—FWWSSHHHHHH!
The pitch-black petals of [Balance of Destruction] curled inward, closing like a lotus sealing the last breath of a god.
Seran's blade cracked down the middle—runic core flickering, sputtering like a dying star. His aura collapsed in ribbons of light, unspooling from his frame in silent strands. And still, the black flame moved.
It touched his hands.
And did not burn.
It kissed his skin—tender, almost reverent. A brush of annihilation laced with restraint.
Seran's breath hitched.
His arms trembled, but not from pain.
From realization.
He had nothing left to give.
His techniques—unraveled.
His mana—devoured.
His sword—broken, in soul if not yet in steel.
The artifact—useless now, its seal faded and nullified by a technique that should not exist.
And then—
Lucavion stepped forward.
