The angelic being remained silent for a brief moment, as if pondering the scene before it. The cold storm wind lashed against its golden armor, whose white engravings gleamed with an eerie light under the tempestuous sky. Its wings of pure radiance flickered subtly, casting ghostly shadows upon the colossal statue of Christ the Redeemer, whose imposing presence seemed to challenge it in silent defiance. The halo floating above its head shimmered with enigmatic patterns, as if inscribed with scriptures from ages long forgotten.
Its eyes, hidden beneath the immaculate hood, turned toward the massive figure carved in stone. There was something almost comical about it—a symbol of mercy and salvation towering over a city drowning in corruption and despair. The being exhaled a sigh that echoed like an ancient lament, burdened with the weight of millennia. Then, its voice rose—deep and imposing—resonating in all directions, filling the air with a sacrosanct reverberation.
— Before I cast upon you the irrevocable decree of your condemnation, allow me to inquire, fleeting creature, oh worm that crawls in the mire of existence. Tell me—do you still believe in the hollow promises of a benevolent God? The one who proclaims Himself love and justice, whose statue rises above you, impassive, while your kind devours itself like starving beasts?
It paused, letting the sound of the rain, hammering incessantly against the stone beneath its feet, fill the silence for a brief moment. The being moved slowly, descending a few inches in the air, now hovering directly in front of Rodrigo. Its presence was overwhelming, as if every raindrop, every gust of wind, and every pulse of the universe bowed in reverence to its existence.
— For I tell you, foolish creature— it continued, its voice unwavering, devoid of emotion or hesitation—there is no benevolence in the firmament. There is no mercy in the heart of the Almighty, just as there is no hope for those who defy the chains of fate. All that exists is order and judgment. And you, vile usurper, are an affront to order.
Its fingers tensed slightly, and an invisible energy coursed through the space between them, vibrating with a menacing intensity. The time around them seemed to distort, as if reality itself hesitated before the verdict that was about to be delivered.
— Thus— it said, now turning fully to Rodrigo—may your impious existence be erased, and your name dissolved into oblivion.
Then, in a single instant, the storm seemed to fall silent, and death surged toward Rodrigo like an inevitable sentence.
The angelic being lingered in silence for a moment, gazing at Christ the Redeemer as if assessing its grandeur while simultaneously scorning its existence. The rain slid down its golden armor, its luminous wings pulsed like living flames, and the halo above its head glowed intensely, radiating symbols in constant motion, as if reality itself bent to its presence.
Then, it turned its gaze to Rodrigo. The voice that had once been imposing yet serene now overflowed with overwhelming hatred—an ancient wrath that seemed capable of consuming worlds. The storm howled in response to its fury, thunder tearing through the sky as every word it spoke reverberated like an absolute decree.
— This benevolent God… He exists— the being declared, its voice dripping with disdain. — But His benevolence does not extend to you, insignificant worm. The Almighty does not gaze upon the children of His creations. He does not bestow His mercy upon the grandchildren of His will. He raised this world and abandoned it to its own ruins, to its own failures. And you, vile abomination, are a mistake that should never have been conceived.
The air around the being trembled, space itself seeming to fold under its rage. And then, its voice exploded into an indescribable fury, each word charged with pure destruction.
— WORM, I WILL TEAR YOU APART! BREAK YOU INTO PIECES! SCATTER THE BLOOD OF YOUR PROFANE FORM ACROSS THE STARS!
The force of its wrath made the rain dissipate for a brief moment, as if the storm itself feared its presence. The dark clouds twisted above them, opening a crimson chasm in the sky—a rift flickering with a celestial and menacing glow.
— I WILL GRIND YOU UNTIL EVEN THE SPARKS SCREAM FOR MERCY!
Each word echoed through the surroundings like divine thunder. The ground beneath Rodrigo's feet cracked, fissures snaking through the rain-soaked earth. The pressure emanating from the angelic being crushed everything around it—suffocating, oppressive—as if existence itself was about to be reduced to dust.
It slowly raised its hands, fingers curling like claws thirsting for destruction. Shadows stretched around it, the remnants of the rain being drawn into the air, as if reality itself was being consumed by its presence.
— MY HANDS SHALL SAVOR THE ENDING OF…
A step forward. The air vibrated with pure malevolence.
