The battlefield was quiet now—too quiet—the kind of silence that only follows the end of something enormous. The last traces of black aura drifted off Morvath's body like fading smoke, dissolving into the cold night air.
His knees buckled. His vision blurred. His demonic form flickered violently—wings glitching into mist, horns cracking, and tail dissolving into nothingness. His chest heaved with every breath, each inhale a struggle and every exhale a tremor. He tried to take one more step, just one, but his legs finally gave out.
As Morvath fell forward, a streak of red tore across the battlefield, cutting through the moonlight like a blade. Before he could hit the ground, a strong arm wrapped around his torso, catching him with effortless precision.
"Tch. You're a damn mess," a familiar voice muttered, low and sharp.
Morvath blinked, his vision stabilizing enough to see the red glow of Zeth's aura. Zeth's black suit was torn at the sleeves, and his crimson longsword was already sheathed across his back, still humming from the speed of his travel. Morvath's body fully reverted now, leaving him in his human form, trembling and barely conscious.
"Zeth…" Morvath panted. "You… took your time…"
Zeth snorted. "Shut up. You're lucky I got here before you face-planted."
Morvath coughed out a weak, ragged laugh. "Would've been… a soft landing…"
"Yeah? Well, I'm not scraping your dumb ass off the dirt tonight." Zeth shifted his grip, pulling Morvath into his side and supporting his entire weight with ease.
Zeth glanced toward the crater behind them, toward the unmoving body lying in the dust. The Angel King. Still. Silent. Gone. Zeth's eyes narrowed, the red glow within them sharpening. "So you really did it," he said quietly. "You actually finished him."
A tired smirk tugged at Morvath's lips. "Damn right… I did…"
Zeth let out a slow breath—a steady acknowledgment of the night's weight. "Good," he said. "Then we're done here."
Morvath's eyes fluttered as exhaustion began to pull him under. Zeth tightened his hold. "Hey. Don't pass out yet," he muttered. "You can sleep when we get back."
Morvath mumbled something incoherent—likely an insult—before finally going limp in Zeth's arms.
"Idiot," Zeth sighed. He adjusted Morvath's weight, preparing to depart. "Eiden killed Yajin. You killed the Angel King. That's it. No more enemies tonight."
The wind brushed past them, carrying the faint scent of dust and fading power. Zeth stepped forward, red energy pooling at his feet, and with a sudden burst of crimson light, he vanished into the night, carrying Morvath with him.