Chapter 49 — Collapse of the False Horizon

  Leviathan was the whisper of an ancient god.

  Belphegor, gravity given will.

  The battlefield didn't breathe anymore. It convulsed.

  Leviathan raised a hand. A wall of soldiers broke apart like sandcastles swallowed by an invisible tide.

  Belphegor shifted a foot. Arrows veered mid-flight, spiraling harmlessly into the frozen earth.

  A martial artist dashed at Leviathan with a war cry—and stopped midair, frozen, head snapping backward under a force unseen.

  The Archer unleashed a flurry at Belphegor. Lazaro tilted his head lazily. The arrows twisted in gravity’s palm and fell harmlessly.

  Another charged. Another died. A bolt fired. A fate rewritten.

  Another. Another.

  And then, through the corpse-littered air, the two demons met.

  No words. Just a glance. Just two smiles—the kind only monsters wore.

  For a breathless second, nothing moved. The battlefield seemed to hover, full of trapped kinetic fury—thousands of fighters mid-lunge, mid-shout, mid-prayer.

  Then Leviathan raised his right hand. Belphegor, his left.

  And dropped them.

  The world screamed.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  Space warped. Gravity collapsed.

  Men flew upward like fireworks, torn apart mid-air. Others folded inward—bones shattering like paper in a burning fist. Some simply disappeared—crushed to dust without even the mercy of a scream.

  Ice cracked, oceans boiled, blood misted.

  This wasn’t war. This was a verdict.

  Ash’s unconscious body floated gently through the chaos, a paper doll adrift in an annihilation storm.

  Beside her—the ancient weapon—gleaming, untouched by the violence.

  Belphegor moved first. A hand snap—a pull—and Ash landed safely against his side. He didn't even look.

  His hand reached for the weapon—

  —and missed.

  A blur of darkness—a figure, sharp and impossible—ripped the weapon from the air and vanished into nothingness. No sound. No scent. Not even absence.

  Leviathan surged forward, a streak of godlike speed—but grabbed only empty, broken wind.

  The demons paused.

  For the first time in this war—they hesitated.

  Teleportation?

  That power did not exist. Not here. Not now.

  Their silence was broken by a voice that seemed to pierce the molecules of the frozen horizon.

  Satan.

  Just a word. No anger. No fear. Only command.

  Retreat.

  The demons didn’t speak. They just vanished.

  Leviathan shot north, a shadow over the ocean, dragging storms in his wake.

  Belzeebub, half-devoured by his own transformation, dragged his insectoid body eastward, laughing hoarsely at nothing.

  Belphegor—Lazaro—vanished westward, folding gravity to carry him and Ash between dimensions of weight and force.

  The sky cracked open.

  Not from the demons. Not from the humans.

  From something else.

  A shriek of burning metal. A contrail splitting heaven itself.

  A missile.

  Launched from nowhere. Tracked by no eye. Humming a song older than hate.

  It cut through the clouds like a blade through silk. It did not seek a target. It sought an erasure.

  And it was coming.

  End of Chapter.