"—ARRRGRGRHHHHAAHAHAH!"
The Dream of Madness released a psychic scream so violent that it nearly blacked out the defenders. Vlad clutched his head, blood dripping from his nose. Hajack staggered, his abyssal flas sputtering. Even Orous stumbled in the sky.
Only tatron remained standing, showing the imnse might of his soul and body. Yet this was no blessing. His strength, his refusal to yield, marked him as the perfect target for the entity’s hunger.
The Dream of Madness lunged forward, its gargantuan body straining toward the exit of the tomb. Hunger radiated from every inch of its existence—raw, absolute, eternal hunger. tatron trembled as he realized that he was the target. If this thing escaped, he would be the first devoured.
He could not rember a mont in all his immortal existence when terror had gripped him so utterly. Yet fear did not paralyze him. On the contrary, it awakened sothing primal—his will to survive.
With a roar, tatron ignited his life force. His aura blazed like a burning star, brighter than it had ever shone before. Above him, a single golden portal tore open, vast and trembling. From it erged a spear no longer than three ters, plain and almost disappointing in appearance. Its shaft was worn, its blade dulled, its tip corroded with reddish rust.
But the mont it appeared, the dinsion quaked.
"Longinus Spear!" tatron bellowed, his voice cracking with equal parts desperation and fury.
The weapon hurtled forward, streaking across the void. The rust upon its tip began to glow, slowly at first, then with blinding brilliance, revealing its true nature. That rust was not decay—it was blood. Ancient blood, older than angels, older than Heaven’s throne.
The aura it carried was unbearable, but the Dream of Madness did not hesitate. It pressed forward, unyielding, and raised its massive claw. Its talons clenched, and it struck against the incoming spear with all the power of its eldritch might.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!"
The impact tore through the tomb. Reality itself scread as the explosion devoured everything around it. The blast shook the dinsion, then spread outward, rattling the citadel beyond, threatening to collapse the entire Sacred Dinsion.
When the light cleared, the results beca clear.
The Dream of Madness’s right claw was obliterated, its arm twisted, bent, broken. Its flesh writhed, refusing to die, yet clearly maid. But the cost was terrible.
The Longinus Spear, one of Heaven’s oldest and most sacred weapons, had shattered into fragnts.
tatron scread, blood streaming from his eyes as though his soul itself wept. The spear had demanded his life force as its catalyst, and now that it was destroyed, the backlash tore through his body. His wings shuddered, his fra staggered, but even through the pain his voice carried across the battlefield.
"Close the damn gates—NOW!"
Vlad, Hajack, and Orous reeled as clarity returned to them. The psychic scream still lingered in their skulls like echoes of madness, but they understood the Archangel’s urgency. Without hesitation, each hurled their strength into the massive gates of the tomb.
Together they pushed. Heaven, Hell, Abyss, and True Deprivitas—forces that had never once cooperated—strained as one.
The Dream of Madness shrieked, its body surging forward with incomprehensible speed. Tentacles whipped out, straining toward freedom.
But the gates closed before it could reach them.
"BOOOOOOMMMMM!"
The entity slamd against the sealed tomb. The force rattled through the dinsion, and for a heartbeat it seed the gates might shatter. But they held. The apocalypse made flesh was caged once more.
The world might never know that a True Depravita, an Archangel, a Demon Lord, and a Devil Lord had stood together to halt a monster of madness. If told to billions, not a single soul would believe such a tale. Yet it had happened.
But even as the echoes of the Dream of Madness faded, a new threat erged.
Hajack’s body swelled, muscles surging with abyssal fla. His hatred burned hotter than ever, and with a roar he drove all his strength into his right fist. Before tatron could even steady himself, still reeling from the backlash of the spear, Hajack struck.
The blow landed with such force that the Archangel barely managed to fold his wings around himself. Flas engulfed him as his body was blasted through the ground, crashing into the earth in an explosion of light and fire.
At the sa mont, a tearing sound split the air.
Vlad gasped, his eyes widening in shock. Orous’s fist—wreathed in golden fla—had pierced his chest. The Devil Lord’s hand burst through his heart, fingers curling with cruel precision. Vlad stared at him, disbelief painted across his features, as if he had never expected that Orous would have attacked him after fitting together.
Orous’s expression was devoid of hesitation. If anything, it carried the faintest flicker of contempt. To him, betrayal was not betrayal at all, but inevitability. However, the shock of the True Depravita did bring so surprise to the Devil Lord.
"How could soone so foolish ever rise to the throne of a Devil Lord?"
The thought crossed his mind, but it did not distract him. His fist glowed brighter, golden fire surging as he unleashed an explosion of power. Vlad’s body was hurled into the air, a gaping hole where his heart had been. Blood trailed after him as his figure crashed across the dinsion.
"One down," Orous said coldly, his voice rciless as winter.
Hajack turned, locking eyes with him. For a long heartbeat, the two Lords—Hell and Abyss—regarded one another. They were enemies, there was no doubt about that, and sooner or later they would fight to the death. But here, now, there was no choice. They nodded once, silently.
Then, together, they turned their gaze toward the Archangel struggling to rise.
tatron’s body was broken, his aura unstable, his energy flickering. Yet even so, his wings still blazed with light. The might of Heaven still clung to him, burning defiantly against the fiends.
If the Lords of Hell and Abyss wished to take his life, they would need one another.
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