Meliae clenched her teeth, a deep anger burning in her eyes as she stared down Typhon, every fibre of her being screaming in defiance. "The Demon Lord is responsible for the decay of all worlds," she spat, her voice laced with venom. "He’s corrupted everything—Ygdrana, the weaves , the very core of existence! Every second he breathes, the World Tree withers!"
Typhon’s response came with cold certainty, his golden eyes gleaming. "A feeble creature like you could never grasp the Demon King’s true intentions," he said dismissively. "You see only chaos, but not the grand design. The kindness that lies in his actions is beyond your comprehension."
Before Typhon could finish, Meliae moved with blinding speed, leaping aside as his massive fist came crashing down. The sheer force of the blow shattered the very fabric of space-time, tearing a hole in reality. For a moment, they were no longer tethered to their world but were thrust into the dark, cold expanse of the cosmos.
Meliae gasped, her breath catching in her throat as the vast emptiness of space enveloped them. There was no air, no organic life force, only the endless void. She struggled against the suffocating pressure, her eyes wide with shock. This was no ordinary battlefield—this was beyond her realm of experience. But her body, crafted from the will of nature itself, protected her from the freezing radiation of space, though it offered no comfort in the face of Typhon’s overwhelming power.
Typhon, however, seemed entirely unfazed, watching her struggle with a detached gaze. He spoke, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence. "This isn’t outer space, Meliae."
She looked around in confusion, noticing for the first time the vast, glowing bubbles swirling with purple cosmic light. Inside those bubbles, she could see countless worlds—an infinite array of realities, all bound together in some incomprehensible structure. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "What... what is this?" she uttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Typhon, now looming over her like a god from ancient myths, let a small smile creep onto his face. "This," he said, gesturing to the cosmic spectacle, "is the true nature of existence. The worlds you know are merely fragments of a larger design. The Demon Lord wanted you to see this... to witness the kindness in his work, the creation that lies beyond destruction."
Before Meliae could react, Typhon’s hand reached out, massive and inescapable, closing in on her. She tried to move, but the sheer pressure of his presence pinned her in place. His voice was low, resonating with a dark power. "My name is Typhon, born of the magical gods, a descendant of their line... though not one of them. My mother, like all others of my kind, was a mortal touched by the gods. What you face now is something far greater than you can comprehend."
For the first time, a chill ran down Meliae’s spine. She knew now that in her current state, she stood no chance against him. Her mind raced, seeking a way out as she felt the suffocating grip of Typhon’s power closing in. With a flick of her hand, she called forth her sword—an ancient blade forged from Ygdrana’s roots. It flew towards her at breakneck speed, cutting through the swirling cosmic weave.
But Typhon’s reaction was instantaneous. With a casual flick of his hand, he deflected the sword away, sending it spinning into the void. The force of the deflection was so great that the very fabric of the cosmos where the blade struck turned to ash, dissolving into nothingness.
That brief moment, however, was enough. Meliae used the distraction to her advantage, conjuring a shadow form as a replacement for herself. In an instant, she vanished from Typhon’s grasp, the shadow flickering from his golden hand as he watched with mild amusement.
She reappeared several paces away, panting heavily, her body trembling from the exertion. Ygdrana’s power was the only thing keeping her from being erased in this strange realm. But even that power was waning, barely enough to maintain her presence. She was out of options, her strength fading rapidly. The end felt inevitable as she stared at the golden behemoth before her.
Just as she prepared to make her final stand, a sudden crack split the fabric of space. From the rift emerged a figure draped in dark, regal robes—the Demon Lord. His presence was commanding, yet strangely jovial, as though he had not a care in the world. Following him was a figure equally imposing: Lilith, her eyes glowing with malevolent power.
At the sight of the Demon Lord, Typhon immediately bowed, lowering his head in deep reverence. "My Lord," he intoned, his voice filled with respect.
The Demon Lord, however, waved it off with a lighthearted smile, his tone casual. "No need for that, Typhon. You’re too stiff."
Lilith, however, was not as lenient. Her gaze was sharp, cutting through the void as she addressed Typhon. "Do you know who stands before you?" she asked, her voice cold and commanding.
Typhon, without raising his head, replied, "I am aware of her, but it matters little. My concern lies only with you and our Lord."
