The damp and encroaching dense forest, like moist fingers, attempted to hold Capillata back, but he dashed into the depths of the woodland, even the glow of divine fire could not penetrate.

On this night, Vit’via burned in her slumber, ascending to the heavens as the Morning Star, accompanied by the holy wisdom of the villagers she cherished, such as Quine and Foy. Left behind, Capillata could only immerse himself in the solitary night.

"'Narrow is the gate, and so is the path; only a few can pass through.'" - In Capillata's tear-blurred vision, Vit’via appeared on her sickbed, with a weak yet relieved smile - "Take my place and continue to defy the tyranny of the goddess of fate."…

However, he would rather have Vit’via take his holy wisdom with her, turning him into a mindless beast. In doing so, he would not need to experience or feel the pain of this moment.

No matter how earnestly Capillata pleaded, merciful oblivion did not descend upon him. With each step forward, the anguish etched itself deeper into his being. His throat tore from the cold air, his heart writhed from the lack of breath, and the irreparable heartbreak tortured his soul in countless ways.

Blindly running, he sprinted towards a splendid purple radiance in his line of sight until he emerged from the forest, beneath the vast starry sky.

He realized he had arrived at the secret lake he shared with Vit’via. The tranquil surface of the lake shimmered mysteriously in a dazzling indigo hue, resembling crystal, perfectly mirroring the stars above. Capillata noticed a figure standing at the edge of the lake, seemingly immersed in washing garments, with her back turned. He approached slowly, and the person sensed his presence, perking up the pair of soft ears, ceasing her movement.

She turned around, and it was Vit’via. With a healthy complexion, bright eyes, dressed in a reddish-brown gown, and wearing a lace headband, she smiled in his direction.

Capillata noticed an object floating on the water beside her waist. It wasn't just a garment; it was a maiden adorned in a pure white toga. She was young, wearing a silver mask with intertwined valerian patterns, her turquoise eyes vacant and lifeless. It was evident that she had drowned by Vit’via's hand, yet for some reason, Capillata felt no fear.

An orange flame emerged from the floating corpse of the young maiden, absorbed by Vit’via, making her eve more radiant. Transparent tongues of fire ignited upon her flaxen hair. She opened her arms, gesturing to embrace or welcome. Captivated by the power gathered in her hands, Capillata stepped forward.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"The divine fire took away your life, and everything from me." Although he knew the present sight was not real, Capillata still poured his heart out to the illusion of his beloved. "I don't want to become stronger because of your death, Vit’via."

"If you refuse here, both you and Vasili will die. This is the only outcome caused by your choice." The phantom of Vit’via spoke, her ethereal voice no longer wavering. "Vitulus, do not be deceived by the feeling of disillusionment, and do not fall in love with it." Combining multiple voices, she spoke with conviction:

"Perceive power for what it truly is, devoid of should or should not. Seek power, and the rest shall follow." Warm orange radiance flowed between her hands. "So, take my hand, Vitulus. Who else but you?"

Capillata stepped onto the lake's surface. Under the gaze of her omphacite eyes cleansed by the fire, crossed his hands over the burning palms. The maiden gently clasped his fingers. The golden-haired youth lowered his body, submerging his face into the cold and serene lake. A warm current permeated his entire being, on his shoulders, transforming into a pair of orange wings, and a single damaged one. With a gentle exertion of force, the velvety wings bloomed like flowers, spanning across the lake, shaking off cascades of starry flames.

"Vitulus" emerged from beneath the water, and the phantom of Vit’via smiled at him. The fire bearer lightly flapped both wings, causing a rush of air on the lake's surface. The leaves rustled, and surging ripples spread to the opposite shore.

Capillata looked up at the false constellation, arching his wings, gathering strength. Then, with a powerful beat, he shattered the lake's surface with astonishing force, creating a gust of burning wind through the forest, soaring like a crimson arrow into the sky.

----------------------------------------

And so, Vitulus, who had been swallowed, pierced the white carapace of the sacred serpent Seraphina with his regained wings.

Seraphina saw it. The amry of Immortals saw it. The Ninth Legion saw it. The fire dragon Constanz saw it. The maiden Sandra saw it. Vasili, miscarried from the belly of the holy serpent, awakened from an eternal dream of battle, opened his light-fearing eyes beneath the viscous gastric fluid, saw it as well.

Everyone saw it - the three-winged angel shining beneath the dark clouds, the orange-red Morning Star, Vitulus.

The Morning Star gradually ascended to the heights, surpassing even the volcanoes, stealing the radiance of the sun. However, the crimson wings continued to rise, reaching near the zenith and erupting with dazzling flames. Then, as if a falcon, it plummeted straight down, leaving a red trail in the sky. Approaching the ground, it flapped its wings like an eagle, changing direction with lightning speed, cleaving through the dark clouds, and struck the skull of the sacred serpent Seraphina.

A flash of light, a deafening bang.

The battle of Anganar ended with the annihilation of the Legion of Immortals.