And what if I say no?

Michael's fingers tightened on the hilt of the Feiling Sword, his knuckles turning white. "And what if I say no?"

Malakor's smile widened, becoming something truly grotesque.

"Then I will kill you. I will take the horn from your cooling corpse, and then… well, let's just say the lovely Miss Virelle will have a very, very unpleasant time before she finally joins you in death."

A glacial rage, colder and sharper than any pain he had ever endured, swept through Michael.

It was a killing intent so pure it was almost calm. He glanced over at Chloe's still form, her face pale, her cultivation shattered.

She had saved them. She had saved Jude, and by extension, him. She had faced down a monster for them. And this was her reward.

Don't listen to him! Umbra shrieked, his voice a chaotic buzz of pure panic.

He's a liar! A classic, monologue-loving villain! He's going to kill us anyway! It's what they do! It's in the job description!

"However," Malakor continued, sensing the unyielding defiance in Michael's eyes, "I am a reasonable man.

That horn is a delicate, priceless artifact. If you were to, say, attempt to destroy it in a final, foolish act of defiance, that would be a terrible, terrible waste for us both."

He produced five small, crystalline bottles from within his robes. They pulsed with a pure, potent energy that made the very Aether in the air hum and sing.

"Five upper-grade Bottleneck-breaking Pills," Malakor said, his voice as smooth and tempting as poisoned silk.

"Each one a treasure that could start a war. Enough to push a dozen cultivators to the next stage.

A fortune beyond your wildest dreams. All yours, in exchange for the horn.

A simple transaction. You walk away with your life, your freedom, and a small fortune.

I get my prize. Everyone wins."

Michael stared at the pills, letting a flicker of feigned consideration cross his face. His mind was a maelstrom.

"He's trying to buy it…" Michael thought, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

"He's terrified I'll break it. That's my only leverage."

The pills do look really, really nice, though, Umbra added, his terror momentarily sidetracked by a fit of pure, unadulterated greed. I mean, we could probably use those.

A lot. But he's still going to kill us. Probably. Almost certainly. But still… shiny!

"You have one minute to decide," Malakor said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge of impatience. "My generosity has its limits."

"Alright," Michael said, his voice surprisingly steady. He let his shoulders slump, a mask of defeat falling over his features. "You win."

He made a show of deactivating his Devil Clan power, the Phantom Helm and Shadowfire Wings melting away into nothingness. He looked like a defeated, broken boy again.

"A wise choice," Malakor purred, a triumphant glint in his eyes. His guard dropped, just a fraction. It was all the opening Michael needed.

Michael began walking toward him, holding the Hell-King's Horn out in front of him like an offering.

He moved slowly, deliberately.

Each step was a lifetime. As he passed Chloe's unconscious form, his heart clenched with a pain sharper than any sword.

He thought of his mother. He thought of her smile dissolving into motes of light. He would not let another person become a victim because of him. Not again.

In a single, fluid motion too quick for the eye to follow, he knelt.

He slipped the small, dark Emperor Devil Pearl – the last remnant of his mother's soul – from his own pouch and tucked it gently, reverently, into Chloe's robes.

If I don't make it out of this, he thought, a silent prayer to a universe that had only ever offered him pain, at least her soul will be safe with you.

He stood and continued toward Malakor, his face a mask of weary resignation. He was now just ten feet away.

"Here," Michael said, extending the horn. "It's yours. Take it."

Malakor's eyes gleamed with pure, undiluted triumph. He reached out a fat, grasping hand.

NOW! Umbra screamed in his soul.

"Now," Michael whispered.

He let the horn drop.

In the split second Malakor's eyes flickered down, following the falling artifact, Michael acted.

He didn't just summon his power. He detonated it.

"You want to see a monster?" he roared, his voice no longer human, but a sound of pure, unadulterated, cosmic fury.

"I'LL SHOW YOU A MONSTER!"

BOOM!

The Shadowfire Wings didn't just appear: they exploded from his back in a cataclysm of black fire and dark lightning that tore the very air apart. A tidal wave of pure, soul-crushing Devil Lo slammed outward, cracking the stone floor and making the entire chamber groan in protest.

He wasn't aiming for a simple attack. He was channeling everything. His rage. His sorrow.

His ten years of hellish torment. He was reaching for the one-time, all-or-nothing, self-destruct power sealed deep within the wings. The power he was warned never, ever to use.

Malakor's face contorted, shifting from triumph to sheer, abject terror in a heartbeat. "What are you...?!"

He was too late.

Michael's body became a conduit for something impossible. A massive, swirling vortex of silver energy formed above him, a light so blindingly bright it bleached the world of all color.

It wasn't holy light. It was the color of a dying star, the color of reality being unmade. It hummed with the terrifying,

incomprehensible power of a true Fairy Immortal, a power he had no right to wield, a power that was burning him up from the inside out.

"This is for her," Michael screamed, his voice breaking under the strain as his vision went white.

He brought his arms down.

The world shattered.

A colossal pillar of silver lightning, wider than the chamber itself, descended from the vortex.

It wasn't an attack: it was an execution. An act of god.

There was no sound. No thunderous roar.

Just an all-consuming, world-ending pressure that erased everything.

The stone hall, the platform, the shadows, Malakor's screaming, terrified face...it was all erased in a silent, apocalyptic flash of white light.

The backlash hit him like a physical mountain collapsing on his chest. He felt his bones crack, his consciousness fraying at the edges. The bounded domain of the secret hall shattered like a pane of glass.

Then, there was nothing. Only the lingering, searing image of silver light, and then a deep, welcoming darkness.