Gods did not scream when they died.
That was the first lie Lemma learned.
The second was that their deaths were clean.
It began with silence.
Not the quiet of absence, but the oppressive stillness that followed a held breath stretched too long. The air above the western plains—where old temples lay half-swallowed by grass and neglect—stilled as if the world itself hesitated.
Lemma stood at the edge of a broken shrine, the god beside her more present than ever before. Its form flickered, edges fraying with tension, light bleeding through cracks that should not exist.
"They're coming," Lemma said.
Yes, the god replied. And they are not subtle.
The ground shuddered.
Reality split—not torn, not shattered, but opened, like a wound that had been waiting to be touched. Fire spilled outward, thick and alive, carrying with it a presence that scorched thought itself.
The Demon King of Ash emerged fully into the world.
Not an avatar.
Not a projection.
Himself.
The sky blackened as ash fell like snow. The land around him withered instantly, grass curling inward, stone cracking under heat that was not temperature but intent.
Seraphina stepped through moments later.
She did not arrive through ritual or gate.
She simply was, her authority dragging reality into alignment around her. The crown burned atop her head, veins of crimson light crawling across its surface like veins under skin.
"Enough," she commanded.
The Demon King laughed, a deep, rolling sound that shook the horizon.
"You always say that when you lose control," it said.
Seraphina's eyes flicked briefly—briefly—to Lemma.
Then back to the Demon King.
"You overstep," she said. "You were bound."
"I was patient," the Demon King corrected. "And now I am bored."
The god beside Lemma stiffened.
He has chosen, it said grimly.
"Chosen what?" Lemma asked.
War.
The Demon King turned—not toward Seraphina, but toward the god.
Its molten gaze locked onto the divine presence, and something like hunger flared.
"There you are," it rumbled. "The quiet one. The forgotten."
The god's light intensified, flaring painfully bright.
"You do not belong here," it said.
"Neither do you," the Demon King replied. "But unlike you—I was invited."
Seraphina's voice snapped like a whip.
"You will not touch the god."
The Demon King glanced at her, amused.
"You think this is about you?"
The crown flared violently, reacting to the shift in allegiance. Seraphina staggered half a step, fury twisting her features.
"You swore—"
"I swore to power," the Demon King said calmly. "And power has changed shape."
It raised one massive hand.
The world buckled.
Gods did not bleed like mortals.
When the Demon King struck, it did not tear flesh or shatter bone. It struck concept.
The god screamed.
Not in sound alone, but in meaning—its scream rippling outward through the world, shaking prayers loose from temples, extinguishing candles mid-vigil, causing prophets to choke on suddenly hollow words.
Lemma dropped to her knees.
Her head filled with noise—centuries of devotion collapsing at once, belief unraveling like rotten thread. She tasted ash and salt and something impossibly old.
"Stop!" she screamed.
Seraphina reacted instantly, weaving sigils faster than Lemma had ever seen, binding spells layered atop one another in a desperate lattice.
"You will not kill a god on my soil!" Seraphina roared.
The Demon King laughed again.
"You misunderstand," it said. "I am not killing it."
It clenched its fist.
"I am ending it."
The god's light fractured—splintering into jagged shards that floated helplessly in the air. Each fragment pulsed weakly, struggling to hold shape.
Lemma, the god whispered, its voice faint now, fractured. Listen to me.
Lemma crawled forward, hands shaking.
"No," she sobbed. "You can't—"
You must, the god insisted. This is the cost.
The Demon King loomed, fire cascading from its form.
Seraphina screamed incantations, blood pouring from her mouth as the crown resisted, bit back, fed.
But she was too late.
The Demon King crushed the largest fragment.
The world jerked.
Somewhere, a mountain collapsed. Somewhere else, a sea receded. An ancient river changed course permanently.
The god screamed again.
Then—
Silence.
The god did not vanish.
It unraveled.
Its remaining fragments scattered like dying stars, each dissolving into faint, useless light that bled into the earth, the air, the bones of the world.
Lemma felt it happen inside her.
The bond did not snap.
It burned out.
Something tore loose in her chest—not pain, not physical—but a hollowing absence so complete it stole her breath.
She screamed.
Not in grief.
In loss.
The Dragon's Brand flared violently, then dimmed—its steady warmth collapsing into cold.
The god's final whisper brushed her mind, barely there.
I am sorry.
Then nothing.
Seraphina fell to one knee.
Not from injury.
From shock.
Her breath came ragged, her composure shattered as she stared at the empty space where divine presence had been.
"You—" she whispered. "You fool."
The Demon King turned to her fully now.
"You built your throne on silence," it said. "And silence just broke."
Seraphina rose slowly, eyes blazing with raw, unfiltered hatred.
"You have doomed this world."
The Demon King shrugged, ash drifting from its shoulders.
"No," it said. "I have freed it."
It glanced at Lemma—still kneeling, hands clawed into the dirt, tears streaking her face.
"And you," it added thoughtfully, "have become something far more interesting."
Lemma looked up.
Her eyes were wrong now.
Not glowing.
Empty.
"What did you take from me?" she asked quietly.
The Demon King tilted its head.
"Nothing you didn't already give," it replied. "But you lost something."
Seraphina laughed then—sharp, hysterical.
"She lost her god," she said. "Do you know what that makes her?"
The Demon King smiled.
"Unclaimed."
That word echoed.
Unclaimed.
The Demon King stepped back, its form already beginning to withdraw, the world rejecting its prolonged presence.
"I have chosen my side," it said. "And it is not yours."
With that, it vanished—leaving scorched earth and a wound in reality that would never fully heal.
The aftermath was worse.
Across the world, priests collapsed mid-prayer. Sacred artifacts crumbled to dust. Entire orders dissolved overnight as miracles failed and divine answers never came.
The god was not replaced.
Gods rarely were.
Faith curdled into panic.
Seraphina stood amid the devastation, crown humming hungrily, her certainty shattered into jagged pieces.
"…You were always weak," she whispered—to the god, to Lemma, to herself.
Lemma rose unsteadily to her feet.
Something fundamental was gone.
The god's presence—its guidance, its weight, its counterbalance—had vanished, leaving her exposed in a way she had never been before.
The Demon Kings stirred hungrily in the distance.
The world leaned closer.
"What did I lose?" Lemma asked, voice flat.
Seraphina looked at her with something like pity.
"You lost the last thing standing between you and inevitability," she said. "You lost protection."
Lemma nodded slowly.
Then she touched her chest.
Where the bond had been, there was nothing.
No voice.
No weight.
No anchor.
Just her.
"I see," Lemma said.
She looked at the ruined shrine. The scorched land. The sky still trembling from divine death.
Then she met Seraphina's gaze.
"You killed my god," Lemma said calmly. "So now you only have me."
Seraphina's smile trembled.
For the first time since the beginning, she felt something dangerously close to fear.
Because Lemma Heartfilia stood alone—
—and the world had never been more vulnerable.