They both retreated, leaving a heartbeat's space between them. Then Dravok reversed time again, bringing them and the crusade back to their initial positions. It was more than a counterattack—one Dravos could not respond to in time. Dravok's blade sliced through Dravos horizontally at the waist.
"And I am a perfect being of all clans," Dravok purred, holding his slashing stance. But Dravos didn't fall. Not yet.
"I am immortal, Dravok. I am a grudge. I don't bleed, I don't feel, and I don't die. I can only wear out in my timeline when all grudges and hatred are gone." His waist rejoined as if nothing had happened—not even a scar was left.
"Then I'll bring you to that timeline," Dravok sparked. He retreated for a second, then came back at Dravos with inhuman speed—faster than even a flash could attain. But Dravos wasn't caught off guard; he was quick enough to react, swinging his blade in a dangerous arc.
Their blades didn't meet. Dravok avoided the strike while using himself as bait. He dashed below the slash, his blade slicing in a horizontal plane. The divine sand in its hourglass hilt paused, then he slashed in a wide arc—not at Dravos, but at the crusade. The powerful strike blasted wind toward them, and time stopped. Every person in front of or behind the parade halted—in breath, movement, and even thought.
Then Dravok turned dramatically, gripping the Time Blade firmly with both hands.
"Now, Dravos, we begin."
Dravos's eyes shook—not with fear, but with anger.
"My master's plan has been halted by a single swing," he whispered.
"This... this won't go unanswered."
"Damn... you... Dravok..." he screamed, waving his blade in a small arc toward the ground.
"VEL... CR... UX..." Dravos screamed. Dark mana swirled around him like a cocoon of darkness, darker than the Eclipse of old. His presence didn't just double—it tripled. The earth below cried out, sinking deep and massively wide, shaking the entire core.
Elsewhere in the human kingdom:
The high walls separating the kingdom from the outer world shook long before the breach. War groups had been called to duty to defend their bloodlines from random outbreaks of chaos. The group was led by Arthur—the reincarnated son of the human king, once slain a thousand years ago by the king himself.
Behind him were no subordinates, just the first group of men holding demon hostages—specifically, Demon King Academy students sent to the human realm for duels. Mistakenly, they thought the students were part of the plan to breach the kingdom's defenses.
Also elsewhere, specifically in the spirit realm:
Within the electrified mana walls of the spirit kingdom—walls only spirits could easily breach—Lucen, the reincarnation of Ely's son, led an intangible army. They did not march toward the battleground; they waited silently, like ghosts. The terrain looked barren of roaming spirits, but in hidden corners, they waited to give intruders the scare of their lives.
At the war ground between Dravos and Dravok:
Elara appeared suddenly from a portal behind Dravos, placing him at the center between herself and Dravok.
Dravok's eyes widened. His heartbeat quickened, presence doubled without even activating a higher form, as his gaze met Elara's. Elara will die... Chronos's words played in his head.
"Why did you come..!!? You should have stayed back!" Dravok yelled, not waiting for an answer.
"I can't let you do this alone!" Elara screamed, her strength backed not only by willpower but by love. Her eyes were full of confidence and finality.
Just then, Dravos's body emerged from the black smoke surrounding him. Now it was no longer a half-different face but a fusion of both. His horns were the longest Dravok had ever seen in his lifetime.
His skin was pale white; his teeth sharp, deadly, and poisonous like a carnivorous demon's. His claws were as long and flexible as a hundred-centimeter ruler—dark, sharp, and piercing. He had no legs—hovering like a spirit—cloaked not in robes but in darkness itself, swirling around him like a lifeless flag hung in the sky.
"Now, Dravok," he taunted, his voice echoing like an ancient deity's, "we begin."
The air thickened, like a nuclear bomb had detonated. It was no longer a field for children; it was one of life and death.
Without hesitation, Dravos charged—not at Dravok, but at Elara. Venuzdona was tightly gripped in his hand, but Dravok did not stand still. He moved with graceful speed—not of light, not of sound, but of love—faster than anything else in this world. His Time Blade was held perfectly horizontal to stop time, but all it did was slow him down; Dravos's speed defied time itself.
They met head-on with a massive strike. The blades clashed in a dark explosion, sending Dravok skidding backward. Before he could charge again, Elara blazed past him, her presence worthy of the battleground she stood on, striking Dravos with a hand protected by ice and speed charged by flame.
BOOM!
The impact was extraordinary, sending shockwaves that forced all of Daelgrin to cover their ears.
Dravok smiled and allowed her to play. His breath was ragged from exhaustion, chest rising high and low in a fast rhythm, but he remained vigilant. Chronos's words never left his heart.
He joined her parade, forcing Dravos to limits he could not reach—an endless clashing of blades and frost moving in a blur of light from place to place, shattering the earth with each impact. Until Dravos allowed Dravok's blade into his immortal body, aiming straight for Elara with his blade—who was in a position impossible to defend.
She blinked once, and the pale memory she had long forgotten replayed like an illusion before her eyes—how she died a thousand years ago by Ely's blade. Fear numbed her limbs. There was nothing she could do but watch the blade descend.
Until the last second—Dravok pushed her away from the attack at the cost of his right arm.
The air thickened further. Elara breathed hard, quickly recovering her stance. Dravok's arm lay on the ground. But Dravos was not pleased—not at all.
He felt a slight tremor within that placed his mind in unease. Even in his full form, Dravok still sparred with him head-to-head, without increasing his form.
Dravos backed away, stepping back to regain space—but didn't move forward. Not yet.
"How?" he murmured beneath his breath, then with full rage opened his vocal cords like a hot fire.
"How are you still matching me?"
Dravok's gaze fixed on him, his left hand on his right shoulder as purple mana coiled out from the torn limb. The mana pulled it back like a living elastic magnet. His arm healed in less than a second.
"I fight with purpose, Dravos. You don't."
Elara stood upright beside him, her soul still locked in battle.
Dravos was silent. Too silent. His gaze fixed on the ground, fury barely hidden beneath his skin. Then, in one sharp motion, he summoned:
"Grimoire!"
A booming magical sound filled the air before him. The book's cover was a hollow-eyed skull laid upon two crossed femur bones. It waved open until it landed on the last page—the page of forbidden spells.
The very first spell glowed with a bright, dark pulse—no hesitation, only anger and grudge. He read aloud:
"Two days of my lifetime, for two hours of your flames. Lucifer, accept my plea."
The clouds roared as the forbidden words were cast by a desperate grudge—and yes, his plea was granted. Corrupted flames crept from the earth's crust and engulfed him in one swift movement.
"Arghhhh!" he screamed—more agony than pleasure.
He fell to his knees. The blazing flames around him dimmed, then quenched to the ground. His suffocating presence disappeared in an instant while he lay lifeless on the ground.
Dravok's eyes widened.
"Just like that?" Elara gasped.
Dravok's mind flashed back to their meeting in the throne hall, replaying Dravos's words in detail:
I rewrote myself as the Demon King. I rewrote my fate to kill the Demon King.
A mocking smile formed on Dravok's lips.
"Too bad grudges don't get to attend English class. What a shame."
"What do you mean?" Elara asked, relieved but confused.
"He rewrote destiny to be the Demon King, then rewrote destiny to kill the Demon King."
"So he was destined to kill himself."
"Exactly," Dravok smirked, letting out a deep breath.
"It's over. Let's go."
They both walked past the fallen body of the grudge, heading toward Daelgrin. Immediately after they passed, the air shifted with a heavier presence than before.
SQUELCH...
The sound of a blade piercing flesh filled the air.