Vera didn't shy away from double-tapping a demon. She readied her aim at Deimos once more and tried to squeeze the trigger, but her mind had succumbed to the notion that nothing mattered; she ceased to move any further and her consciousness slipped into dormancy.

A byproduct of simply being in his presence.

Lucius wouldn't succumb so easily. He stumbled forth whilst battling the antithesis of human will clawing away at his. He'd been doing battle nonstop and had suffered grievous injuries. Battling Deimos just to endure further physical and psychological harm is, by all accounts, asinine.

But he'd do it anyway, for his driving force was hate. Hate for the demon that rose before him. Hate for the demon that plucked the petals of innocence from his childhood and exposed to him the world's horrors. It caused him to renounce the idea of meaningful bonds with people. He bore hate for the demon that would take from him again upon ultimately overcoming himself and forming new bonds.

He was desperate to win. For the first time in his life, Lucius had a reason to fight other than quelling his bloodthirst. He figured if he couldn't beat Deimos physically, then maybe-just maybe-his display of resolve may shatter the demon's nihilism and defeat him ideologically.

His adrenaline tank had been emptied. In its stead: the rivers that were blurred vision, ringing ears, and excruciating pain flowed throughout him. Despite the muffled auditory processing, Lucius was still able to make out the sound of Deimos speaking, for it rang the bell of his transcendence.

His words struck the ears of the demons that observed the sequence of events from the Plagued City. Among the crowd was Virgil, and these words were:

"I am the bone of my sword."

The catalytic phrase caused the ground to tremble. Lucius bore witness to Deimos's necrotic metamorphosis: corroded skin, leaving behind a crowned skeleton whose body was shrouded in a cloak of ethereal blackness. This husk of any semblance of life was befitting of the demon's true form.

Clouds gathered above the battlefield in masses and delivered unto the battlefield blackened rain. The downpour almost fully washed away Lucius's resolve, giving into the demon's dogma that nothing matters- his efforts were in vain in the face of a nihilistic force of nature.

To conclude his ascendance, Deimos brandished a bone sword larger than even Lucius's and it was engulfed in shadows. He pointed a finger at his tormentee and spoke:

"Come, demon slayer, and I will destroy what constitutes you before ending your meaningless existence."

The flame of willpower that burned within Lucius equaled that of a sputtering candle's after an encounter with a gust of wind. But there was still fire. And he'd still fight. He glared into the non-eyes of the demonic skeletal figure that stood before him. Deimos was, in every facet, stronger than he was. But he didn't care. He gripped the handle of his blade.

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And he'd still fight.

He charged the demon-feet slicking along the wet and blackened grass-before unleashing a bellow with his blade aiming to sever head from neck. He put everything into the swing. Truly, he wanted Deimos dead.

"Foolishness."

This, however, was evaded by the demon who merely leaned back, causing Lucius to stumble forth; something Deimos took advantage of by collapsing the demon hunter's nose with the butt of his sword. A wince of pain escaped Lucius as his head snapped back. Blood flowed from the man's nostrils, but it was cleansed by the dark downpour.

"Shut up."

Lucius retaliated by smashing his forehead into Deimos's, which hurt him more than it did Deimos, yet it was Deimos who was stunned- not from the pain of Lucius's headbutt, but from the determination the demon hunter displayed. It simply didn't make any conceivable sense in his mind. There had never been a human who hadn't forsaken living, let alone fighting, in his ascended form's presence.

If not from the heart which the demon tainted and not the eyes which he blurred, where did this man's willpower come from?

This window of hesitation provided Lucius just enough time to bring his blade downward upon Deimos's skull in order to finish him, yet the demon leaned to the side to narrowly avoid death. Lucius's blade found itself lodged in Deimos's shadowy aura, but Deimos's blade found itself lodged in Lucius's gut.

"It is over," Deimos proclaimed. "Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Know your own futility."

Lucius's blood trickled down the edge of the bone blade, coalescing at its tip before trickling and ultimately washed away by the rainfall. As his blood drained from his body, he and his ideology approached the throes of death. He was close to dropping his own blade until Deimos spoke.

"To answer your question, boy: no. It was not personal when I claimed the life of those who cared for you. You may view me as a natural disaster."

The demon's words dragged Lucius away from death's arms- arms that openly welcomed him. The grip on his blade's handle tightened.

"Shut up," Lucius weakly rebutted with an angry rasp.

"You may hate me for what I have done to you, but I do not reciprocate those emotions. And I will come again, and it will not matter what you do or feel. You and the other hunters will experience oblivion."

Out of options. Out of help. Out of hope. Facing death. Fueled by hate. The man's desperation had reached its climax. The only thing he could do was unleash a furious yell out into the sky from which black rain descended from and attempt to push his blade further into Deimos's darkness.

"DEEEIIIMOOOOSS!!!"

And, in that moment, Lucius's blade ignited.

Engulfed in flames, the demon hunter's weapon was able to force its way through the thick shadowborn aura and through Deimos's body entirely, bisecting the nihilistic entity.

"NO!" Deimos bellowed.

The embers used to cleave the demon in two then spread, mercilessly incinerating him into nothingness as he shrieked in agony. The bone of the sword and the sword had experienced the oblivion they inflicted upon others.

Moments passed, and Lucius felt tranquility within, signaling that he had successfully atoned for the transgressions of his past. With his last bit of strength, Lucius gave his tormentor parting words:

"Deimos. You said nothing mattered, but you wanted to reject dying in your final moments. You realized your life mattered when it was coming to an end. Two things died just now: your body and your ideology."

With that, Lucius collapsed. The final thing he saw before slipping into unconsciousness were Noel, Miyazaki, and Vera; his newfound reasons for fighting.