The Mirewraith surged again from the mist, its glowing green eyes fixing on the group. Claws slashed through the fog, and small tendrils of muck lashed out, trying to trip anyone who faltered. The bog seemed alive, bending and twisting under its will.Remiel felt the familiar, subtle presence of Emriel and Remael. Their voices weren’t loud—they were quiet, precise, threading into his mind.“It adapts too quickly to direct attacks,” Emriel said. “You’ll need to force it into a position where its form solidifies.”“The bog helps it hide and escape,” added Remael. “Make it retreat toward the narrower pools near the center. It can’t dodge effectively there if you work together.”Remiel nodded subtly, letting their advice guide him. He turned to the group, his voice cutting through the tension. “Listen carefully. Direct attacks aren’t enough. We need to push it toward the center pools. Once it’s forced into tighter water, it can’t evade as easily. Work as a team — coordinate flame, ice, li

The swamp seemed to hold its breath, the mist curling around the Septet like a living thing. Dralo’s massive form towered before them, his amber eyes calm yet sharp, radiating an unshakable authority. The hum of the bog was subdued, as if waiting for what was to come.“But before that…” Dralo’s deep, resonant voice cut through the silence, carrying both weight and deliberation. He paused, letting his words settle over them, heavy and deliberate. “You all will have to convince me to hand it over to you… by dueling with me.”The Septet exchanged stunned glances. Elynora’s golden whip-blades twitched nervously in her hands. Ragna’s fiery twin-blade glaive flared faintly, as if responding to his rising tension. Even the usually unshakable David’s hammer hummed faintly with anticipation.“You’ll have the Gem of the Eclipse,” Dralo continued, his tone measured, “but only if you survive the challenge I set. You all will fight me till I'm impressed. If I defeat you all, the gem will remain wh

Remiel’s aura explodes, crimson flames spiraling violently, warping the air around him. His wings blaze like molten steel, and the fiery horns grow sharper, jagged, like the maw of a beast. The swamp hisses as the heat becomes unbearable, patches of water boiling instantly. The dragon insignia on Remiel’s chestplate pulsed violently before twisting into a new form — the Seal of Drakhael. The crimson glow deepened, staining the mist around him with a blood-red hue.Dralo’s sharp eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. “He’s losing control of his destructive essence,” he murmured, his voice calm but heavy with warning.Remiel’s grip tightened on his flaming blade as he raised it skyward, his voice deep and resonant as he chanted,“Archangel of Destruction.”The world seemed to hold its breath. A crushing aura fell over the swamp, chilling even Dralo’s ancient blood. Above them, the mist split as an immense apparition materialized — a towering, flame-wreathed archangel, its wings stretc

In the realm of Phlegethon, deep within a throne hall of obsidian spires and shifting shadows, a massive spatial mirror floated above a circle of black stone. Its surface flickered with the last images Lazriel’s fading eyes had seen: Sylpharion walking away, the Septet surrounding Remiel, and the Staff of Oblivion glowing faintly in the aftermath.Radamus, the Demon King of Sloth, leaned lazily against his throne — a jagged seat of stone and bone — as though the scene bored him. His half-lidded blue eyes glimmered, however, betraying sharp intellect beneath his languid demeanor. He exhaled slowly, his voice smooth and dripping with lethargy.“Lazriel and Indolia… failed.” He muttered, almost like a sigh. “Even with my guidance, they were overwhelmed. The Staff remains… untaken.” His tone was calm, yet beneath it was irritation, simmering like embers.Across from him, Arcanon — the Demon King of Wrath — slammed his clawed fist into the armrest of his throne, the entire chamber vibratin

The silence stretched uncomfortably, everyone processing Lunae’s explanation and Altero's question. The weight of their words should have left the chamber heavy with dread — yet the longer they all stood there, the stranger the sight became.Three near-identical figures.Remiel in the middle, looking frazzled, Remael on his left, glowing faintly with radiant composure, Emriel on his right, brooding in shadows with a perpetual scowl.“…So…” David finally said, scratching the back of his head. “Do we… have three Remiels now?”“No,” Remiel quickly replied, shaking his head. “There’s only one Remiel. Me. They’re just—” “Complete and separate individuals,” Remael cut in, folding his arms proudly.“Nightmares you’ll never get rid of,” Emriel added dryly.The Septet exchanged uneasy glances. Mildred tilted her head. “…So… do we count them as… guests? Or…?”Scylla groaned, rubbing her temples. “This is ridiculous. One Remiel was already trouble enough.”“Hey!” Remiel protested.Elynora smirk