Arayn had suspected that Valen still had something left to reveal. It seemed his patron’s gift was the true trump card.

  The patron system linked a patron to its user, allowing them to bestow gifts within their power. Because this connection was forged through magic, it had limits. Take Arayn’s own gift, for example. If someone stronger than him attacked, his [Mark of the Archdemon] would summon an avatar of Tyras to retaliate. However, the summoned form was a mere shadow of the original Tyras, thousands of times weaker. Once the power was used, the connection between him and the mark would be severed temporarily before it could recover.

  Yet, Arayn’s link with Tyras was exceptionally strong. That was why he could wield a patron’s gift even before reaching the expert class—something unheard of for most. Typically, patrons couldn’t grant gifts that bypassed such restrictions. That was why whatever Azael had given Valen wouldn’t be as overwhelming as his own. The power wouldn’t surpass the expert class.

  Yet, Azael spoke with absolute confidence, as if his gift alone could bring Arayn down.

  Arayn wouldn’t dismiss that claim. He couldn’t afford to. He needed to endure whatever power Valen had received. Only then would he have a real chance of defeating him.

  Arayn watched as Valen struggled to steady his breath. Each rise and fall of his chest was rough, a clear sign of mana fatigue.

  That healing power of his was on par with the saintesses', capable of mending even grave wounds in an instant. Such a gift came at a cost. Using it repeatedly had to be draining, consuming vast amounts of mana with each use.

  So far, Arayn’s plan was unfolding as he had expected. Valen was wearing himself down. Now, only one obstacle remained.

  He just had to survive it.

  Valen narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But nothing will go as you plan. You underestimate the Second Heavenly Demon.”

  He raised his hand, fingers curling slightly as the skin on the back of his hand shimmered. A faint glow surfaced, forming a mark.

  The air around him shifted. His feet lifted from the ground as if an unseen force had seized him. Crimson energy poured from his body, swirling in currents that lashed against the surroundings. The ground trembled beneath the weight of it.

  Above him, a tiny red orb flickered into existence. At first, it was no larger than a bead, hovering just above his head, and then it grew. Slowly at first, then faster. Its glow intensified as it expanded outward. The air distorted under its presence, as if space itself recoiled from the sheer power it radiated.

  [Crimson Star Art: First Verse – Melody of Dying Star]!

  Arayn thrust his hand forward, unleashing [Cursed Fangs]. Dark crimson projectiles shot through the air, streaking toward Valen like ravenous beasts. Before they could reach their target, the swirling mana around Valen's body surged, intercepting them. The fangs dissolved on impact, their power swallowed by the dense aura.

  Arayn clicked his tongue. That barrier was tougher than he expected. If he wanted to shatter it, he needed something stronger. With the way the growing orb loomed above, he had no choice but to face whatever was coming head-on.

  His grip tightened around his sword. Mana surged through his veins, pouring into the blade until it pulsed with a deep red glow. The pressure around him thickened as the energy built. Then, the sword roared to life, its crimson aura flaring like wildfire.

  [Conquest Sword Art.] A technique powerful enough to overwhelm Valen, even in his [Demonic Ascension] form. However, as Arayn stood beneath the expanding orb, watching its ominous glow spread across the air, unease feeling gnawed at him.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  This wasn’t enough to defeat it. Not yet. He needed more.

  Arayn still had one last power. A power he had kept in reserve, knowing the cost was too great to use recklessly.

  This was his last attempt. If Valen survived what came next, then it was over. Arayn would lose.

  [Dark Pact II]!

  The hidden effect of his [Conquest Demon Form], an evolution of [Dark Pact]. Unlike its predecessor, it could only be activated in this state. Its price was steep—ten years of his lifespan, devoured in exchange for an overwhelming surge of power.

  That was why, before stepping into the mortal realm, he had spent days hunting in the Netherworld, reaping souls to extend his existence. In a short time, he had accumulated twelve extra years. However, the battles had already drained him. Two years had been burned away just to mend the wounds Valen had inflicted.

  He had ten years and a few days left.

