The battlefield froze.

Kael Dragonyx, the chaos dragon, the terror of Aetheris—was gone. His dominion, his fury, his storm, all shattered under the weight of a single crimson palm. His death did not come with the roar of a beast or the glory of a warrior. It came with silence. Silence heavy enough to crush the breath of every soul who witnessed it.

Drake and Rodriguez stopped mid-swing, their weapons trembling in their hands. Charlotte's shield quivered as her body locked in disbelief. Even the hardened warriors of Eldoria, bloodied and resolute, stood frozen as if the world itself had ended.

"What sort of monstrosity is this?"

Guinevere's flames guttered. Morris's scepter dimmed. Kelvin, Ethan, and Lila all stared upward, their battle-hardened faces uncharacteristically pale. The phoenix, the elemental heir, the abyssal scythe bearer—all warriors of indomitable spirit—now felt something unfamiliar: dread.

Even Endless, high in the skies still locked in combat with Kaelen, faltered for the briefest moment, his eyes widening at the sight of Kael's destruction. His loyal pawn, his mighty dragon of chaos, erased with a flicker.

But none were more shaken than Alen the Dark Magi.

His red eyes, usually gleaming with cruelty and calm malice, widened with something he had not felt in centuries—terror. His body trembled as he hovered above the ruins of the throne room, his hands clawing at the void for stability. The endless shadows that once obeyed his every command now writhed and recoiled, as if even darkness itself feared to be near Aegon.

"No…" Alen whispered, his voice cracking as the words left him. "Impossible… Kael—Kael was chaos itself. How could he… how could he fall like that?"

But no answer came. Only the crimson radiance of Aegon, his presence towering and inevitable.

And in that moment, Alen chose cowardice.

'No, I can't remain here, I need to go now that I ha e the chance'

With a guttural scream, he turned tail, his form dissolving into streams of shadow and void as he darted away at his fastest possible speed. He did not dare glance back, his pride long abandoned, replaced by the primal instinct to flee.

"Hey!! The Dark Magi is getting away!!" Guinevere exclaimed hurriedly as soon as she noticed Alen's movements. "Not if I can help it, I still have a bone to pick with him" Kelvin said as he prepared to give chase. But before he could, Drake held him back as he said.

"There is no need, look at Christopher"

After hearing him, Kelvin looked up. And at that moment, he figured out that Aegon was not prey. He was not even predator. He was inevitability.

The crimson dragon's eyes turned toward him.

And then he moved.

To everyone else, Aegon vanished from where he stood. To Alen, Aegon simply appeared at his path, effortlessly ahead of him, as though the very fabric of space bent to his will.

"No!" Alen snarled, desperation tainting his words. He twisted violently, summoning every ounce of his dark magic. His body flickered between planes, shadows tearing reality apart as he attempted to outmaneuver this godlike being. He summoned a dozen shadow decoys, collapsed void spheres, and ripped through the air itself.

But it was futile.

Every time he darted away, Aegon was already there—waiting. No effort. No strain. Just absolute dominance.

"STOP!" Alen roared, his voice a cocktail of rage and despair. "I am Alen, the Dark Magi! I have consumed nations! I have devoured souls! I—"

The words caught in his throat.

Aegon raised his claw.

In that frozen moment, Alen saw it all: the centuries of schemes, the kingdoms destroyed, the sacrifices made for forbidden power… all for this. To be ended, not by glory, not by triumph, not even by defiance. But by inevitability.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, twisted and hollow.

"How… pathetic," he whispered. "After all my striving, all my hungering… to end like this? Not as a conqueror. Not as a king. Just… another insect crushed beneath a god's hand. How miserable. How fitting…"

The claw descended.

There was no scream, no resistance. Just silence as Alen's body dissolved into nothingness, his essence scattered like dust in a storm.

The Dark Magi was no more.

And as his existence was erased, every warrior present felt it—the weight of inevitability pressing down on them, the dreadful certainty that Aegon was not just another foe. He was something beyond comprehension, beyond struggle.

But to Alen, it was more than that. To him, he felt that he was the cause of his own demise.....

As the tale of Alen the Dark Magi was not born in chaos—it was nurtured in brilliance.