Ignoring Lilith’s rebuke, Typhon turned to the Demon Lord, his tone curious. "What brings you here, my Lord?" he asked, his gaze shifting briefly to Meliae, who remained silent, watching the exchange with wary eyes.
The Demon Lord, still smiling, looked between Typhon and Meliae. "I was curious about this encounter. You’ve done well, Typhon... but there’s more to this than meets the eye." His gaze lingered on Meliae, as though evaluating her.
Meliae, still catching her breath, could only glare at the Demon Lord, her mind racing to piece together the truth behind this chaotic reality. But no matter how hard she tried to find a way out, the overwhelming presence of the Demon Lord and his subordinates loomed over her, suffocating her hope.
Her end felt certain.
The moment the Demon Lord stepped forward, Meliae's instincts screamed at her to retreat. Her entire being felt suffocated, despite having been immune to fear through the blessings of Ygdrana, the sacred tree. This was different—this was not fear in the conventional sense. It was as though her very soul wavered, slumbering beneath the weight of his presence. She struggled to catch her breath, though the air moments ago had been abundant and pure. The oppressive aura was choking her, making her question her very existence.
With trembling lips, she found the courage to ask, "Who… who are you?"
Lilith, who stood beside the Demon Lord, narrowed her cold, calculating eyes at Meliae’s boldness. “How dare you,” she hissed, her hand rising, slender fingers extending as she pointed directly at Meliae. “A mere tool like you dares speak to the Demon King with such insolence?”
As Lilith’s finger locked onto her, Meliae’s sword slipped from her hand, crumbling into the ash of the void. She knew immediately that this was the end. The force of Lilith's presence, the authority of the Demon Lord—they were far beyond anything she could resist. Her mind screamed, “It’s over.”
But then something unexpected happened.
Lilith, in her towering pride, suddenly faltered. Her face, beautiful yet wicked, twisted in shock as she, too, began to suffocate. The cruel light in her eyes dimmed as the weight of the Demon Lord’s gaze turned on her.
"Know your place," he commanded, his voice quiet but laden with an authority that could crush worlds. His dark, glittering eyes cut through Lilith's arrogance like a blade.
Lilith, trembling, her face flushing with shame, managed to stammer out, "Yes... yes, darling."
As if the air itself had shifted, the crushing pressure vanished in an instant. Meliae, gasping for breath, felt the weight on her chest lift. She could finally inhale again, but the relief was short-lived. The Demon Lord had returned to his previous, carefree demeanour, as if the suffocating pressure had never existed.
Before Meliae could fully understand what was happening, the Demon Lord closed the distance between them. His fingers—strong, cold, yet disturbingly gentle—began tracing over her body, exploring every curve. His touch sent shivers down her spine, not from fear, but from a feeling she couldn’t identify, something inexplicable that froze her in place. When his fingers grazed her breasts, something in her snapped.
Instinct took over, and without thinking, she clenched her fist and struck him. She didn’t know how she had summoned the strength, but her fist connected squarely with his face.
The blow landed hard enough to deform his head for a brief, comical moment, and for an instant, he looked like a ridiculous chibi character, his head exaggerated in a bizarre shape. He staggered back, letting out an exaggerated yelp, but he quickly recovered, his smile never wavering. As if nothing had happened, he straightened, regaining his composure with an almost theatrical flourish.
"Interesting," he said, amusement twinkling in his dark eyes. With a single finger, he lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. This time, she couldn’t strike him. She was frozen in place, not by fear, but by something far more terrifying—the overwhelming power of his presence.
"Do you know what you are?" the Demon Lord asked, his voice soft yet commanding, as if he were speaking a divine truth. "You are linked to the sacred tree of creation, Ygdrana. A masterpiece of the Creator himself. You’re like a human in physical form, yes, but your soul is bound to something far greater."
His words washed over her, and though they held a meaning she couldn’t fully grasp, they filled her with a dread that made her chest tighten.
"You don’t understand, do you?" he continued, still holding her chin. "The Ygdrana Tree... it is not merely a tree. It is the source of life itself, fueling all natural things across the realms. The Ophanim, the ecosystems, the balance of life and creation—every world, every possibility, every reality is tied to Ygdrana’s will. Ygdrana is not a physical being, but an abstract force, an incorporeal entity that expands across worlds, manifesting through receptacles."
