Ianthe smiled — a slow, lazy curl of lips — as if she were commenting on the weather.

  “Don’t bother struggling, boy. That wound will never heal.”

  She tapped her finger casually against her own chest.

  “My shot devours life force itself. Even that filthy demonic regeneration of yours will only feed it faster.”

  The Goddess of Love rose from her bed — silk barely pretending to be clothing, as though her vanity alone was fabric enough. She walked with unhurried arrogance, eyes gliding over Arlen like he was rotting garbage.

  “You really are hideous,” she sighed.

  “Your existence offends my eyes. You’ll be so much prettier when you’re dead.”

  Her attention drifted — a queen choosing which toy bored her least.

  Her gaze landed on Aura, a smirk tugging her lips.

  “The wings… nice. You — not so much. But I’ll have Mortis rip those wings off and mount them on my wall. At least something about you will be worth loving.”

  Aura’s jaw clenched. Even she — who revelled in chaos and violence — felt something cold crawl under her skin.

  Then Ianthe turned to Dryas.

  Dryas, frozen and trembling, still couldn’t make sense of the person in front of her. This was the goddess she once admired — a friend she had cherished.

  Ianthe’s eyes lit up — a hunter spotting a new prize.

  “Oh, Dryas! Look at you — not a speck of divinity left.”

  She laughed, a sharp chiming giggle twisted with cruelty.

  “So you’ve finally become mortal trash.”

  She stepped close, too close — her breath brushing Dryas’ cheek.

  A finger slid along Dryas’ jawline, tracing her skin like she was inspecting merchandise.

  “You’re still beautiful, though. Very much so…”

  Her voice dripped with sickening affection.

  “How about becoming my personal plaything?

  I’ll make sure you’re properly used.”

  Dryas’ entire body shook — not with fear, but heartbreak.

  This wasn’t love.

  This wasn’t compassion.

  This wasn’t the goddess she once knew.

  This was a monster wearing beauty as a mask.

  Aura’s wings flared wide, scales glinting like black diamond shards.

  “My wings are mine to admire,” she growled.

  “Narcissists like you don’t deserve to even breathe near them.”

  Dryas slapped Ianthe’s hand away — the crack of rebellion echoing through the luxurious chamber.

  “Don’t underestimate mortals,” she said, voice steady despite the tremble in her fingers.

  “They endure pain, misery, and heartbreak… and still stand up again.

  Compared to them — are the weakest one here.”

  Ianthe blinked once… then laughed.

  A cold, shrill sound dripping with mockery.

  “What a tragedy.”

  She let her silk fall, revealing the form she worshipped more than any god.

  “Look at me,” she purred.

  “Perfect. Desired. Worshipped by mortals and gods alike.

  Love itself bends knee to .”

  She lounged on her cushioned throne of a bed, lifting her foot like she expected the world to kneel beneath it.

  “You two — the pretty mortal and the winged insect.”

  Her finger pointed at Arlen, gathering a pink, pulsing sphere of destructive magic once more.

  “He dies with my next shot.

  Unless…”

  A cruel smirk deepened.

  “You crawl to me — and kiss my feet.

  Then I’ll let this ugly little half-demon keep breathing.

  So Choose.”

  Aura’s blood boiled.

  Dryas felt her stomach twist — not out of fear, but the humiliation pressed upon her like a chain.

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  Either answer was poison.

  Submit… or watch Arlen die.

  And then—

  “Don’t you submit to this pathetic parasite.”

  A whisper like a blade sliced through the air.

  Nyx appeared behind Arlen without a sound — stealth not learned, but etched into every bone of her being. Ianthe flinched, genuine panic cracking through her arrogance.

  “W-When did you—?”

  Nyx ignored her completely.

  She wrapped her arms around Arlen from behind — protective, fierce — and sank her fangs into his neck. His regeneration surged like wildfire, the wound stopping its decay and beginning to heal.

  But her eyes…

  This wasn’t training.

  This wasn’t rivalry.

  It was loyalty.

  It was .

  “You will not die here,” she whispered, fangs-stained red.

  Arlen exhaled — pain fading, rage sharpening — and slowly rose to his feet, Soul Eater humming in his grip like a starving beast.

  Ianthe’s snarl twisted into something feral.

  “You insects think you can defy ? You think I will let you heal the God Slayer?”

  Another sphere of pink annihilation shot from her fingertip — faster, more vicious.

  But it never reached its target.

  Aura threw herself into the path like a black comet — wings flaring wide.