— YOU…
Another step. The ground splintered, the earth sinking under its might.
— HERE…
The invisible eyes beneath the hood burned with an incandescent light—a golden radiance so intense it seared the very atmosphere.
— AND…
The sky roared with a deafening thunderclap.
— NOW!
And then, the world erupted into pure calamity.
Rodrigo felt his heart pounding as if it wanted to burst from his chest, his muscles tense, ready to move—his entire body prepared for battle in a fraction of a second. The air around him felt thick, dense, compressed under the weight of the entity's words, and he knew there was no more room for doubt. The storm of battle was upon him.
He clenched his fists, trying to gather every ounce of energy within him. The blue energy "wing" on his left shoulder still pulsed with growing intensity, as if yearning to unleash its essence and tear through reality itself. Every fiber of his mind screamed for action, for something to break him free from the nightmare in which he was trapped.
Then, silence… a strange stillness that filled the air. And before he could even process what was happening, a chill ran down his spine so intensely that his teeth clenched, a sensation so overwhelming it felt as if his entire existence had been grazed by an incomprehensible, terrifying force. The cold seeped into his very soul, an icy dread that froze his blood in his veins.
Instinctively, Rodrigo snapped his gaze behind him, feeling as if time itself had slowed to a crawl. His breath caught in his throat, and the shock paralyzed him for a fleeting instant. The scene before him was unreal, distorted—as if the world itself had bent under the weight of something unfathomable. In the blink of an eye, the entity had vanished from where it once stood, only to reappear… behind him.
It was there, floating effortlessly, its feet never touching the ground. The only thing Rodrigo could register was the crushing weight of its presence, a suffocating despair that seeped into his bones and mind alike. The angelic figure seemed more imposing than ever, more ominous. Its wings shone with a blinding golden light, and the halo above its head now shimmered even more brilliantly, reflecting an illumination that threatened to consume all darkness around it.
The entity stood directly behind Rodrigo, so close he could feel the air shift with its presence. Every movement it made seemed to distort the space around it, as if time itself bowed to its will. The sound of the rain, the crackling wind—everything had fallen silent, as though the very universe had stilled in reverence to this being from another plane.
Rodrigo didn't know how to react. His instincts screamed for him to run, but the sheer weight of reality—his own powerlessness—held him in place. The sensation of being watched, of being at the mercy of something incomprehensible, crawled over his skin, making his nerves tremble. The air had grown unbearably heavy, as if the mere presence of this being was crushing everything around it.
Then, the voice…
It did not come from the air but directly into his mind, a deep whisper that twisted his brain as if the words themselves were razor-sharp blades.
— Worm… — The voice resonated with indescribable force, like a thunderclap shaking Rodrigo's very soul. The entity was about to act again.
Srng.
The pain, which Rodrigo had imagined would be unbearable, never even had the chance to manifest. It was too fast, too precise—so swift that even his brain failed to register what had occurred. A dry sound, like a blade slicing cleanly through the air, echoed through the silent void before his body reacted. And when he looked toward his left shoulder, the pulsing blue energy that once radiated with power was… gone, as if swallowed by space itself.
His vision blurred for a moment, and then, realization struck like lightning—his left arm, the very source of his strength, was no longer there.
The cut had been so clean, so perfect, that not a single drop of blood spilled. It was as if the flesh had been severed without even a whisper of pain. The absence, the void where his limb had once been, was so immense that Rodrigo struggled to comprehend it.
His body, still in shock, refused to move. The stump that remained—an empty, bloodless wound—felt foreign to him, as if reality itself had been torn apart, leaving him nothing but a puppet discarded by forces beyond his grasp.
He looked toward the entity, which remained there, so calm, so composed, its invisible blade still poised in its grasp. The ease with which it had cut him, the effortless motion of its strike, made it all feel even more surreal. There had been no struggle, no exertion—just a simple, indifferent movement in the vast, endless void.
The cold detachment in its unseen eyes, the tranquility of its stance, intensified Rodrigo's fear, rooting him further in place.
Then came the void, the indescribable agony—not of the body, but of the soul. Rodrigo no longer knew what to do, no longer understood how to fight something so far beyond his existence. Despair wrapped around him like a suffocating shroud, but the loss of his arm, the vanishing of his power, the complete erasure of all he had left…
What could he possibly do now?
