"Rise," Artur commanded. The echo of his calm but undeniable voice still hung in the air when the solemn moment was torn apart. WOOOO... WOOOOO... WOOOOO! The war sirens roared, screeching with the highest pitch of panic that ripped through the silence of the ice palace. The gods, who were just about to rise from their kneeling positions, immediately snapped to attention. The reverent expressions on their faces instantly changed to sharp alertness. "Report!" barked one of the old war gods, his eyes ablaze. Without needing a verbal answer, all eyes turned to the main command screen. The gigantic crystal display flickered wildly before showing a sight that made even the coldest god's blood run cold. In the dense void of space, a dimensional tear, looking like a giant festering wound, had ripped reality. From that horrific gap, a demonic armada spewed forth. But

“Cease your attack,” Artur commanded. His voice, amplified by the command system, cut through the din of battle. “Retreat and form a guard formation. Let no one approach. He… belongs to me.” The order was absolute. Instantly, the Storm of the Nine Pillars subsided. The goddesses, who had been raging like forces of nature, stopped mid-motion. Reluctantly but obediently, they withdrew, their worried gazes locked on Artur, who now floated alone among the wreckage of the demon fleet. The entire divine armada retreated, forming a gigantic circle that isolated the two focal points in the universe: Artur and Valir’s throne of darkness. An oppressive silence descended, more terrifying than the previous noise of war. From atop his throne, a figure slowly rose. Valir. He no longer wore his magnificent demon armor. He was clad only in a simple black robe, his long silver hair floating in the voi

The sky above the Neutral Universe knows neither stars nor sun. It is a blank canvas that responds to the will of its inhabitants. Today, that sky shone with a majestic golden light, as if a thousand dawns were breaking simultaneously. Giant pillars of light soared from the crystal ground into the void, connected by winding rainbow bridges. Celestial music, played by instruments made of cosmic harmony, echoed in the air. At the center of all this splendor, upon a throne carved from the heart of a dead star, sat Artur. He no longer wore his battle armor. He was clad in ceremonial robes of white and gold, the thread of light embroidery telling the story of his journey from a dark alley in Jakarta to his duel against the Demon Emperor. Upon his head, a simple yet potent crown, forged by Alice from the essence of creation itself, rested gracefully. The War Emperor’s Sword leaned against the side of the throne, its blade pulsing softly and radiatin