Dryas tried to speak, but no sound came out.

  Her mind rejected the scene before her eyes.

  Nomos was ambitious—yes. Cold—yes. But ?

  Her thoughts screamed that it was a lie, that something was wrong, that this couldn’t be real.

  But reality did not care for denial.

  Grom stepped forward, placing himself between Dryas and the sight, his massive frame trembling with barely restrained fury.

  “What kind of devil’s justice is this, ?” he roared, dragging his heavy blade from his back.

  Nomos laughed, casually shoving aside the angel he had been using moments ago, as if discarding an object that had lost its value.

  “These angels exist to serve the gods,” he said lazily. “It is only just that they serve me. They are grateful for it. And it is their justice.”

  Nyx’s claws slid free with a metallic whisper.

  “Grom. Talking to this thing is pointless. We end him. Now.”

  Nomos raised a single hand.

  Instantly, every angel in the hall stood upright—eyes empty, movements synchronized, bodies responding like puppets yanked by invisible strings.

  “Dispose of them,” Nomos ordered, his grin widening. “These intruders disrupt justice.”

  The situation turned vile in an instant.

  They couldn’t strike freely.

  Couldn’t cut down those who were victims, not enemies.

  Hundreds of angels moved in unison—grappling, restraining, forcing Grom and Nyx into defence. Every blow had to be pulled. Every movement calculated. One mistake, and innocent blood would spill.

  Nyx snarled as she dodged another grasp.

  “This is going nowhere! Stop hiding behind them and fight us yourself, you coward!”

  Nomos laughed—high, sharp, unhinged.

  “I fighting. The law merely uses tools.”

  Grom forced his way forward, shoving angels aside without harming them—

  “Judgment.”

  The word echoed like a divine verdict.

  A golden arrow tore through Grom’s knee.

  He collapsed with a thunderous crash.

  The wound refused to heal. The arrow burned with authority, rejecting regeneration, rejecting resistance.

  “My judgment strikes those I deem enemies of justice,” Nomos said calmly. “You won’t remove it, demon.”

  His gaze slid, slow and hungry, over Nyx—then lingered on Dryas behind her.

  “And the former goddess…” Nomos smirked. “Mortis was right. Losing divinity suits her. Such a waste to kill her without having a taste.”

  “Get the demon and Dryas alive”, he ordered, already drooling.

  The angels surged forward at his command.

  Then—

  BOOM.

  A shockwave tore through the hall.

  A dozen angels were hurled aside—not crushed, not broken, but knocked unconscious mid-air, bodies skidding across the marble.

  Grom stood again.

  Blood streamed down his leg.

  His knee—.

  He had severed his own limb cleanly.

  “If my rival can do it,” Grom growled, gripping his blade with both hands, “then so can I.”

  Dark flesh writhed. Bone cracked. Muscle knit itself together as regeneration began.

  “You will not lay a single finger on them.”

  He roared, voice shaking the hall.

  “I am a Royal Guard of the Demon Queen of the Hollow Court.

  And I protect those under my watch.”

  Nomos stared—first in disbelief, then irritation.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  And somewhere beyond the hall—

  something far worse was already moving.

  “Tch.”

  Nomos clicked his tongue in irritation.

  But irritation was not enough to stop the tide.

  There were still too many angels—far too many.

  Grom’s regeneration crawled, painfully slow, his balance unsteady on a half-formed leg. Every second he fought like this carved time off his life.

  He glanced back.

  Nyx was already being pinned down—wings and limbs restraining her from every side. Close-range fighters were at their weakest when mercy chained their hands.

  Grom roared and swung again, knocking angels unconscious one after another, fists like falling anvils—yet still, they kept coming.

  Then—

  Several slipped past him.

  Straight toward Dryas. Toward Nyx. “Nooo… get back here and fight me…” he roared.

  And then the ceiling erupted

  Stone and divine marble shattered outward as a figure descended like a meteor.

  “Arlen!

  Every voice cried his name at once.

  The God Slayer landed amid the chaos, debris rolling off his shoulders.

  In his hand—

  a torn, blood-soaked white wing

  “Good work holding the line, Grom,” Arlen said calmly, tossing the wing aside. “Leave the rest to me.”

  Nomos’s face twisted with rage.

  “So you’re the half-demon called the God Slayer? You will face—”

  Arlen didn’t let him finish.

  His eyes burned—not with bloodlust, but with something colder.

  “Where is Tethys?” he asked.

  Nomos laughed.

  “Oh, the water goddess? Mortis brought her here yesterday. She hasn’t woken up yet.”

  He leaned back lazily.

  “But I was planning to enjoy her after I finished you.”

  Something inside Dryas.

  A soundless fracture—deep, instinctive, violent. No one noticed.

  Arlen spoke again, voice steady.

  “I heard Mortis wanted her as his bride. These angels too.” His gaze hardened. “Won’t he be angry if you touch what belongs to him?”