  The blast punched through her abdomen.

  She hit the marble floor with a soft gasp, blood spilling from her lips…

  Yet she smiled.

  A bold, victorious smile aimed directly at Ianthe.

  Ianthe clicked her tongue, irritated more than alarmed.

  “Annoying pest.”

  She fired again.

  CLANG!

  Raikiri intercepted this time — lightning screaming through the chamber.

  Arlen rose slowly, shadows crawling off his frame like smoke peeling from a wildfire. His wounds — once rotting with stolen life — were gone.

  Thanks to Nyx.

  His eyes locked onto Ianthe.

  No mercy.

  No hesitation.

  Only execution.

  A voice like death scraping steel:

  “Nyx — heal Aura.”

  “Dryas — stand back.”

  He levelled Soul Eater at the goddess whose entire life was nothing but vanity.

  “This pig—”

  he growled, voice trembling with barely-contained fury,

  “—is mine to slaughter.”

  Ianthe stumbled two steps back.

  For the first time…

  the goddess of love didn’t see an “ugly half-demon.”

  She saw a predator.

  And she was the prey.

  Fear — pure and unfiltered — twisted her perfect face.

  Arlen began walking toward her.

  Each step a death sentence.

  Ianthe tried to flee, but Raikiri left his hand like a thunderbolt —

  THWIP!

  It pinned her leg to the marble floor.

  She screamed, clawing at the blade.

  “My leg—! No, NO! Pain is not meant for ME! I am perfection incarnate!”

  Arlen did not even spare her a full glance.

  She was already dead to him.

  Oath Binder’s chains snapped around her throat —

  and Soul Eater plunged into her divine core.

  The light of divinity shattered behind her ribs like broken glass.

  Her screams shifted into sobs.

  “Please… I’ll do anything! You can have me — my body, my beauty — just don’t kill me! You don’t understand what it means for to suffer!”

  Her gaze became conspiration, a last pathetic attempt. “I will let you sleep with me. We can make a BEAUTIFUL child together. Please spare my life.”

  Arlen paused. He lowered Soul Eater.

  Dryas froze.

  Nyx’s heart nearly stopped.

  Nyx shouts, "wait! Don’t tell me you are going to accept her offer! don't do it Arlen!"

  Ianthe smiles, "Yes! Together we will make a child that's got both the strength of a god and that of a demon. I knew you will not be able to refuse by charms. Even Mortis couldn't refuse it."

  Dryas froze — her mind refusing to believe what she just heard.

  Mortis.

  Not Chronos.

  The child…

  The entire heavenly plan…

  A lie

  That meant Chronos — the god who claimed “perfect order” —

  had been betrayed

  Dryas shouted in panic, voice cracking:

  “Arlen! Don’t believe her!

  She betrayed Chronos from the start — that child belongs to Mortis!”

  Arlen didn’t even blink.

  He turned, smile stretching into something inhuman

  a cold, wicked grin that even demons would fear.

  “Do you seriously think,” he hissed,

  “I’d be swayed by an UGLY PIG?”

  He lowered Soul Eater — not out of mercy —

  but disgust.

  “I’m putting this down,” he tapped the obsidian blade lightly,

  “because I refuse to let my beautiful relic

  A deafening crack

  Arlen didn’t flinch.

  “Right on time, Grom.”

  His voice was sickeningly calm.

  “You brought it?”

  Grom grinned and held up something crude —

  a butcher’s knife, stained from livestock slaughter.

  “Yes, my rival. Perfect for pigs.”

  A delighted shiver flickered through Arlen’s demonic eye — a gleam so vicious even demons would hesitate.

  He crouched to Ianthe’s level — the goddess who once commanded love with a single glance now trembling in filth and fear.

  “Sacred relics are wasted on trash like you,” he whispered.

  Then, slowly:

  “Pigs are butchered with this

  Dryas staggered back, hand pressed to her mouth —

  her heart breaking, stomach twisting.

  Ianthe’s screams tore through the palace walls —

  shrill, desperate, disbelieving.

  Screams turned to choking sobs.

  Then to pathetic whimpers.

  Then — silence.

  Arlen rose, bloody shadows clinging to his aura.

  He looked at what remained of the so-called goddess of love – pieces of ugliness chopped off from the goddess of love, his face full of cold disgust.

  “I don’t even want to taste

  He turned away, leaving behind only a message written in terror:

  Even gods can die uglier than they lived.

  The ugliest goddess got what she deserved - a divine judgement in the hands of a half demon.