  Arayn had no choice but to give them all up.

  Arayn exhaled. He parted his lips, and from deep within his throat, the ancient demon tongue flowed like a curse etched into reality itself.

  "Zyra’koth ul’theran morzath, vareshka solth’na vek’tul. Xirath morven thal’zhur! Vorz’tal Karth’zul!"

  The words carried a resonance beyond mere sound, a force that rippled through the air. His body tensed as the pact responded, the power clawing its way into existence.

  This time, he altered its nature, twisting the spell into something beyond its original design. The trade-off was brutal. This would be a one-time power burst, cancelled after he delivered the final attack. However, it didn’t matter. Because after this, Valen had to die.

  Arayn's body burned with searing power. The Dark Pact II devoured ten years of his lifespan, feeding the infernal force that surged through him. His sword pulsed—its crimson aura thickened, twisting and writhing like a living thing, hunger manifest. He lifted the blade high, and the air around him trembled. Then, with a single motion, he swung.

  A massive crimson arc erupted from his sword, carving through the air with a deafening howl. The very sky seemed to shudder as the force expanded.

  Above, Valen sneered. He thrust out his hand, commanding the colossal red orb to descend. The air ignited as the sphere plummeted, its surface writhing with chaotic energy, a miniature sun of destruction crashing toward Arayn’s attack.

  [Conquest Sword Art: First Form – Impose] and [Crimson Sun Art: First Verse – Melody of Dying Star] clashed.

  The world turned to light. The arc and the orb collided, and the air split apart with a thunderous detonation. The force of their clash warped the sky, twisting the clouds into spirals, sending shockwaves ripping through the town. Dust and debris exploded outward, and space itself seemed to distort from the overwhelming energies tearing against one another.

  Valen laughed, his voice triumphant over the chaos. "This is the personal ability of the Second Heavenly Demon! Even if its power is decreasing to match expert class, there's no way you can overpower it!"

  His confidence was absolute until a voice reached his ears. Azael's. The words were blurred, barely a whisper in the storm. Valen frowned, straining to listen.

  "...Run...run!"

  Valen didn’t hear it. The voice was blurry after he activated his patron's mark. Then, it happened.

  The crimson arc split through the orb.

  It didn’t just break it. The arc ripped the orb apart. A vacuum-like force sucked the remnants inward, then—BOOM!—an explosion tore through the sky.

  The arc did not stop. It surged forward, screaming toward Valen like a judgment written in fire.

  Valen’s breath caught in his throat. "I-Impossible…!"

  A heartbeat later, the arc struck.

  The explosion that followed devoured the sky. A furious storm of crimson and blackened energy erupted, expanding outward in a violent, spiraling inferno. The shockwave rippled through the town, shaking buildings, shattering windows, and tearing the air with a shrill, unholy wail. Flames twisted into monstrous shapes, clawing at the heavens before collapsing into themselves.

  Within that burning storm, Valen screamed.

  "I can't die like this! I am the Heavenly Demon! I am destined for greatness!"

  His gaze darted downward, panic seizing his chest. He saw her. Alice. His beautiful fiancée.

  She stood on the rooftop below, her silver hair waving by the wind. She watched him. No fear. No relief. Just…pity.

  His body was disintegrating, turning to dust within the raging explosion. He reached out, desperation twisting his expression.

  "Save me, my fiancée!"

  Before his fingers could grasp anything, he was gone. Scattered to the wind, his name swallowed by the storm.

  The evening sky burned crimson, the last embers of daylight swallowed by the raging storm of Arayn’s power. The town bathed in the flickering glow of dying flames.

  In that infernal light, the Third Heavenly Demon fell.

  His body had long since turned to dust, his final words lost in the howling winds of destruction. Where he once stood, only fading embers remained, drifting into the twilight like the remnants of a forgotten legend.

  The heavens did not weep for him. No grand omen marked his passing, only the settling silence, broken by the distant whisper of breeze.

  Valen was gone.

  With his fall, the night claimed the town.

  The fall of the Heavenly Demon.