The Inverse World trembled.
Raphael knelt on the fractured ground, blood trailing from his lips. His fingers tightened around the black sphere, its glow flickering erratically. The artifact was failing. The realm he had so confidently shaped in his favor was breaking apart.
And Louis—
Louis was ascending.
Golden light cascaded from his body, radiating with a force beyond mortal comprehension. His divine aura was no longer just light; it was holy fire, an overwhelming presence that distorted reality itself.
Then, it happened.
The moment his Stigmata awakened.
A pulse of light erupted from his body as five sacred wounds manifested upon him.
His right palm split open first—The Hand of Miracles. Holy light seeped from the wound, and the air around him shimmered with purity. Even in battle, it exuded warmth, a power that could cleanse the soul and mend even the deepest wounds.
