While Aethron finalized his arrangements with his son and set the plan in motion, Elias continued his search.

  He knew where Aethron was.

  He felt him. Constantly.

  Like a shadow clinging just behind his back.

  But no path existed.

  There was no gate, no portal, no fracture in reality.

  Only a presence — distant and unreachable.

  He needed to destroy more Messengers.

  After the last battle, only silence remained. Ruined land. And him.

  He felt his own physical strength. Every step carried weight. Every breath was dense.

  He now knew that no Messenger existed who could kill him.

  He had defeated a being stronger than himself.

  After absorbing its core, he felt Aethron more clearly than ever.

  Everywhere. And nowhere.

  Close. And untouchable.

  Elias whispered quietly,

  “Time to continue the hunt.”

  And returned to the world.

  Several months later.

  Elias moved through shadows across the entire world.

  Searching. Observing. Sensing.

  He found nothing.

  No Messengers.

  No traces.

  Their presence had vanished like morning frost.

  The world stood without Messengers.

  At least, that was how it seemed.

  Elias withdrew to his refuge — the region people had named the Zone of Death.

  A place where life had ceased to exist.

  He did not know that the disappearance of the Messengers was not a retreat.

  It was a plan.

  In Aethron’s hidden realm, all remaining Messengers were gathered.

  Hundreds began to merge.

  Forms collapsed, energies intertwined, individuality dissolved.

  In the end, only five remained.

  Five beings whose physical strength could withstand even Vaerkhal’s blows.

  Five instruments.

  The command was simple.

  Go to the Zone of Death.

  Execute the anomaly.

  Elias sat in silence, staring toward the future.

  The world seemed healthier after the Messengers’ disappearance.

  Death had slowed.

  Life had stabilized.

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  He wondered if the Messengers had ever been necessary at all.

  At the same time, certainty grew within him.

  Aethron had realized that Elias was gaining memories.

  That he was taking fragments of his energy.

  He had withdrawn.

  Not out of weakness.

  Out of fear.

  The thought brought Elias a strange sensation.

  Not joy.

  Not satisfaction.

  Something that no longer had a name.

  Several hours later.

  Elias attempted to suppress his aura.

  He failed. It was too tangible. Too real.

  He trained. He searched for balance.

  And then he felt it.

  Movement.

  Energy.

  Messengers.

  Their presence was so strong it was almost visible.

  Elias understood immediately.

  Aethron had erased all the others.

  And from their energy, created these five.

  Before he could react, the blow came.

  So powerful it hurled him through trees, stopping only when he struck a massive rock that shattered on impact.

  The Messengers descended upon him.

  They were not warriors.

  They were predators.

  Blows came from all directions.

  Not fast.

  Not chaotic.

  Systematic.

  They did not tear him apart in rage. They tore him apart with intent. Every movement mattered. Every strike targeted where Elias’s form weakened the most. They did not attack like beasts. They attacked like tools.

  Elias felt his energy draining away.

  Not violently.

  Not suddenly.

  Slowly.

  Each touch took something from him. Not life — that was long gone — but cohesion. His form began to unravel. Parts of his body turned to black dust, vanished, then reassembled. Regeneration worked… but it could no longer keep up.

  For the first time, he understood that he could die.

  Not by pain.

  Not by fear.

  By dissolution.

  “So this is how it ends,” crossed his mind.

  Then they struck the core.

  Not by accident.

  Not by mistake.

  He felt it before it happened.

  Something inside him broke.

  The aura he had suppressed for so long stopped behaving like a field. It was no longer passive. It began to compress. Not as an explosion — but as pressure. As if forcing itself inward, searching for a boundary to cross.

  The air thickened.

  The ground beneath him cracked.

  Not sharply.

  But deeply.

  Like something ancient breaking.

  For a moment, Elias felt heavier than the world itself. As if reality had to give way just to hold him. Pressure formed in his head — alien, unpleasant. A sensation that something within him was not his own.

  And then it happened.

  The aura expanded.

  Not as an explosion.

  But as a wave.

  Space around Elias warped. Trees tilted. The ground split. Rocks shifted as if gravity had faltered. Tremors spread across the land — not destructive, but unstoppable. People across the world felt a faint shudder, without explanation.

  One Messenger stood at the center.

  Its movement stopped.

  The body did not vanish.

  It did not disintegrate.

  It simply… shut down.

  It fell to the ground like an empty shell. Without energy. Without response. Without presence.

  Dead.

  The aura withdrew instantly.

  Silence.

  As if nothing had happened.

  Elias dropped to his knees.

  Then collapsed.

  When he opened his eyes, he lay in shattered terrain. His body was whole. Regenerated. Strong. His mind was empty — a gap. He did not know what had occurred between the beginning of the battle and this moment.

  Four Messengers stood before him.

  Not five.

  The fifth lay motionless on the ground.

  And within Elias pulsed a foreign power.

  Its strength was now his.

  Its memories as well.

  He was fully restored.

  Without hesitation, he fought on.

  The remaining Messengers had no chance.

  Moments later, only silence remained.

  And in Elias’s mind, something new opened.

  He saw Aethron.

  His fortress.

  His army.

  His sons.

  And the path.

  “I have you.”

  Elias did not remember a single second of the battle.

  Only the beginning.

  And the end.

  Something had erased everything in between.

  Meanwhile, Aethron froze.

  So did his sons.

  The surge was so immense that, for the first time, it awakened fear within them.

  They knew the Messengers had fallen.

  But not how.

  Kaeroth understood.

  The plan had failed.

  Not because of strength.

  But because of an unknown variable.

  He recognized his own mistake.

  Aethron was no longer facing prey.

  He was facing inevitability.

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  And so the battle that was meant to end everything became the beginning of all things.

  Not just a battle — but a mystery no one could name.

  A power no one knew existed.

  And a memory that never was.