  Nomos sneered.

  “He doesn’t care if his toys are used goods. He ordered me to guard this place—and gave me permission to enjoy as many as I like.”

  Arlen exhaled.

  Slow.

  Disgusted.

  “You’re beyond saving.”

  He turned his head slightly.

  “Nyx. Grom. If you keep trying not to kill them, you lose.”

  Nyx shouted back, desperate.

  “But they’re innocent—!”

  Arlen didn’t answer.

  He moved.

  A single blow drove into an angel’s abdomen—hard enough to fold her in half without killing her.

  His hand shot up—

  and gripped her wings

  Then he tore

  The sound was wet. Final.

  White feathers turned crimson as the wings were ripped free from her back.

  She screamed.

  Not as a weapon.

  Not as a puppet.

  As a .

  Her body collapsed—but she was breathing.

  Alive.

  Arlen moved again.

  And again.

  Wings torn. Divinity stripped. Blood spilled.

  Not execution.

  Liberation.

  Nyx screamed, “Arlen—stop—!”

  Then she saw it.

  Every angel whose wings were torn fell—not dead, but .

  Eyes clearing. Movements breaking. Divinity severed.

  Human.

  Arlen laughed—low, sharp, merciless.

  “I learned a few things from Solon,” he said.

  “First—tear an angel’s wings, and they return to being human.”

  He ripped another pair free.

  “Second—when Mortis’s core shatters, his death curse breaks.”

  His eyes burned.

  “And Aura comes back.”

  He turned briefly, glaring at his allies.

  “So don’t lie there. Help me.”

  Nyx surged forward.

  Grom shifted, planting himself in front of Dryas like a living wall.

  Nomos roared, fury exploding at last.

  “As if I will let you destroy my pets! JUDGMENT!

  A golden arrow screamed toward Arlen—

  —and split in half.

  Raikiri howled as thunder and steel tore through divine law itself.

  Justice shattered.

  And the God Slayer advanced.

  In mere minutes, the tides had completely turned.

  The angels—once weapons, once prisoners—now lay scattered across the marble floor.

  Their wings were gone.

  Their divinity stripped away.

  They slept peacefully.

  Human.

  Nomos stood alone.

  Arlen stepped forward.

  Then a voice trembled behind him.

  “Please… Arlen.”

  Dryas’s voice cracked, barely more than a whisper, yet it pierced him cleanly.

  “You might not believe me,” she said, tears spilling freely now, “but I know… Nomos isn’t like this.”

  Arlen didn’t turn.

  “Okay,” he replied simply.

  “I hear you.”

  And then he moved.

  In the next heartbeat, he was in front of Nomos.

  The god of justice never had time to summon another arrow.

  Soul Eater

  At the same instant—

  “OATHBINDER,” Arlen commanded coldly.

  “Do not die. Regain your memories.

  The light of divinity shattered.

  Nomos collapsed—not as a god, but as a man.

  His wings of judgment faded into nothing.

  And then—

  his scream tore through the hall.

  He clutched his head, writhing as something flooded back into him—memories, emotions, guilt so sharp it flayed him from the inside.

  “As I thought,” Arlen muttered.

  “Mortis rewrote everything. Fake memories. Twisted desires.”

  He glanced briefly at Dryas.

  “Trusting you was the right call.”

  When Nomos finally regained his senses, a deeper pain replaced the physical one.

  He looked around.

  At the angels.

  At the blood.

  At himself.

  “No…” His voice broke completely.

  “What… what have I done… to these innocent mortals?”

  Tears streamed down his face—hot, ugly, uncontrollable.

  The god of justice collapsed to his knees.

  Moments later, he forced himself to stand.

  “God Slayer,” Nomos said hoarsely, “I know I don’t deserve mercy.”

  He bowed his head.

  “But at least… allow me to choose my death.”

  Arlen met his gaze.

  “Very well,” he said. “I allow it.”

  Nomos turned toward Dryas, shame carved into every line of his face.

  “I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he said quietly.

  “Tethys… she is unharmed. Unconscious, deeper within this chamber.”

  Then he looked upward—far beyond the ceiling, beyond heaven itself.

  “Oh, primordial father Aethel,” he whispered.

  “I do not deserve forgiveness.”

  His voice trembled—but did not falter.

  “But please… forgive these girls.

  They have not sinned.”

  Golden light gathered around his chest.

  “This crime… is mine alone to bear.”

  Judgment.

  A divine arrow formed—fueled by the last remnants of his fading divinity—and pierced his own heart.

  “God Slayer,” Nomos whispered as he fell,

  “please… stop Mortis.”

  Silence followed.

  Arlen stepped forward, crouched beside the lifeless body, and drank a single drop of blood.

  He stood.

  “Though you lived like shit,” he said coldly,

  “at least you died like a man.”