Meliae’s eyes widened, her heart racing as the truth began to sink in. The Demon Lord let go of her chin and began pacing, his long, dark robe flowing behind him like a shadowy river. His eyes gleamed with knowledge beyond mortal comprehension as he continued his explanation.
"The girl, Yuki, whom you thought you saved," he said, his voice turning almost mocking, "was never yours to save. You were merely following a fate written long ago by the Creator. You, too, are a receptacle of Ygdrana, bound by its will. You didn’t free her—you only secured the next host for the tree, as your predecessors had done before you."
The world seemed to spin around her as the revelation struck like a hammer. Meliae’s knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, her breath shallow and ragged. Her mind screamed in protest, but deep within, a part of her knew it was true. She had been nothing more than a puppet, a pawn in Ygdrana’s eternal plan.
Behind the Demon Lord, Lilith stood, her prideful mask slipping as fear crept into her expression. Her voluptuous figure, draped in a long, blood-red robe that hugged her every curve, trembled slightly. Her black hair cascaded like a waterfall down her back, framing a face that could seduce any man, with full, finely traced lips that usually wore a seductive smirk. But now, those lips were pursed, tense, betraying her unease.
The countless glowing weaves of cosmic light behind them cast an ethereal glow on the scene, making it look like a painting from some divine realm. The swirling cosmic backgrounds, each containing infinite worlds and realities, seemed to pulse in rhythm with the conversation, a reminder of the vast power at play.
Lilith, usually brimming with arrogance, now stood silently, her pride momentarily subdued. The sight of her darling Demon Lord touching Meliae, treating her with a mixture of amusement and interest, sparked something almost like jealousy in her eyes, though she hid it well. Her fingers trembled at her side, her long nails digging into her robe as she fought to maintain her composure.
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“Ygdrana expands its reach into every world," the Demon Lord continued, oblivious to—or perhaps simply ignoring—Lilith’s discomfort. "Its influence is all-encompassing. Life and death, creation and destruction, they are all part of Ygdrana’s design. And you, Meliae, are just another tool for that design."
Meliae’s mind reeled as she tried to process it all. She had spent her entire existence believing she was acting of her own will, that she was shaping her own fate. Now, it was all unravelling. Yuki’s fate, her own fate—it had all been predetermined by the will of an incorporeal tree, guided by an unseen hand.
Her lips trembled as she whispered, “No… that can’t be true…”
But even as she said the words, deep down, she knew they were.
The Demon Lord’s smirk deepened as he observed Meliae’s broken state. Her mind was still reeling from the weight of the truth, but he saw the cracks forming, the weakness he could exploit. His thoughts briefly drifted back to a conversation with Eirina. She had been uneasy when he revealed his true objective, one that went beyond simple revenge. His real goal in siding with the Anakim’s wrath had been for this moment—for this situation. He desired the stellar plasma, the divine essence that contained the will of the sacred tree, Ygdrana. Everything had fallen into place just as he predicted, no—as he had foreseen, far into the future.
Eirina’s reaction to his machinations was still vivid in his memory: a mixture of fear and expectation. A drop of sweat had slid down her cheek, betraying her otherwise calm demeanour. Her lips had twisted into a grin that spoke of a combination of dread and anticipation.
Returning to the present, the Demon Lord fixed his gaze back on Meliae, who was still visibly shaken. He could have easily bent her mind, her soul, or her body to his will. He could have manipulated her every thought and feeling, twisted her into a tool for his own ends. But that wasn’t what he wanted. She was a newly born receptacle, and it pleased him to see her embrace her true nature, to make her own choice—guided, of course, by his influence.
“I could force you,” he began, his voice silky and laced with amusement, “but it’s far more entertaining to see you come to your senses on your own.”
Meliae, despite her tears only moments ago, remained resolute. Her stubbornness didn’t falter, and her resolve, though fragile, still held strong. The Demon Lord’s laughter rang out, a booming, mocking sound that reverberated through the cosmic expanse around them. The force of his laugh rippled through the weaves of existence, shattering several into oblivion.
Meliae blushed, her face growing hot as she glared at him, her fists trembling. “What’s so funny?!” she shouted, feeling the humiliation burn through her.
The Demon Lord wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, his grin widening. “Oh, you just remind me of someone I once knew,” he said with a chuckle. “She, too, was a receptacle for Ygdrana’s will. Stubborn as you are, and just as amusing.”
