Cornea and Tethys stepped into the centre of the coliseum.

  Towering walls sealed the arena from every side—thick, ancient barriers meant to cage lesser gods and desperate challengers. Cornea glanced at them once.

  she thought.

  Their opponents emerged.

  Mnemos spoke first, his voice layered, as if it echoed from places that did not exist.

  “I’ll take the demon queen. Breaking children isn’t entertaining.”

  Termina pouted, folding her arms.

  “What? That’s unfair. I don’t want the kid without divinity. I want someone strong.”

  Tethys stepped forward.

  “It seems you’re both underestimating me,” she said calmly.

  “Don’t complain if I kill you.”

  Cornea noticed it then.

  Those eyes.

  The same eyes Arlen had worn the day he first became god slayer—empty of hesitation, stripped of mercy, sharpened by resolve.

  Termina laughed.

  “Oho? You’ve got guts, at least. Fine then, sweetie. I’ll play with you.”

  Before Tethys could advance, Cornea placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Remember, Tethys,” she said—firm, unquestionable.

  “We are doing this for Arlen. Don’t lose sight of that.”

  It wasn’t a plea.

  It was a queen’s command.

  Tethys turned back to her.

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  Her small, mortal face showed no trace of innocence. No fear. No hesitation.

  Only thirst.

  A raw, directionless thirst for massacre—so deep that even the child herself no longer knew where it should be aimed.

  As Tethys walked toward Termina, Cornea shifted her focus.

  “To you,” she said coldly, facing the other god, “I am Cornea—daughter of Lysander, Demon Queen of the Hollow Court.”

  Mnemos smiled.

  “Well then. I’m Mnemos, God of Echoes.”

  He raised his hand.

  The air beside him collapsed inward, folding into a warped darkness that vibrated like a broken memory.

  “My power,” he continued casually, “calls forth the echo of your greatest fear. The one opponent you cannot bring yourself to face.”

  From the darkness, a figure stepped forward.

  Cornea’s eyes widened.

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  For a fraction of a second, her composure cracked—then she smiled, sharp and controlled, masking the shock that clawed at her chest.

  “What a sick sense of humour.”

  Mnemos’s grin widened.

  “So this is your greatest weakness? I expected the God of Time.”

  He tilted his head, amused.

  “But this is far more interesting.”

  The echo took another step forward.

  Not the real one—but close enough to hurt.

  A perfect reconstruction pulled from Cornea’s memories. His stance. His gaze. His presence. The God Slayer.

  And he was the worst possible enemy she could face.

  Not because he could defeat her.

  But because she might not be able to raise her blade against him.

  Mnemos leaned forward, delighted.

  “Come now, Demon Queen,” he whispered.

  “Show me how you kill the echo of the boy you care about most.”

  On the other side of the arena—

  Monstrous dragons of pure water erupted from Tethys’s hands.

  Even without divinity, the water roared—violent, feral, mirroring the chaos boiling inside her. It wasn’t flowing anymore.

  It was .

  The Goddess of Boundaries barely kept up. Layer after layer of translucent walls shattered as the hydro-beasts slammed against them, jaws snapping, bodies reforming endlessly—hungry, relentless.

  Termina clicked her tongue and leapt backward.

  “Very well,” she said sharply. “I apologize for underestimating you. You strong, child.”

  Her tone changed.

  “I’ll get serious now.”

  She stepped forward.

  Cages—formed of pure divinity—materialized out of nothing, snapping shut around the heads of the water dragons, crushing them before their bodies could fully manifest. If one slipped through, walls erupted from the ground, slamming it mid-charge.

  Perfect defence. Perfect counter.

  A system built to deny inevitability.

  Termina raised her hand calmly.

  “Now then, courageous child—can you still beat me?”

  Tethys staggered.

  Her breath grew uneven. Her water faltered.

  She glanced toward Cornea.

  The Demon Queen was on the defensive—her blade trembling, her heart refusing to strike the echo of Arlen. And at that moment, the final moments of Dryas flashed in her eyes.

  Tethys clenched her fists.

  “So kindness

  weakness…” she whispered.

  A tear slipped from her eye.

  Not a tear of sadness.

  A tear of rage—rage at kindness itself.

  “I have to think ruthlessly,” she murmured.

  “No mercy. No empathy. Just like Arlen.”

  And then—

  She froze.

  Memories flooded her mind.

  Arlen freeing her and Dryas from divinity.

  Arlen helping Cornea take revenge.

  Arlen letting Aura live inside him—even when it hurt like hell.

  Arlen saving angels instead of killing them.

  Arlen restoring Nomos’s will.

  Every battle.

  Every choice.

  He had saved .

  Her breath caught.

  “Is kindness really the enemy? Then what Arlen showed was kindness too! How could he win so many battles!” she whispered.

  “Is kindness what killed big sister Dryas…?”

  The child inside her cracked—

  And in that instant—

  She understood water

  Not as rage.

  Not as mercy.

  But as .

  Kindness without understanding was the enemy.

  Ruthlessness without purpose was emptiness.

  Her eyes cleared.

  No hatred.

  No rage.

  Only comprehension.

  Water did not follow her because she commanded it.

  It followed her because she it.

  She looked at Termina.

  Not with mercy.

  Not with anger.

  But with pity.

  “You’re trapped,” Tethys said softly.

  “In your delusion of superiority. I’ll free you.”

  Termina laughed.

  “Free me? Look at you. Your water can’t even reach me. How will you defeat—”

  Tethys smiled.

  A smile disturbingly similar to Arlen’s.

  “Water doesn’t need to reach you.”

  Her voice was calm.

  “It already has.”

  Termina blinked.

  “It’s in the air—as moisture.

  In your body—as divine blood.

  Everywhere.”

  “Wha—”

  Her veins bulged.

  Then .

  A small, blood-red dragon tore its way out of her arm.

  “AAAAAHHH—!!!”

  She screamed as moisture around her body condensed into countless needles, piercing her skin from every direction. Barriers flared—

  Useless.

  You can’t block what already exists inside you.

  Tears of agony and desperation streamed down Termina’s face.

  “Stop—please! Please stop! I surrender! I give up! It hurts—!”

  The water stilled.

  The needles dissolved.

  The dragon sank back into her veins.

  Termina collapsed onto the arena floor—broken, shaking, defeated.

  Tethys turned her gaze toward Cornea.

  “You can’t even kill a puppet because it looks like Arlen?”

  Her voice was cold.

  “If you’re that weak, I’ll leave you behind.”

  The exact same words Cornea had once used to force forward.

  The arena fell silent.