The veon barrier shimmered, enclosing the battlefield in a dome of unyielding tension. Silence fell—brief, deceptive—just before Grim stepped forward, the edge of his cloak brushing the trembling ground.
His voice was cold. Final.
"For the betrayal of Lucifer and the forces of Hell," he said, eyes locked on the lone figure before him, "I will ensure your death is not only final, but eternal. And when you rise again, it will be to an eternity in Hell."
Ariel stood tall, her expression unreadable. Blood streaked her cheek, and her breath came slow, but defiant fire burned in her eyes.
"Mmm…" Her lips curled slightly, barely a smile. "I did what was necessary. For me. I saw an opportunity to reclaim the life I once took for granted."
Grim didn't blink.
"So be it."
In that moment, white zail erupted from his core—raw, consuming, absolute. It unfurled like a living fog, spreading through the 200-meter barrier in every direction. The ground fractured beneath it. The very air bent around its passage, seemingly warping reality under the sheer pressure of his divine-enhanced wrath.
Then came silence.
An unnatural, crushing stillness—like the universe itself was holding its breath.
And then—impact.
A cataclysmic surge of zail exploded from Grim's hand, hurtling toward Ariel with godlike momentum. She didn't hesitate. She opened her mouth and released a scream—no, a wail—so raw, so piercing, it vibrated through the entire battlefield. Her voice collided with Grim's zail wave mid-air, but it wasn't enough. His zail shredded through it like paper, crashing into her and sending her sliding across the cracked battlefield, her boots skidding, heels sparking.
But Grim wasn't finished.
Slash after slash of razor-sharp zail rained from above. Ariel dodged what she could, but some struck true, slicing across her limbs and torso. Blood flew in arcs through the air, splattering the broken ground. Still, she fought back, her screech slicing like blades through the chaos.
Grim remained immovable.
He raised a hand—and conjured a barrier of Zail, effortlessly absorbing her sonic onslaught. Her screams were nothing but whispers against the wall of divine fury.
Without pause, Grim conjured clones—mirror images of himself, each one wielding the same overwhelming presence. In unison, they descended on Ariel, slashing from all sides, a spiral of death made flesh.
Trapped, she unleashed another scream—this one darker, deeper, as if it had clawed its way up from the depths of despair itself. The sound warped the battlefield. The air became thick, suffocating, as though her voice was bending the laws of physics.
Then—a fracture.
Her scream split the very fabric of the veon barrier. No sound remained. Only force—raw, incomprehensible force. Her voice had moved beyond vibration.
Grim staggered, a flicker of panic breaking through his impassive face. He couldn't move. Her scream pinned him like gravity, crushing his control.
Then came the roar.
Ariel's final, desperate cry shattered the ground beneath them. The cracks widened, spreading outward like spiderwebs as Grim dropped to one knee. His clones disintegrated into fading light.
And then—blood.
Thick and red, it poured from Ariel's mouth, dripping to the floor. Her voice was gone, her vocal cords shredded beyond recognition. Her body trembled under the weight of what she had unleashed.
But then… a bell.
It tolled once. Deep. Hollow. Echoing through the remains of the silence.
Grim rose.
Not limping. Not weak. Reborn—resurrected by a force darker than death.
"Your abilities," he said, brushing dust from his shoulder, "they're not just sound. Your voice is infused with Zail—compressed energy, faster than vibration. It stunned me. I was on the brink of death. If I were not a Second-Rank Demon… your follow-up would've ended me."
He smiled faintly. Not with amusement—but with inevitability.
"You're stronger than I expected, Ariel. But you cannot cheat death. The moment you allied with the Divine, you sealed your fate. You are already at death's door."
Ariel's knees buckled.
"Oh no…" she whispered.
Blood spilled again from her lips.
"I… I used everything. All my Zail… and he's still standing?!"
Her vision blurred. Her body screamed in protest, every muscle torn, every nerve raw. But within her—a glimmer.
She reached deep—beyond herself, beyond her broken body—into the realm of the Divine.
And it answered.
A surge.
The Divine's power filled her like a flood. Her breath returned. Her shredded vocal cords reknit, glowing faintly. Her veins pulsed with renewed Zail—far beyond her natural limits.
She rose.
Not broken.
But reborn.
Elsewhere…The battlefield raged in another corner of Hell's war.
Osmos stumbled through flame and smoke, the chaos of the attacks tearing at him from every direction. Burned buildings crumbled behind him, and the skies were veined with fire.
"Damn it…" he muttered between breaths. "What was I thinking? Taking on all of Hell… This is beyond me."
From the smoke, a figure emerged—Naamah, cruel smile dancing across her lips.
"What's the matter?" she said sweetly. "Getting cold feet?"
She hurled a blazing sphere of Zail straight at him. Osmos leapt sideways, the blast narrowly missing as it exploded into a nearby pillar of stone, shattering it into shards.
"You can run," Naamah called, stalking toward him, "but you can't hide forever. Why not fight, Osmos? At least die with some dignity."
He gritted his teeth.
"I don't have much choice, do I?" he replied. "I'm probably the weakest among the Hell's 9. I've never mastered my abilities. Not really… not since I reached Third Rank."
He glanced down at his hands—trembling slightly. Then he looked up.
"But with the power of the Divine…" He clenched his fists. "…I will win."
The stage was set.
Across the fragmented veon barriers—demon, and betrayer—each stood on the edge of annihilation.
Driven by betrayal.
Fueled by vengeance.
Empowered by survival.
Each battle was no longer about victory or loss.
It was about what they would become… when standing at death's door.