CHAPTER 48: WAR PART 39 - HELL ENDER

Lucy was alone.

Truly, unbearably alone.

Wind swirled around his broken body, catching him mid-fall as the shattered cliff crumbled beneath him. The air cradled him gently, carrying him down like a grieving mother lowering her child into the grave.

When his boots touched the debris-strewn battlefield—once obsidian, now charred black and slick with ash—Lucy collapsed to his knees.

His breath hitched. His chest convulsed.

"What have I done..." he whispered.

And then he broke.

Tears spilled down his cheeks in helpless torrents, his fingers clawing at the dust as sobs tore free from his throat.

Visions played behind his eyes—flashes of the lives he’d just erased. A young elven boy clutched his sister, the two hugging tightly as the shockwave loomed behind them. Their final moment was not spent fighting, but holding each other.

Others, who had moments ago rushed at him with blades drawn and rage in their eyes, froze—not in victory, not in fear, but in realization. Their gazes widened with the horror of knowing they wouldn’t return to their homes or families.

Vorn’s voice echoed in the depths of Lucy’s mind:

"Ithriel controls his children."

They hadn’t even chosen to fight. Their hatred hadn’t been their own. Their bloodlust was borrowed—forced into them by a god.

They were just people. Just beings, with lives, dreams, and hopes.

And he had incinerated them all.

Once alive with the screams of war, the battlefield had fallen into an unnatural stillness. Only Lucy’s ragged sobs filled the air.

"I’ve killed so many people," he choked. "What... what have I become?"

’A monster.’

A single drop hit the back of his neck.

Cold. Wet.

He blinked through tear-swollen eyes and looked up, making his breath catch in his throat.

It was raining.

But not water.

Blood.

Thick, warm blood drizzled from the sky like a divine punishment, soaking into his hair, clothes, and skin. The scent of iron flooded his senses, metallic and overwhelming, curling into his nostrils and turning his stomach inside out.

He retched.

Doubling over, Lucy vomited onto the scorched stone again. And again. And again. Until there was nothing left to expel but bile and agony.

And still, the blood fell.

The battlefield itself seemed to mourn.

Then, green lights shimmered around him—teleportation runes flaring to life. Seraphine’s remaining forces stepped through one by one, six hundred strong, their armor clinking softly in the silence.

They surrounded him.

The looks on their faces varied—some sneered in disgust, others smiled coldly, satisfied to see him broken and bleeding. A few, just a few, watched him with pity.

But Lucy couldn’t look at any of them.

He couldn’t even raise his head.

His mind was trapped beneath the weight of the dead.

’Why is this my life now?’

’Why me?’

’I never asked to be in this war. I never wanted to be a weapon. So why do I have so much blood on my hands?’

And then, he felt her.

He didn’t need to look.

The divine presence washed over the battlefield like the tide returning to shore. Seraphine.

He trembled as she stepped through the light, her aura parting the falling blood. Not a single drop dared touch her.

’She must feel it too,’ he thought. ’This pain. This guilt.’

’Seraphine... I judged you so harshly. But now I understand. I see you. I’m sorry.’

He forced himself to look up.

And there she was—her silver hair lifted by the wind, eyes glistening with tears that fell silently down her cheeks. No words. No anger. No judgment.

Only sorrow.

For so long, he had cursed her name, had blamed her for every death. And yet here she was, weeping like him. Bleeding like him—just not on the outside.

Their gazes met—not as god and champion, not as weapon and wielder—but as two souls who had done the unthinkable. Who had survived their ruin.

Who knew, in that moment, that only the other could understand.

Suddenly, before Lucy could blink, Seraphine dropped beside him and embraced him.

Her arms were soft and trembling. Her voice was barely a whisper in his ear.

"I’m sorry, Lucy. I’m so sorry..."

At first, he flinched. He wanted to push her away, to scream at her for dragging him into this nightmare.

But he couldn’t.

