CHAPTER 262: CHAPTER 258 – THE DEATH RITUAL AND THE SEALED SKY

The air shattered.

Not merely trembled, it broke apart, like fragile glass struck by a soundwave without form.

Above the ruined valley, the sky split open, exposing cracks of white light colliding with black mist.

The clash between divine power and death’s essence echoed across every corner of existence.

There were no spectators. No witnesses.

Only the land, the fire, and the air themselves, twisting in terror.

Yet amidst the cataclysm, the true battle lasted less than ten minutes.

Ten minutes....

A blink to mortals,

But for beings of godlike power, it was enough to rewrite or erase history.

Persephone stood at the epicenter of devastation, her black gown drifting softly though the air around her was dead.

Silver-gray and violet light swirled along her form, as if the world itself tried to reject her existence but could not.

Before her, six divine radiances trembled the remnants of the gods of this world each struggling to maintain their form within mortal vessels already cracking apart.

Velgrath, once proud and defiant, now knelt. From Darian’s ruined body, black smoke seeped through every pore, curling upward like a bleeding night.

"I... will not bow to a goddess of another world..." he rasped, his voice echoing like a ghost trapped in a cavern.

Persephone lifted one delicate finger.

And the sound simply stopped.

No explosion and no light.

Only silence.

Korthan tried to rise. Holy white fire blazed along his body but each spark vanished the instant it touched the air around the goddess.

"The war isn’t over yet, woman... You are not part of the laws that govern...."

"There are no laws that govern death," Persephone interrupted gently, her tone devoid of emotion.

"You are merely a small flame that even embers need air to live."

Instantly, all the fire died.

Korthan fell silent. His body convulsed violently before collapsing to his knees. The holy armor cracked one fracture at a time like porcelain breaking from within.

Nerys, the sea goddess, watched with a pale face. The water surrounding Eryndor’s body began to evaporate. Every movement produced faint crackling sounds, like saltwater drying in a desert.

"You... have tainted the cycle of this world," she whispered, her voice like a ripple before a storm.

Persephone turned slightly, her obsidian eyes reflecting the goddess’s fading image.

"The cycle? You mean the water cycle, Nerys? Rain that falls, flows, and returns to the sea?"

She took a slow step forward.

"But tell me where in that cycle does death belong, hmm?"

Nerys backed away, but Persephone’s steps were too soft, too inevitable. The goddess laid a hand gently on Eryndor’s chest as if soothing a frightened child. The water swirling around the sea goddess froze midair, turning into suspended droplets. Then, one by one, the droplets crumbled into dusts of light.

One, Two, Three.

Three gods fell.

Xynareth and Olmerath attacked together one wielding void, the other commanding the boundary between life and death.

Their combined power drew a vertical black line across the air trying to seal the dimension where Persephone stood.

"If this world cannot contain you," shouted Olmerath, his voice trembling, "then we shall remove it from existence!"

Persephone simply looked at them.

No anger and smile.

"Go ahead," she murmured. "Let’s see who gets devoured first by the border you create."

The rift snapped shut instantly. But instead of banishing her, the line shattered the moment it touched her form.

The boundary between life and death could not reject the being who was the origin of both.

Olmerath was flung backward. Vaelric’s body disintegrated into ash.

Xynareth screamed a sound beyond human range, a shriek of concepts being torn apart.

Another one vanished.

Only Zha’gor, the Writer of Endings and Beginnings, remained. He stood tall, Kaelthas’s vessel barely holding together. From his chest, a light burned not divine radiance, but the core of cornered divinity.

"Goddess Persephone..." he breathed heavily. "Do you truly believe you can erase us all so easily? We are not mortals. We are the very Chapters of this world’s story."

Persephone tilted her head, gazing at the fractured sky streaked in white and black.

"Every story has a final page," she said softly. Then her eyes turned to him gentle, yet cutting as fate itself.

"And I..."

"...am the pen that writes it."

Silence.

Zha’gor screamed but his voice was consumed by a stillness greater than death. The white light enveloping Kaelthas cracked then shattered. No flames and blood.