The impact was brutal.
The entity's fist, imbued with unfathomable strength, struck Rodrigo directly in the stomach, crushing his insides with a force so immense it felt as though his very being was warping under the pressure. His body was hurled through the air like a missile, tearing through the storm with impossible velocity.
The wind roared past his ears, and for an instant, his mind barely had time to process what had happened.
Then, the world shattered upon impact.
Rodrigo felt his back crash violently against the colossal chest of Christ the Redeemer. A deafening boom echoed through the air as his body collided with the sacred stone. The world seemed to tremble. A fissure opened at the point of impact, spreading cracks across the monument like lightning bolts of destruction. Rodrigo felt every bone in his body vibrate, his spine screaming in protest against the impact. The brutal shock surged through his flesh, his muscles, his very soul.
The statue began to collapse. First, an arm trembled. Then, chunks of stone started to break away. The sound of debris crashing against the ground echoed like the roar of a god being torn apart. Rodrigo could barely breathe. His mouth opened in reflex to the extreme pain, but no sound came out. The taste of blood filled his tongue—hot, metallic, suffocating. His lungs felt compressed, crushed against his own chest.
As his body slid down from the fissure he had carved into the divine structure, he saw—despite his blurred vision and the blood streaming from his forehead—the angelic being still floating in the air, watching everything with the same expressionless gaze. As if none of this was surprising. As if everything had already been decided.
The rain fell around him, dripping onto the sacred ruins, while darkness threatened to consume him entirely.
The silence was broken by a dry sound—the clicking of the angelic being's tongue in irritation. His voice, once filled with unreachable refinement, now came out raw, unfiltered, stripped of the nobility it once carried.
— Tsk… This is taking too long.
The previous coldness had vanished, replaced by something more primal, more savage. He descended slowly through the air, floating toward Rodrigo like a predator that already knew its prey had no escape.
— You should be dead by now.
Rodrigo's eyes, still half-closed from the pain, caught the golden figure hovering before him. The celestial glow that once emanated a sense of divine authority now burned like a violent fire—impatient, ready to consume everything around it.
— And yet, you're still here… — the being's voice trembled with an almost human disdain. — Holding on, as if you were someone. As if your existence meant something.
The rain trickled down Rodrigo's face, mixing with the blood dripping from his body. Every word from the being echoed in his mind like hammer strikes, not just breaking his body, but crushing his will.
The being landed on the ground with a dull impact. His gaze, once distant and enigmatic, now burned with pure rage.
— Enough. I'm ending this now.
Without further ceremony, he raised his hand, and the air around them began to vibrate, distorting reality. The ground trembled, and Rodrigo felt the overwhelming pressure intensify, suffocating him.
The end was near.
The being seized Rodrigo's throat with an unrelenting grip. His fingers, rigid and cold as divine metal, clamped around his neck like an inescapable cage. Before Rodrigo could even try to react, a sudden pull sent the world around him spinning into a blur of lights and shadows.
VRUUUUM!
The cutting wind lashed against his face, the pressure crushed his chest, and within seconds, he could no longer see the earth below. Only a vast expanse of clouds streaking past like ghostly projectiles. His mind struggled to keep up with the surreal speed, but everything was too fast, too violent.
With every meter they ascended, the air grew thinner. Rodrigo's chest burned, his lungs fighting desperately for oxygen. The darkness of the sky deepened, the stars beginning to emerge amid the rarefied atmosphere.
The being continued rising. Never hesitating. Never stopping.
Rodrigo felt his entire body throbbing. Blood poured from the wound where his left arm once was, his eyelids grew heavy, and his vision began to darken at the edges. He knew that if they kept ascending, it wouldn't be long before his body could no longer endure.
And then, the being stopped.
They were beyond the clouds. The sky was a cruel painting of darkness and distant stars, the moon shining above as a silent witness to what was about to unfold.
Rodrigo tried to move, but the grip on his throat was like molten iron. The being then brought his hooded face closer to his, and for the first time, Rodrigo sensed something different in his presence. It wasn't just disdain.
It was a cold fury.
— Let's see how long your body lasts before it completely breaks apart.
And then, without warning, he let go.