He was broken—shattered in ways no magic could mend. The weight of what he’d done hollowed him out, and the only warmth he could find in the world came from the woman holding him—the only one who could understand.

So he wrapped his arms around her and clung to her like a drowning man, burying his face into her shoulder.

Then he sobbed—loud, wet, guttural cries that shook his entire body.

Around them, the world fell into a hush. The battlefield, the army, and the universe vanished for a moment. Only his shame, his goddess, and the suffocating silence remained.

A voice in his head hissed:

’Pathetic. Look at yourself. A weeping child. A killer pretending to be a victim.’

Then, a real voice broke through the haze. One he had learned to hate.

"My lady," Darfin said, his voice clear and detached, "you must acquire the planet soon. It’s beginning to split apart."

Seraphine pulled Lucy in tighter for one last heartbeat—then gently let him go.

She stood, wiping her face, her voice trembling as she turned to her army.

"Children... today, we have lost many. And we must never forget the souls who gave everything in this battle. Their sacrifice will not be in vain. The battle is over, Ithriel has retreated."

Cheers erupted like thunder, wild and deafening. The silence shattered under the weight of celebration.

Lucy remained on his knees, blinking in disbelief.

’How can they cheer? After this?’

Seraphine walked away, her silver hair trailing behind her like a comet’s tail, moving toward the battlefield’s center where the planet’s broken core pulsed with unstable energy.

Then Darfin turned to Lucy.

"Good job, human," he said with a nod.

The words hit Lucy like a blade.

He shot to his feet in a blink and drove his fist into Darfin’s jaw.

The elf staggered back, stunned, hand flying to his face.

"Good job?" Lucy roared. "What the hell was good about this? What I did here wasn’t heroic—it was pure evil! Don’t you ever say that again, you smug bastard!"

Tears streaked his face again, burning hot.

The cheering stopped.

Hundreds of soldiers stared, confused, uncertain.

That only made the rage boil over.

Lucy spun in a circle, pointing furiously at them all.

"And you-all of you! You look at me like I’m a monster? Fine! I am! The worst fucking monster you’ve ever seen!"

Silence.

No one moved. No one spoke.

Until a hand rested on his shoulder.

Lucy whirled, ready to lash out again—but froze when he saw who it was.

Llarm.

The elf’s expression was tired, worn from battle, but his smile was genuine.

"You’re not a monster, Lucy," he said softly. "You’re my best friend. And you’re the kindest person I know."

Then two more hands found his shoulders.

Gindu. Eri.

"Wyrmling," Gindu said with a weary grin. "Thanks to you, I get to fight another day. We all do."

"Thank you, Lucy," Eri added, voice quiet. "I didn’t want to die."

Lucy’s throat clenched. He looked from one friend to the next, overwhelmed.

Then, slowly, he turned his eyes skyward.

The stars blinked above, distant and cold.

But somehow... still there.

’They would have died. All of them. This war... this war is hell, and hell needs someone to put an end to it. I will put an end to it.’

And then the ground beneath them shook—a low, pulsing tremor.

Far ahead, Seraphine raised her hand. A beam of divine light surged upward, and the broken planet’s core flared.

The absorption had begun.

The planet’s soul was taken.

And just like that—

The battle was finally over, and Lucy had found his purpose.

Meanwhile.

Far from the blood-soaked battlefield...

In the heart of the Night Palace, where moonlight dared not trespass and shadows whispered secrets of old, two figures stood across from one another in a grand obsidian hall.

One, cloaked in writhing darkness, her face half-veiled beneath a hood stitched from starlight—Nyxaris, Goddess of Shadows and Secrets.

The other, wearing crimson armor carved from fury, with burning eyes and breath that steamed in the cold, Ravun, the God of Rage and Annihilation.

They said nothing.

Only the faint sound of dripping water echoed in the silence until their hands met between them.

A handshake.

For the first time in an age, Rage and Secrets stood united.

And in that still, breathless moment, the universe shivered.

End of Volume One: My Purpose