Meliae’s eyes widened at his words, a spark of curiosity piercing through her turmoil. “What… what do you mean?” she stammered. The moment the question left her lips, she instantly regretted it. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her intrigued, but it was too late.
The Demon Lord, ever perceptive, caught on immediately. He didn’t need to read her mind to know what she was thinking. “Yes, you could meet her,” he said smoothly, his voice lowering to a tantalizing whisper. “If you come with me.”
Meliae’s defences faltered. The thought of meeting another like her, another receptacle who had perhaps gone through the same torment—someone who might hold answers—was tempting. Her mind raced, weighing the possibilities. Was it a lie? Was this all just another manipulation?
Yet, somehow, the Demon Lord’s smile, warm and radiant, felt oddly… sincere.
After what seemed like an eternity of internal struggle, Meliae sighed heavily. “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll go with you.” But her expression hardened, and she added, “But only if Typhon apologizes for the damage he’s caused.”
At the sound of her condition, Typhon, standing nearby, seethed with fury. His mighty form, built for battle and destruction, burned with indignation. He was a warrior of unmatched strength, a being of immense pride. To apologize? Never. He would rather die than show such weakness. His eyes glowed with rage, and for a moment, it seemed like he might defy her.
But before Typhon could act, the Demon Lord, with a mischievous grin, waved his hand. In an instant, Typhon’s body jerked unnaturally, his powerful limbs moving against his will. In a comical display, Typhon was forced to bow low, his mouth forming the words of apology as the Demon Lord puppeteered him.
“I-I apologize,” Typhon’s deep voice rumbled, the words clearly not his own.
Meliae watched the absurd scene unfold, blinking in disbelief. It was blatantly obvious to her that the Demon Lord was controlling Typhon, and the sight of the mighty warrior reduced to a puppet was almost too much. She sighed again, louder this time, rolling her eyes at the spectacle.
“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath, barely able to contain her exasperation.
Once Typhon’s forced apology had been delivered, the Demon Lord’s playful grin returned. “Now that we’ve settled that,” he said, his voice filled with a dark amusement, “we can discuss the real matter at hand.”
Meliae, still reeling from the surreal experience, asked, “All I have to do is remove Yuki from the tree, right? If I cut down Ygdrana, I can end the cycle of reincarnation.”
The Demon Lord’s smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. His eyes gleamed with a deeper, more profound knowledge as he shook his head. “No,” he said softly, “it’s impossible. The tree is bound to the very fundamentals of existence. You cannot destroy it with any means. Ygdrana is not just a tree—it is existence itself. If you cut down Ygdrana, all concepts of life, reality, and creation would collapse. Everything would fall into nothingness.”
Meliae’s breath caught in her throat as his words sunk in. “What do you mean… everything?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The Demon Lord turned, his long, dark robe swirling around him like a shadowy mist. “Existence itself would be destroyed. All that would remain is the void and the primordial light, roaming free in the emptiness.”
“The Creator, far above the stance of the tree, bound Ygdrana to the very fabric of existence,” he continued. “Even the Creator cannot undo it without unravelling everything.”
Meliae stood frozen, her mind reeling from the enormity of what he was saying. “So… there’s no way to stop it? No way to end the cycle?”
The Demon Lord’s gaze softened, though his voice remained firm. “Not unless you’re willing to destroy all of existence, no.”
As he finished speaking, Meliae’s face flushed once more, this time with embarrassment. The absurdity of the situation, coupled with the Demon Lord’s earlier mocking laughter, had left her feeling both humiliated and confused. Her cheeks burned red as she looked away, her emotions tangled in a mess of frustration, fear, and an unexplainable attraction to the strange, unsettling warmth that radiated from the Demon Lord’s smile.
She clenched her fists, determined not to let him see her embarrassment. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze on her, watching her every reaction with a knowing smirk.
After being released from the Demon Lord’s control, Typhon turned to him with a quiet, simmering fury. The fact that he’d been forced to apologize gnawed at him, but he kept his reaction simple—nothing more than a clenched jaw and a cold glare. Before Typhon could say anything, Lilith stepped in front of him, her blood-red robe billowing as she blocked his path. She understood his emotions clearly, and her posture, tall and proud, didn’t falter.