The being watched, impassive, as Rodrigo plummeted toward the earth. His mutilated body twisted in the air like a broken puppet, dragged by merciless gravity. But the being's gaze was no longer focused solely on the boy. Something deeper burned within him.
His fists clenched tightly, the air around him rippling with dense energy, laden with suppressed rage. His mind seethed, and then, the thought turned into a curse inside him.
Why?
Why did that worm carry something that even the true ones were never deemed worthy of possessing?
Why did the blessing of God's children rest upon something so insignificant, so inferior, so impure?
His eyes, hidden beneath the hood, locked onto Rodrigo, who continued to plummet like a condemned corpse.
This doesn't make sense.
What did the Children of God see in him? What was the purpose behind this grotesque mistake? Had Heaven been deceived? Or worse… had it defied the natural order?
His wings of light flared violently. The anger began to overflow.
— This… cannot be…
The sound of his own thoughts was deafening. Doubt gnawed at every fiber of his being.
— Those damned Children of God…
The hatred grew.
— They granted him this?! HIM?!
His teeth clenched.
— Why?! WHY?!
The being clutched its head, the golden energy around it vibrating irregularly, as if the very fabric of reality was bending to its fury.
And then, with a roar that split the clouds below, it bellowed into the void:
— WHY?!
The being remained aloft, its wings radiating light, but its mind was plunging into the darkness of uncertainty. Its burning gaze followed Rodrigo's figure as he continued to plummet, drenched in his own blood and the ceaseless rain. The chaos within the being grew, and the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place in a horrific manner.
It clenched its fists, feeling the energy around it surge like thunder on the verge of being unleashed. Its thoughts spun in an unbearable whirlwind. This power... in the hands of a mere human...
No, it wasn't just that.
This power could break the barrier.
The barrier that separated them from the Original.
The truth struck its mind like a sharpened blade. Rodrigo had the potential to shatter the cosmic order, to pierce through reality in a way no being ever should. If this force fell into the wrong hands, the balance of all existences could be annihilated. But why? Why him?
It knew that other versions of Rodrigo existed. Other possibilities, other reflections, fragments scattered throughout the fabric of the multiverse. Men who had walked different paths, grown older, become something more—beings shaped by time, forged by experience. Some bore scars from battles that had lasted decades; others carried the burden of wisdom earned at the cost of countless losses.
But this one?
This boy... this incomplete, immature version, a mere fetus before the vastness of the cosmos?
Was this the piece that fate had chosen?
Not only that...
The being felt its breath grow irregular.
His alternative versions were in the original universe.
The mirrored realities always gravitated around the one true axis. The fragments always converged toward the center, to the point of origin of everything. It knew this. Everyone knew this. But then... how was this boy here?
The truth burned inside it like divine fire.
— No... — it murmured, its voice echoing through the stormy clouds.
This cannot be true.
Because if it were—
Its body trembled. Its chest swelled with a fury it did not know it could feel.
If this were true, if this boy was an anomaly that was never meant to exist, then the entire cosmos was at risk.
It could not allow it.
Rodrigo Raphael had to be eradicated.
The being spread its six wings, and a golden radiance tore through the heavens like a divine aurora. The clouds around it were swept away by the crushing pressure of its presence, and for a moment, the storm halted—as if the very world held its breath in anticipation of its judgment.
Its eyes, divine flames burning with pure hatred, locked onto the falling figure. Rodrigo Raphael. A wretched worm. A cosmic mistake.
— In the name of the Apostles... and the GREAT True Apostles...
Its voice resonated like a celestial decree, piercing the heavens like a trumpet of the end times.
— I WILL ERASE YOUR SOUL, RODRIGO RAPHAEL!
Its hands rose, and between them formed a spear of pure light. Not a mere weapon, but a divine decree, a fragment of primordial authority condensed into absolute destruction. The spear pulsed with a power that did not belong to this world, a cruel and inevitable radiance.
It would not allow this boy to exist for another moment.
With a motion that made space itself tremble, it hurled the spear.
It tore through the sky.
The air around it shattered in an explosion of white fire. The sound was consumed by the sheer force of the strike, and all that remained was a brilliant flash that devoured the night.
The spear surged like a comet toward its target.
Rodrigo Raphael.
The mistake that had to be erased.
...