The six lights that once threatened the world went out like candles snuffed by a single breath.

Persephone looked toward the burning sky, now scarred by the remnants of the gods’ existence.

There was no triumph on her face, only a weary expression beyond words.

"Ten minutes," she whispered. "And the world’s entire order nearly changed."

Sylvia stood several steps behind her, trembling. Her chains still floated weakly in the air, their power fading. Her vision blurred, caught between awe and dread.

"Lady... did you... kill them?" she asked hoarsely.

Persephone turned to her.

"Kill them? No, Sylvia. I did not kill them."

She brushed her fingers through the air.

"I merely sent them back. Those were only vessels, never their true forms."

She walked toward Sylvia. Each step made a faint rustling sound, like petals falling in winter.

When she stood before her, Persephone lifted a hand and gently touched Sylvia’s head.

Her touch was cold but comforting. In an instant, every wound on Sylvia’s body closed. Her chains fell still.

"You’ve done enough, my dear," she whispered. "This world has no right to demand more of you."

Sylvia lowered her head. For the first time in what felt like ages, her eyes burned. Black tears fell, landing on the scorched ground where tiny purple grass began to sprout.

Persephone smiled faintly.

"You can still cry. Good. That means you haven’t completely forgotten what it means to live."

Sylvia wanted to respond, but no sound came. She simply stared at the goddess so gentle, yet carrying power that even the gods of this world could not defy.

The sky above them slowly changed.

"Will you stay here?" Sylvia asked softly. "Or... must you go too?"

Persephone looked at the sky, then back at her.

"My presence here already tears at the balance. I cannot remain long."

Her tone was calm, though tinged with quiet melancholy.

"But do not worry. Our bond is strong enough now. If you call from your heart... I will hear."

She lowered her head again, brushing Sylvia’s hair aside tenderly.

"You have surpassed all I ever hoped for, Sylvia Hortensia."

The air began to change.

The violet mist encircling them spiraled upward, forming a gentle vortex above the goddess.

Light enveloped her body not the harsh radiance of this world’s gods, but a soft, twilight glow.

Sylvia tried to reach out, but her body would not move.

"Lady Persephone..."

The goddess looked back one last time, her warm smile unchanged.

"Don’t worry about me, little queen. Go... help them. This world still needs your hand."

Then, she vanished.

Only black flowers blooming swiftly where she had stood then wilting in the next breath.

The wind returned. Sylvia’s chains gave a soft chime before falling to the ground.

She stood there for a long time, staring at the spot where the goddess had disappeared.

The sky above was now a dusky twilight dark, yet peaceful. For the first time since the war began, Sylvia felt something she had forgotten...

Silence that was not a threat.

The wind drifted softly over the valley, now transformed into a dark, desolate plain. No more holy light. No more divine grandeur. Only the lingering traces of black energy quivering in the air like the fading breath of a dying world.

Sylvia stared at her own hands. Her palms trembled not from wounds, but from exhaustion that reached down to her soul. Within her, Persephone’s voice still echoed like the melody of an ancient hymn.

"Go... help them. This world still needs your hand."

She lifted her gaze toward the sky. Soft violet clouds still swirled above, leaving behind faint traces of the goddess’s departure.

Between them, streaks of black lightning flashed from time to time as if to remind her that the world’s balance had yet to be restored.

"Ten minutes..." she murmured quietly. "And I nearly lost everything."

Her eyes swept across the ruins of the valley, then she drew in a long, steady breath. The chains around her rise once more, coiling through the air like wings woven from shadow.

Sylvia’s gaze hardened.

"There’s no time to rest."

She drew in a deep breath and whispered, her voice barely audible to the spirits that lingered around her,

"Alright, everyone... I’m coming back."

One step.

The ground cracked beneath her feet.

Two steps.

Black mist began to flow from her body, spreading across the area in a chilling, oppressive aura.

"Celes, Aurellia, Alicia, Stacia..." her lips trembled, but her eyes remained sharp. "Wait for me."

She raised her hand.

Void Steps activated.

Her chains glowed once more. And in the distance, the battlefield trembled welcoming the return of the Queen of Zombie.