“What do you think you’re doing, witch?” Typhon’s voice was low, filled with menace. His golden, radiant eyes blazed with fury due to his recent transformation, making him look more beast than man. But Lilith wasn’t intimidated. Though the difference in strength was stark—Typhon towering over her in both power and size—Lilith hovered before him, meeting his gaze directly. She was flying, face-to-face with the towering warrior, her long black hair cascading behind her like a dark waterfall. She didn’t need words to make her point; her unyielding stare said enough.
Meanwhile, Meliae, watching the exchange, felt something strange. Her mind clouded over, and without warning, she fainted, her body collapsing into the weightless void of the cosmic expanse. Before she could fall far, the Demon Lord moved swiftly, catching her limp form in his arms. His eyes softened as he looked down at her peaceful, unconscious face. For a brief moment, his gaze flickered with nostalgia, a memory surfacing of someone he had once held in the same way—someone long gone, but not forgotten.
Carrying Meliae like a prince cradling a princess, the Demon Lord cut through the rising tension between Typhon and Lilith. “Enough,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “It’s time to leave, before unwanted guests intrude.”
At his command, a portal opened before him, swirling with multiple layers of dimensional energy. It was a gateway designed to navigate through the various strata of reality, from one plane to the next. The portal wasn’t particularly large—just human-sized—meaning Typhon, in his current form, wouldn’t fit through.
Typhon frowned, irritation flashing across his features. He hated what was about to come next, and everyone knew it—especially Lilith and the Demon Lord. Their expectant, almost mocking, smiles made the situation worse. But there was no other option.
With a frustrated grunt, Typhon allowed his golden form to crack and shatter like fragile glass. Binding light wrapped around him, shrinking his enormous body until he no longer resembled the mighty cyclopean warrior but instead reverted to his much smaller, human boy form.
The boy who stood in Typhon’s place had a playful, soft expression that belied the fury he still felt inside. His dark brown hair was messy but somehow endearing, giving him a carefree, youthful vibe. His large, greenish-yellow eyes, though still irritated, held a hint of sly confidence, reflecting an underlying mischief even in his annoyance. His lips were twisted in a half-smile, not of amusement, but of restrained aggravation. A slight blush dusted his cheeks, more from his irritation than anything else.
His hoodie, casually draped over his smaller frame, added to the sense of a laid-back, almost carefree look. Yet his scowl gave him away. Despite his youthful appearance, there was no mistaking the annoyance radiating from him. He clearly hated this form and everything it represented.
Lilith, unable to control herself at the sight of Typhon’s true form, suddenly leapt at him, her stern demeanour melting into one of almost motherly affection. She flew at him with her arms outstretched, intent on smothering him in an embrace. Typhon's expression twisted further in exasperation, but before Lilith could reach him, the Demon Lord caught her mid-air with an amused flick of his wrist and unceremoniously tossed her through the portal.
Typhon sighed heavily, the weight of his frustration dragging his posture low. “This is why I hate this form,” he muttered, half to himself. He glanced at the Demon Lord, and for the briefest moment, their eyes met. The Demon Lord’s gaze, no longer mocking, was now paternal, almost fatherly, and it made Typhon flinch. That gaze carried a weight, a depth of emotion Typhon wasn’t used to seeing from him, and it left an uneasy knot in his stomach.
Without another word, Typhon trudged forward and stepped through the portal, following the others. The gateway sealed behind them with a deafening silence, leaving the shattered remnants of cosmic weaves drifting in the vast, empty expanse. The only trace of their presence was the faint residue of magic and destruction, lingering in the void like echoes of a battle long past.
Not long after the Demon Lord’s departure, the tranquil void of the cosmic expanse was once again disturbed. Another tear opened in the fabric of space, and from the swirling darkness, three figures emerged. The first to step through was a girl, her small frame stark against the vast emptiness. Her outfit, however, was anything but subtle—a flashy, crimson ensemble that resembled a magical girl’s costume, though its design left very little to the imagination. It was essentially an underwear and bra set, but her flat chest and petite body gave it a strange, almost defiant boldness.
Her long, golden hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of sunlight, reaching far below her waist. Her skin had an ethereal glow to it, a pale, golden hue that shimmered like sunbeams reflecting off water. Despite her youthful, doll-like appearance, her eyes were the most striking feature. Her left iris was a brilliant gold, while her right was a deep crimson. Each eye bore a strange, haunting symbol—a reverse cross etched into her pupils, giving her an otherworldly aura. She wore intricately designed brown gloves on her small hands and an enormous collar around her neck, which added to her mystical, almost regal air. From a distance, she was undeniably radiant, a being of pure light and energy.
