Chapter 9: Crimson Vows in the Shadows

The silence that followed the clash was heavy, as if the world itself held its breath.

Dust hovered in the dim air like a curtain drawn between two fates. Leonhart stood amidst the wreckage, sword raised, its edge flickering with embers of defiance. Across the battlefield, Satan's figure emerged slowly through the smoke—unburnt, unmoved, untouched.

"You've grown," Satan said, his voice calm, almost curious. "But strength without purpose is still weakness."

Leonhart didn't reply. His breath was steady now, the fire inside him burning with more than just vengeance—it burned with memory, with promises unfulfilled, and with the quiet scream of every life lost to this dark force.

Satan lifted one hand, and the ground beneath Leonhart trembled. Black tendrils of energy surged from below, clawing at his feet like the shadows themselves sought to drag him into silence. Leonhart leapt back, the air slicing around him as he spun midair, slashing at the tendrils with a fiery arc.

The blade met shadow with a hiss, burning through the darkness. He landed, skidding across cracked stone, and charged again. Their swords met, steel and shadow clashing like thunder.

Each strike echoed with fury. Each movement was a vow.

Leonhart remembered her voice—Elira's voice—calm and full of dreams, now silenced. He remembered the fall of Altherion, the flames that devoured his home, and the promise he made over the ashes of his past: "I will end this."

Satan was fast, but Leonhart moved like fire itself—wild, untamed, yet with direction.

"You think you're fighting me," Satan said, catching Leonhart's blade mid-swing with his own. "But you're really just fighting yourself."

Leonhart growled, forcing the clash apart, and kicked Satan back with a surge of flame beneath his boots. The demon skidded, leaving dark scorch marks as he steadied himself.

Suddenly, the sky darkened. An eclipse. Unnatural. The very air thickened as Satan raised both arms and summoned a wave of shadow energy so massive it warped the ruins around them.

Leonhart knew this was it.

He stabbed his blade into the ground, closed his eyes for a breath, and whispered, "For every soul you've silenced."

Then he rose.

With a roar, he unleashed his core—his inner flame exploded outward, a crimson storm swirling around him. The two forces collided: fire and shadow, past and present, vengeance and void.

Time fractured.

Everything around them blurred into chaos—walls broke, stones levitated, and light bent in unnatural ways. In the heart of it all, Leonhart and Satan moved like phantoms clashing through time.

The final blow wasn't a strike—it was a stare. Their eyes locked through the storm. And in that moment, Satan smiled faintly.

"Interesting," he said. "You've changed the course."

Then, he vanished—swallowed by his own shadow, as if retreating through time itself.

Leonhart dropped to one knee, chest heaving, body burning.

He hadn't won. But he hadn't

lost either.

And the war was far from over.