Back when he was still a boy at Pacesetters Academy, Alen was the type of prodigy that left both students and teachers speechless. His aptitude for magic was not merely talent; it was frightening. Spells that required weeks of memorization, he mastered in a day. Ancient runic inscriptions that confounded scholars flowed from his lips with ease. It was as though mana itself bent toward him, eager to be commanded, eager to bask in his control.

At first, his rise was celebrated. Teachers praised him endlessly, calling him the future pillar of Eldoria. His fellow students watched with awe, some with jealousy, but none could deny the sheer power Alen displayed. His abilities caught the eye of the chancellor of the Academy at that time—Alaric, the Arch-Mage of Legends, a man who stood tall as one of the strongest sorcerers in recorded history.

Alaric was known for his ruthlessness in choosing disciples. He had rejected countless promising students without a second thought, his eyes always searching for one who could carry his legacy. And when he saw Alen, he saw it—the spark of something greater, perhaps even greater than himself.

Alaric personally chose Alen as his disciple.

That moment changed everything. The boy who had once been a nameless orphan, abandoned on the steps of the Academy with no family or surname, suddenly became the shining star of the Pacesetters. Students whispered in envy, teachers treated him like royalty, and Alaric's shadow shielded him from any scrutiny.

For years, Alen thrived under Alaric's wing. He was fed knowledge older than kingdoms, rituals forbidden to lesser mages, and arts meant to shape worlds. But along with this power came something else—a festering hunger inside him.

At first, it was subtle. The curiosity of a genius who wanted to know more. He would spend sleepless nights bent over tomes, trying to grasp not just the how of magic, but the why. Why did mana flow in one direction and not another? Why did certain incantations demand sacrifice? Why did the laws of magic bind mortals but not the Celestials? His hunger turned to obsession, and his obsession began to blind him.

The breaking point came one quiet night, deep in the restricted wing of the Academy's library.

Alen had discovered a fragment of ancient research that spoke of "Eclipse Binding"—a forbidden magical convergence that could amplify one's core by stealing the resonance of another mage's essence. If successful, it would create a leap in power unlike anything known. Alen was enthralled. He needed a test subject.

And fate delivered one.

A young girl, no older than him, wandered into the restricted hall. She was another student, a cheerful soul who had often tried to befriend him. She had only come to return a book, unaware of the experiment Alen was preparing. Her arrival was an inconvenience—an interruption.

Alen asked her to leave. She refused. She was worried for him, sensing the darkness that was beginning to coil around his heart. She tried to reach him with words, telling him he didn't need this path, that he was already the greatest mage of their generation.

But Alen's patience broke. To him, her voice was a distraction, a crack in his concentration, a threat to his progress. And in that moment, without hesitation, without remorse, he whispered an incantation.

The girl froze, her eyes wide with betrayal as his magic struck. A circle of runes burned beneath her feet, binding her essence. Her scream echoed through the hallways as her life-force was torn from her body and poured into Alen's core.

When it was done, her lifeless form crumpled to the ground.

Alen stood there, trembling—not in guilt, but in exhilaration. The experiment had worked. His power had grown. He felt invincible.

But the Academy was not blind. Teachers arrived soon after, alerted by the disturbance. They found the corpse, the scorched runes, and Alen standing over them, his hands still glowing with residual mana.

The news spread like wildfire. The golden child, the Arch-Mage's disciple, had murdered a fellow student.

The Academy was thrown into chaos. Some demanded his execution, others demanded mercy. His peers recoiled from him in fear. The teachers who had once praised him now stared at him as though he were a monster.

And Alaric? The great Arch-Mage looked at his prized disciple with eyes colder than ice.

Alaric asked Alen only one question: "Why?"

Alen's answer was simple, devoid of remorse. "She stood in my way. And if power requires sacrifice, then I will sacrifice anyone."

The words broke something in Alaric. The Arch-Mage had hoped Alen would become a beacon, a future savior for the Human Territory. Instead, he had bred a monster. Though his heart was torn, Alaric could not bring himself to execute his own disciple—not yet. Instead, he cast Alen into exile, banished from the Academy and stripped of his title.

But despite that, Alaric decided to keep that discovery only within the academy so as not to ruin the reputation of the academy he just created. But he didn't know that this decision of his will be disastrous to both his academy and even Aetheris itself.