Rodrigo felt the cutting air envelop his body as he fell through the dense, cold clouds. The storm-lashed wind seemed to whip against his skin, but he could barely feel it. His consciousness clung to a thread, his senses unraveling like ashes carried away by the gale.
Every fiber of his being ached. It wasn't ordinary pain, not something that would fade with time. It was an overwhelming agony, one that transcended the physical and plunged deep into his soul. His left arm, once pulsating with the energy that absorbed the rain, now no longer existed. The bloodied stump twitched in irregular spasms, while warm blood mixed with the freezing stormwater, tracing crimson trails across the sky.
Inside his chest, the struggle to breathe was torment itself. His lungs burned, as if searing embers were trapped within, unable to escape. His broken ribs stabbed into his flesh, puncturing organs, each movement worsening his condition. His heart felt as if it were convulsing inside his chest, like a machine on the verge of collapse.
But more than anything, what truly made Rodrigo succumb was the weight of reality.
Was this it?
Was this his death?
After everything—after refusing to accept a fate he hadn't chosen, after challenging a being whose power he could barely comprehend—was this how it would end?
His half-open eyes gazed into the void, dull, devoid of hope. Lightning flickered around him within the clouds, illuminating his fall for brief instants, as if mocking him with the cold laughter of a world that had never favored him. The rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, muffled, fading… as if the very sky was laughing at his insignificance.
Rodrigo tried to summon the strength to move a finger, a hand, anything. But his body did not respond. It was as if existence itself was dragging him into oblivion.
How… disappointing.
That was the only thought that remained.
He didn't want an ending like this.
But maybe… maybe it was inevitable.
A weak, broken laugh escaped his lips—more a breath of air than a true chuckle. It was funny. Not in a genuine way, but in a bitter, almost tragic sense. In the end, he was just another one. Just another lost boy in the chaos of the world, thinking he could be something greater, that he could break the chains of fate and carve out his own story. What a joke.
The wind lashed against his face, raindrops mixing with the blood trailing down his skin. His half-closed eyes stared at nothing, lost among the stormy shadows of the clouds. His mind, however, was not there.
Father…
What would he do in his place?
Rodrigo didn't know how to answer. But one thing he did know: his father was a good man. Strong, honorable, someone who had lived and died without betraying his principles. A man who believed in the strength of the spirit, in the dignity of each choice, in the value of what one fights to achieve. A man who, in the end, had died a miserable death.
Rodrigo felt something corrode inside him—something old and familiar, something that had always been there, whispering at the depths of his soul: injustice.
Why do good people die miserably while the wicked remain? Why does suffering fall upon those who try to live with dignity, while cowards, the cruel, the manipulators thrive? He had never found a satisfactory answer. There was only that unbearable feeling, that silent revolt crawling inside him like a starving beast.
After all, nature is immoral. There is no justice in its workings, no balance, no purpose. Only survival. The only thing that matters is the continuation of the cycle, reproduction, the transmission of DNA. It is not the strongest who survives, nor the smartest, nor the bravest. Only the one who adapts, who persists, who slithers through the chaos and refuses to disappear.
Rodrigo had always known this. He had always understood that the world was no fairy tale, that there was no universal force watching over the good, that no one was coming to save him from his cruel fate.
And yet… why the hell had he never accepted it?
He had always tried to find something greater, something that gave meaning to the void. Something inside him refused to accept the universe's indifference.
And now, on the verge of death, he wondered: was ignorance a blessing? Or a curse?
Those who live without questioning, without seeing the rot behind the curtain—are they happier? Or are they just puppets dancing to the tune of a song whose composer they will never know?
Rodrigo felt the answer at the tip of his tongue, but his strength was slipping away.
Perhaps he would never know.
VRUUUM!
His half-closed, heavy eyes caught an intense glow piercing through the dark veil of clouds. The rain, which had been falling incessantly, seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if it feared the light expanding in the sky.
It was a divine gold, pure but terribly cold. It wasn't the warmth of the sun on a peaceful morning, nor the comforting flame of a welcoming home. It was a cruel brilliance, an inescapable decree, a warning that the final judgment had arrived.
Rodrigo knew at that moment—he didn't need words, explanations, or instinct. He simply knew.
The final attack was coming.
The angelic being, that arrogant and unstoppable entity, had decreed his execution.
