Lunara collapsed onto a crumbled stone slab at the edge of the battlefield, her breath ragged and shoulders slumped.
The scorched remains of the Skeleton Queen and VelTharion's corrupted constructs lay behind her. Her body trembled—not from fear, but from exhaustion.
The 60% boost that had been activated during the intense confrontation had finally faded.
Now, her powers had returned to their normal state, but she was visibly tired.
With her eyes still scanning the ruined terrain, she turned toward Annie, who was running in her side of the castle.
"It's over," Lunara said, voice low. "The Skeleton Queen is dead."
Annie gave a tired smile but nodded with relief. "Good job. You held out longer than anyone else could have. But you said a Purgatorist escaped?"
Lunara nodded. "Yes. One with a multiply creation. I couldn't stop him… he vanished right when I finished the Queen."
Annie frowned but quickly cheered up. "Rest. Heal yourself. You've done enough."
Elsewhere, Menma stood leaning against one of the Guardian Hall's carved marble pillars, his sword hanging loosely at his side.
He stared off into the distance, frustration evident in his furrowed brow.
"Agh…" he muttered. "I wish I could've done something. Even a bit of power to lend her… but my contribution right now is practically nothing."
Turning to the Guardians nearby, he added, "You guys need to work on that potion. Make it stronger, more potent… something I can actually use to help."
The Guardians, ever composed, simply nodded. "We'll work on it, Menma."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Everyone else had clashed with an enemy. Lunara. Annie.
Even minor defenders had faced danger. Yet here he was, his sword still unstained by the heat of battle.
Looking down at the gleaming blade, he whispered, "I can't wait to test you out."
As if guided by an unseen thread, he began moving—first walking, then lightly jogging—through the inner halls of the Citadel.
He soon found himself running down a long corridor, the stone beneath his boots echoing his steps.
The air grew cooler, charged with unfamiliar energy.
Turning a corner, he entered a wide room—majestic and grand, its walls decorated with gold accents and ancient carvings.
It had a sanctified, reverent quality, like a throne room designed for gods.
In the center of the room stood a raised circular platform, unmistakably constructed for battle. It was a boss arena.
And standing atop it… was him.
A Purgatorist.
He looked young—perhaps no older than Menma himself—but his presence was suffocating.
His skin bore a deep crimson hue, and his hair, long and flowing, was as black as the void.
His body was lean, almost ethereal, and a distinct scar cut across his forehead.
His medium height only added to the balance of elegance and threat.
Menma stopped and, without hesitation, called out through his communicator, "I've come across a Purgatorist."
Annie's voice crackled through. "Be careful!"
"Don't worry," Menma said confidently, stepping into the room.
He approached the figure slowly, eyes locked on the strange red entity.
Then, without warning, Menma activated his teleportation blade. In a flash, he appeared directly in front of the Purgatorist, swinging with intent to kill.
But something intervened.
A shimmer of silver-blue energy surged forward.
It took form instantly—a young moon—and transformed into a radiant shield, intercepting the sword before it could reach the target.
The blade bounced off harmlessly.
The red-skinned youth lifted his head, an amused smile forming. "Finally, someone comes. I was getting bored."
Menma stepped back, blade ready. "Was that your creation?"
The Purgatorist tilted his head. "Who knows? Figure it out yourself."
Menma said nothing in response. He instead activated his demon power—30% for now.
A dark aura wrapped around him as he launched forward, testing the enemy's capabilities with a quick flurry of slashes.
As he neared, the young moon once again floated forward, intercepting his advance.
But this time, it shifted.
The moon's form wavered, then reshaped into a half moon, and suddenly, the ceiling above.
Menma shimmered with light particles—countless, like stars pulled from the heavens. They twinkled ominously before descending.
What looked like a gentle rain soon transformed midair—each droplet sharpening into piercing fragments of pure energy.
"Not good," Menma muttered.
He dove to the side, dashing between streaks of falling light.
The ground where the rain struck exploded, cratered instantly by the attack's sheer force. He grimaced, watching the destruction.
If I hadn't dodged that… I'd be dead.
As he dashed toward the Purgatorist again, he noticed something strange.
He saw him —standing calmly beneath the deadly rain. The sharp particles struck him, yet did nothing.
"You think you're untouchable?" Menma shouted.
He pulled out a damage potion and hurled it.
Once more, the moon form shimmered.
It morphed now into the first moon, which immediately blocked the incoming potion, absorbing it without effort.
But Menma wasn't done. He teleported behind him, blade raised high.
He struck—yet again, the shield twisted, rotating instantly and blocking his swing.
"Tch…"
Menma gritted his teeth. He increased his speed, launching a barrage of attacks from every angle, trying to overspeed the shield's response.
But no matter where he struck, the moon blocked it—always one step ahead.
Forced to back off, he caught his breath, eyes narrowing.
"You have a demon power?" The young Purgatorist asked, voice light, almost playful.
"Yeah," Menma replied. "Apparently a strong one."
He nodded slowly. "I can see that. But… my shield can't be beaten. Even if you all came at me at once."
He then raised his arm. The moon shimmered and changed again.
"I'll tell you my name," he said. "I am Vel'Merath, and my creation… is the Moon Creation."
The first moon twisted violently, shifting once more.
This time it became a waning moon, and from its core extended a weapon—a handle with three blades.
They were thin, flexible, and gleamed with razor-sharp edges.
The blades shimmered bright yellow, like lightning forged into steel.
Menma's aura surged. He pushed his demon power to 40%.
Their eyes locked.
In the next breath, they charged—clashing blade against blade, power against creation.