“Looks like he sensed us, even with our magical layered protection,” she said, her voice tinged with annoyance. Her name was Himari Suzune, a name that carried with it the weight of her radiant presence.
Stepping through behind her, the second girl made her way into the open expanse. Unlike Himari’s carefree and impetuous nature, she had a calm, composed air about her. Her deep black hair flowed down her back, straight and nearly reaching her feet. She wore a traditional red yukata, its size seemingly too large for her body, yet it draped elegantly over her, giving her an ethereal grace. Her ample curves contrasted sharply with Himari’s petite form, her body boasting a full, voluptuous figure, her bust a heavy G-cup that was barely restrained by the folds of her robe. Her lips, painted in a striking green lipstick, parted slightly as she observed the scene with cold, calculating eyes.
Her eyes, like Himari’s, were mismatched. Where Himari’s left eye was golden, hers was a deep, tranquil blue. Her right eye, however, mirrored the crimson red of her companion’s, creating an eerie symmetry between them. On her hip rested a long Edo-period sword, a katana of formidable craftsmanship, its polished sheath reflecting the faint light of the surrounding cosmos. This was Amane Yukiko, a swordswoman known for her quiet strength and deadly precision.
She glanced around the desolate expanse, noticing the residual energy where the Demon Lord had once stood. “He destroyed another weave,” Amane said, her voice calm but laced with concern. “How many worlds have been lost this time?”
Unlike Himari’s carefree bravado, Amane’s words were measured, her tone soft but carrying the weight of experience. She seemed unaffected by the destruction around them, yet her sharp eyes missed nothing. She knew the consequences of every lost weave, of every world shattered by the Demon Lord’s hand.
Trailing behind the two girls was a boy, the third member of their group. His name was Takahiro Kuroda, though he often simply went by Hiro. He didn’t say a word as he stepped through the portal, but his eyes scanned the empty void with an intense, thoughtful expression. His spiky black hair stood messily on end, and he wore a pair of oversized musical headphones that covered his ears. He wasn’t even aware of his companions speaking, as he was currently blasting loud rock music through the speakers. Every now and then, he would shout, unaware of the volume of his own voice.
“This place is empty! Let’s head back to the Fifteenth Layer!” he yelled, oblivious to the fact that his companions could hear him just fine.
Amane, with a quick and practiced movement, swiped the headphones from his head. The music instantly cut off, revealing that Hiro had been blasting heavy rock at an almost painful volume. She looked at him, half-sympathetic for his ringing ears.
Hiro blinked, his wide, greenish-yellow eyes refocusing on the scene. His expression, normally playful and carefree, was marred by the slight wince of pain from the loss of his music. His soft, boyish features had an innocent quality to them, though the mischievous glint in his eyes always betrayed his true nature. He was a trickster at heart, a joker with a lighthearted soul, though his silence now spoke volumes about the weight of the situation. His lean frame was relaxed, but the way he carried himself hinted at a hidden strength, a deceptive power beneath his unassuming exterior.
Himari, now seemingly bored, tapped the massive Warhammer slung over her shoulder. The weapon was absurdly large, easily three times the size of her tiny frame. It was a contradiction in itself—a delicate-looking girl wielding a weapon of such raw, brutal force. Yet there was no doubt that she could swing it with devastating power, the magical aura around it shimmering with potential destruction.
“Let’s just smash whatever’s left and move on!” Himari said, her voice bubbly and unconcerned with the loss of entire worlds.
Amane shot her a look of disapproval but didn’t say anything. She turned her gaze back to the remnants of the destroyed weave. "There’s nothing more to do here," she said quietly.
With a sigh, Hiro nodded, knowing that they’d arrived too late. The Demon Lord was always one step ahead, his plans unraveling faster than they could counteract. The three of them, despite their differences, were bound by a common purpose—and a common enemy.
As the group readied to leave, Amane cast one last look at the cosmic expanse, her fingers gently resting on the hilt of her sword. "Next time, we’ll be ready," she whispered to herself, her mismatched eyes reflecting the shattered remnants of countless worlds.