The clouds began to tear apart, the golden light expanding like a spear piercing the heavens. A thunderclap roared, but it was no ordinary thunder. It was a roar, a cry of absolute power. Rodrigo felt the very air around him being pulled, as if the atmosphere itself was being consumed to fuel something monstrous.
Every fiber of his broken body screamed. His lungs burned, his skin stung with deep cuts, and the gaping hole where his left arm had been pulsed as if it were still being torn away. But none of that mattered.
At that moment, as he stared at the golden light breaking through the sky, only one thought filled his mind:
"So this is how it ends?"
A voice shattered the void in his mind, sharp and impatient, as if tired of his lamenting.
— For the love of everything that exists, can you stop with all this drama? — The shadow spoke, its voice as cutting as a razor. — If you don't do something now, you're going to die. Simple as that. Is that what you want? Is that what you are? Just some trash who accepts whatever he's given?
Rodrigo slowly blinked.
The shadow continued, its presence expanding within him like a deep echo in the abyss of his consciousness.
— You know what your problem is? You've always limited yourself. Always believed you had a pre-written role, that you had to follow the script the world imposed on you. But you know what? That's a load of crap! Haven't you realized it yet? You can change all of this! You can break this damn fate!
The shadow's voice seemed to resonate within Rodrigo's very blood, pulsing with every painful beat of his weakened heart.
— Stop waiting for someone to save you. Stop asking 'why.' That doesn't matter. What matters is what you're going to do now.
Rodrigo felt something tremble inside him. Not fear, not despair. Something different. Something… new.
The shadow sighed, its voice rumbling like distant thunder within Rodrigo's mind.
— Tsk… you really are a lost cause… — Then Rodrigo felt something else. A warmth coursing through his shattered body, a dense and familiar energy flowing into his broken limbs.
The searing pain in his chest began to subside, his fractured ribs slowly adjusting, muscles mending. The gaping wound on his shoulder, where his arm had been torn away, still throbbed, but the bleeding stopped.
— Listen carefully, kid… I'll give you some support. I'll do what's necessary to get you moving, to regenerate enough of your body so you can fight. But don't get too excited… — The shadow's voice carried an unusual seriousness. — The damage to your soul was deep. It'll take time to restore… and guess what? It affected me too.
Rodrigo felt his very spirit weighed down, as if it had been torn apart and stitched back together imperfectly.
— That bastard didn't just destroy your body; he wounded something much more essential… something that can't just be fixed with a snap of the fingers.
The shadow's energy continued to flow, closing his wounds rapidly. But his spirit… it was still bleeding.
— Oh, and one more thing… — The shadow said, a hint of amusement in its voice. — Your sword… it's coming to help you. So stop acting like a loser and do something with this damn power you have!
Rodrigo felt his body suddenly halt in midair, as if an invisible force had caught him and lifted him up. The cutting wind of the altitude ceased around him, and the thunderous roar of the storm became a distant whisper. The golden light breaking through the clouds above seemed to curve around him, illuminating his wounded skin with an ethereal glow.
And then he saw it.
Before his eyes, it appeared.
A blade that exuded majesty and purpose.
The sword floated with serenity, as if it had been patiently waiting for the right moment to reveal itself. Its blade was long and straight, a pure silver hue, reflecting the golden light around it like a celestial mirror. A golden thread ran through its center, vibrating with energy, and mystical inscriptions near its base seemed to whisper in a language lost to time.
The tip of the blade bore a stylized blue symbol, resonating with a sacred aura. The hilt, wrapped in a deep blue material, exuded sophistication and power, with meticulously forged golden details. The pommel ended in a purple crystal, pulsing softly as if it had a heart of its own.
And the guard… wide, resplendent, curved like divine wings or perhaps a stylized cross, symbolized the royalty of whoever wielded it. It was a weapon worthy of legends, an artifact that transcended eras and stories.
Rodrigo's eyes widened, his breath—weak just moments ago—quickening. A warmth surged in his chest, something different from the shadow's regeneration. This was something greater. Something that took root deep in his soul.
That sword…
Caliburn.
The blade that once belonged to King Arthur, the sword that symbolized the right to sovereignty and the destiny of a true monarch.
Rodrigo felt something he hadn't in a long time.
