Arlen smirked, though a bead of cold sweat slid down his temple.

  “Enough theatrics. The barrier was broken by Chronos, wasn’t it? He used Tethys’ power through the Borrower’s Will.”

  Mortis clicked his tongue… then smiled, slow and serpentine.

  “Tethys, come with me. I’m giving you the of becoming my bride. Don’t trust these demons.”

  Tethys’ small body trembled — not with fear, but outrage.

  “You liar! You told me it was Caelus’ will — but he’s dead! And you broke into my kingdom without permission! Big Sister Dryas was right. I will

  trust you.”

  Mortis’ smile twitched, irritation breaking through his perfect calm.

  “That’s why I despise smart creatures. You pathetic things should have shut up and obeyed until I claim Aethel’s throne.”

  Everyone’s eyes widened.

  Arlen’s grip tightened on his blades.

  “So that’s your endgame. Ambitious for a parasite like you.”

  Mortis laughed — the kind of laugh that crawls under your skin.

  “Oh, it’s more than ambition. I will rule . But every time—every single time—”

  His finger stabbed the air toward Arlen, hate dripping like venom,

  “YOU

  Arlen stepped forward, Soul Eater and Raikiri humming with murderous intent.

  “Grom. Aura. Nyx — ready to engage.”

  He didn’t take his eyes off Mortis.

  “Dryas — keep the water goddess safe.”

  Death filled the throne room, cold and relentless.

  Everyone burst into motion the moment the battle began.

  “Don’t let him TOUCH you!

  But his eyes were sharp, calculating — everything unfolding exactly as he and Cornea had planned the night before.

  “…And since I’ve bound everyone with Oathbinder,” Arlen had concluded,

  “Even if he alters their memories, I can snap them back. That’s our counter to Silent Weaver.”

  A perfect trap.

  Or so it should

  Grom swung his enormous blade like a falling mountain, Mortis slipped past it like a shadow.

  Aura released her pollen in razor–thin streams, but the god of death walked through it unfazed.

  Nyx vanished into stealth, appearing behind Mortis in an instant, claws aimed for his spine—

  Mortis simply tilted his head.

  Her claws cut air.

  “Well… he the god of Death,” Arlen muttered. “Meaning he’s as strong as Chronos. DON’T TAKE HIM LIGHTLY!”

  A black sphere — a miniature singularity — bloomed in Mortis’ palm.

  Arlen sliced it apart with Raikiri, sparks exploding.

  He darted in, Soul Eater thrusting toward Mortis’ core—

  Mortis predicted every angle, every feint.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Tch… annoying brat,” the god hissed.

  “Stop jumping around like monkeys and let me kill you quickly.”

  But Arlen’s smirk never faltered.

  Everything was still going according to plan.

  “Aura — NOW!”

  She dashed in, insect perched on her fingertip — the same trick used against the royal guards, but powered up by feasting on divine flesh.

  All she needed was a graze, a touch on Mortis’ skin.

  Arlen’s pulse quickened.

  Silent Weaver meets Oathbinder.

  Death meets a counterspell.

  Aura’s insect bites — and Mortis gets locked in place—

  And then reality shattered.

  Mortis didn’t dodge.

  He didn’t retreat.

  He simply reached out… and grabbed Aura’s head.

  Her body froze instantly.

  Not from fear.

  Not from shock.

  From death.

  He tossed her aside like a broken toy.

  Her body hit the marble floor with a dull, final thud.

  “AURAAAAA!!

  Grom’s roar shook the hall.

  Nyx’s scream cracked in her throat.

  “GET UP!! Aura! Please— GET UP!”

  Arlen stumbled a step, his breath caught.

  “What… what did you do to her…? Even if you used Silent Weaver—!”

  Mortis laughed — cold, amused, merciless.

  “Silent Weaver? Child’s play.”

  His eyes gleamed like voids in a dying star.

  “Did you forget?”

  He raised his hand — the one that touched Aura.

  “I am the GOD of DEATH.

  I don’t need my relic to kill.”

  A dark curse mark flickered on his palm.

  “Anyone I touch dies — instantly and irrevocably. No memories. No counterspell. No Oathbinder. No tricks.”

  Arlen’s face drained of colour.

  His meant nothing.

  Mortis spread his arms wide, like a conductor before the symphony of slaughter.

  “One demon down…”

  His smile widened — grotesque, delighted.

  “Now… time for the rest of you to die.”

  Arlen staggered backward.

  Everything inside him twisted.

  He had been so focused — focused — on Silent Weaver…

  So obsessed with countering Mortis’ relic…

  That he forgot a fatal truth:

  Mortis himself is death.

  Aura’s body wasn’t moving.

  Her chest didn’t rise.

  Her eyes didn’t blink.

  She was simply — gone.

  Killed instantly.

  No resurrection.

  No regeneration.

  No memory-altering trick.

  Just absolute death.

  Arlen’s vision blurred.

  His composure shattered like thin glass.

  Then—

  “LOOK AT HIS HAND!

  Nyx’s voice snapped him out of the spiral.

  Arlen whipped his head forward—

  Mortis’ expression twisted.

  His left hand — the one that touched Aura — writhed, bulged… then burst open

  Worms.

  Larvae.

  Maggots.

  All the parasites Aura had cultivated and bred through hundreds of battles — strengthened further by Ianthe’s divine flesh — crawled out of his skin, digging tunnels through divine muscle and black blood.

  Mortis collapsed

  “AAARRGHH— YOU FILTHY WRETCH—!!”

  Aura had fulfilled her mission with her last breadth.

  Dryas’ voice rang sharp behind them:

  “Arlen! This is your chance! Mortis fears pain — he is a god who has only ever dealt death, never endured it!

  And she was right.

  Mortis wasn’t like Arlen — who had suffered, bled, broken, healed, repeated.

  This god had never once learned resilience.

  He only knew how to take life — not withstand it.

  Before Arlen could move—

  SHHHAA!!!

  Two massive serpents made of roaring seawater surged from behind, coiling around Mortis’ legs.

  “I will assist!

  Tethys shouted, her face flushed with rage and fear.

  The water serpents tightened, pinning the god of death to the floor.

  Mortis thrashed, choking on agony and panic.

  Arlen lifted Soul Eater — tears burning in his eyes.

  Nyx and Grom rushed ahead as well — both trembling with grief.

  Aura was gone.

  Their comrade.

  Their friend.

  They would avenge her.

  “GO TO HELL, MORTIS!”

  But right as Arlen leapt—

  A golden rift tore open behind them.

  Chronos.

  Without warning —

  BAM.

  Dryas was kicked aside like a ragdoll.

  “Big sister—!!” Tethys cried—

  But Chronos struck her neck with the back of his hand.

  Tethys collapsed instantly, unconscious.

  “I have come to save you, brother,” Chronos said, voice empty, hollow, puppeted.

  Arlen turned, rage exploding—

  “CHRONOS— DO NOT—!”

  Too late.

  Chronos disappeared into the rift with Tethys in his arms.

  Mortis, despite agony, seized the distraction.

  He scraped together just enough strength to conjure a gate — a swirling maw of darkness leading to his Throne of Death.

  Nyx lunged, tears streaking her face, claws dripping with intent to kill—

  “As if I’ll let you escape— YOU MONSTER—!!

  Her claws sliced through empty air.

  Mortis vanished.

  Gone.

  Arlen dropped to his knees.

  The battlefield fell silent except for the crashing of distant waves.

  He had failed.

  Failed to predict Chronos’ interference.

  Failed to account for Mortis’ personal power.

  Failed to protect Tethys.

  Failed to protect Aura.

  The God Slayer has been defeated — utterly.