Hope.
The storm around him, once overwhelming, now seemed smaller. The thunder no longer roared against him but echoed like a drum announcing a return. The rain that had once consumed his body like a cold shroud was now being absorbed by the sword, as if Caliburn were drinking its strength, preparing for its new mission.
Rodrigo hesitantly reached out, his mind torn between disbelief and determination. Was this real? Had this sword truly come to him?
But then, as if answering his thoughts, Caliburn moved slightly in the air, tilting toward him, like a knight bowing to his king.
Fate had not yet been written.
And Rodrigo, even torn apart, even bleeding, knew this was his chance to rewrite it.
The sky roared like a titan awakening from eternal slumber. The clouds, once heavy and dark, began to split like torn curtains, revealing a blinding radiance. The golden light intensified, burning the atmosphere around it like a rising sun in the midst of a storm.
Rodrigo's eyes widened.
It was a spear.
Not just any spear, but a projectile of pure light, scorching and destructive, so intense that its presence made the very air vibrate. The space around it twisted, pulled into its overwhelming force. The hum of celestial energy filled Rodrigo's ears, a sharp, rising sound—"VMMMMMMMMM"—as if the universe itself was grinding its teeth in defiance of the power about to be unleashed.
Rodrigo swallowed hard.
If that thing hit him, there would be nothing left. No flesh, no bone, no soul.
It would be absolute annihilation.
But then, his gaze fell upon the blade before him.
Caliburn floated, radiant, almost as if waiting for his decision. The golden light coursing through its blade pulsed in response to the chaos around it, as if the sword understood what was coming.
Rodrigo took a deep breath. He had no choice.
Clenching his jaw and ignoring the agony in his body, he reached out with a trembling hand and grasped Caliburn's hilt.
The impact was immediate.
A searing heat surged through his arm, racing through every fiber of his being. "SHHHHHRRRRMMMM!" The sword's energy burned—not in pain, but in something greater—in power, in purpose. His heartbeat quickened, his vision sharpened.
And then...
Rodrigo roared.
He gripped the hilt tighter, feeling the cold yet comforting metal in his palm. His feet, once floating aimlessly in the air, now found an invisible ground—a foundation, a pillar of energy that held him.
Before him, the golden spear finally launched.
"BOOOOOOOM!"
The release of the projectile was deafening. The sky lit up as if the sun itself had been hurled at him. The shockwave blasted him backward, his clothes whipping violently, his body nearly flung away.
But Rodrigo did not waver.
With a battle cry, he raised Caliburn high above his head. The blade gleamed in response, absorbing the rain around it, forming an aura of golden radiance that grew brighter and brighter. The space around the sword distorted like a cracked mirror.
And then, at the exact moment the spear reached him...
Rodrigo swung with all his might.
"KAAAAAAAAASH!!!"
The clash of the two forces shook the world. An explosion of light and wind swept through the surrounding clouds, scattering them like ashes in a storm. The impact was so colossal that waves of energy erupted in all directions, illuminating the sky like a second dawn.
Rodrigo gritted his teeth, feeling his muscles scream in protest, but he did not retreat.
With Caliburn shining in his hands, he surged forward.
The air around Rodrigo bent under the force of his acceleration. He shot through the sky like a golden comet, his silhouette a radiant blur against the dissipating storm. The wind howled, cutting against his face, but he didn't care. Every beat of his heart pulsed with a single purpose: attack.
The apostle, floating above like an impassive god, widened his eyes for a fraction of a second. His once-serene expression twisted into something close to... disbelief.
Rodrigo should have been dead.
He should have been broken, destroyed, erased from existence.
And yet, he was still coming.
But what caught the celestial being's attention the most was not Rodrigo.
It was the sword.
Caliburn.
The sacred blade shimmered in his grasp, emanating an ancient and absolute radiance. The gold running through its core pulsed, the mystical inscriptions near its base glowing as if whispering a silent prayer to the universe itself.
The sword, which should not belong to mere mortals, was now wielded by a bloodied, broken boy—a human who should have fallen forever.
The apostle clenched his teeth.
That weapon… was not of this world.
And worse: it was from the original universe…
The very sword Arthur had wielded, a symbol of the lineage of true kings, something not even true apostles could stand against!
"THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!"
The celestial being's voice exploded through the air, laced with a fury that bordered on absolute hatred. His eyes burned with wrath as his fingers clenched, summoning a wave of energy that twisted the space around him.
But Rodrigo did not slow down.
He did not hesitate.
With every second that passed, his speed increased. He could feel his blood boiling, his muscles burning, his bones protesting—but he would not stop.
His body was at its limit. His power was nearly depleted.
But something inside him still burned.
Something that refused to be extinguished.
And then, when the distance between them had shrunk to mere meters, Rodrigo roared, raising Caliburn for the final strike.
Time seemed to stretch in that last instant. Rodrigo felt the weight of Caliburn in his hand, as if the blade were alive, pulsing in sync with his own heart. The golden glow of the sword shimmered against the raindrops still hanging in the air, turning them into tiny suspended fragments of light.
The apostle raised his arms, but it was too late.
SHHHHIIIIINNNGGG!
The sound of the blade cutting through the air echoed like silent thunder, a sharp hum that tore through the very atmosphere. Rodrigo twisted his body midair, putting all his strength into the swing of his only arm—a precise, destructive horizontal slash.
And then—contact.
The divine steel clashed against the apostle's radiant armor. In the instant of impact, a brilliant flash exploded outward in all directions. Sparks flew like shooting stars, and a devastating shockwave formed at the exact point where the sword met celestial plating.
CRAAAAACK!
The sound was not just metal being cut—it was something far deeper breaking apart.
The golden armor, once immaculate, shattered partially. A grotesque crack formed across the apostle's chest, radiating outward like a spiderweb. The golden light covering his body flickered, weakening for a moment.
Rodrigo saw it.
Felt it.
He had made this being bleed.
The apostle stumbled back in midair, shock stamped across his face. His eyes, once overflowing with arrogance and superiority, were now wide with pure disbelief.
He had been wounded.
By a human.
By Rodrigo Raphael.
Rodrigo's breathing was heavy, each heartbeat thundering inside his chest like a war drum. His body still ached, his energy was still drained. But he did not stop.
He would not stop.
The storm roared around him, lightning dancing between the clouds, and below them, the world seemed insignificant before the battle unfolding in the skies.
Rodrigo gripped Caliburn's hilt even tighter, preparing to continue.
He no longer had any doubts.
Fate did not control him anymore.
The air was ripped from his lungs.
Rodrigo didn't even have a second to process what had happened. An instant ago, he was in the stormy sky over Rio de Janeiro, the city sprawled beneath him like a glowing mosaic. But now, the world had disappeared.
The sensation was visceral, brutal—like his very existence had been pulled through an invisible hole in the fabric of reality. The space around him twisted, bent, folded over itself, and then... absolute silence.
Rodrigo felt his skin prickle, not from cold, but from the vacuum surrounding him. The sky, once filled with clouds and lightning, was now an endless black abyss, speckled with distant stars. Beneath his feet, a gray, barren surface stretched as far as his eyes could see.
The Moon.
He was on the Moon.
The impact of the absence of oxygen hit like a punch to the chest. Rodrigo's lungs convulsed violently, desperate to pull in air that simply wasn't there. His chest burned, his ears rang, and a primal terror crept into his mind.
"I'm going to die."
The thought came fast, cruel, inescapable. The human body wasn't made to survive in a vacuum. He was already feeling the effects. The extreme pressure inside him fought against the absolute nothingness around him. His veins throbbed, his vision blurred, and a searing pain took hold of his head. His blood was beginning to boil, the fluids in his body trying to escape.
And then, he saw it.
The apostle was there, floating in front of him, untouched by the vacuum. His golden cape billowed despite the absence of wind, his wings of light pulsed with pure energy. He needed no air, no sustenance. He simply existed—an entity above the laws of the universe.
The creature's eyes gleamed with cold, cruel satisfaction. He didn't need to speak for Rodrigo to understand what he had done.
"You are not even worthy of the ground you walk on. I will take even that from you."
Rodrigo gritted his teeth, every cell in his body screaming in agony. But he could not yield.
Not now.
Not after everything.
His fingers clenched tightly around Caliburn's hilt, and even as his mind began to fade, a final spark of resistance ignited in his chest.
The apostle could distort space, could rip him from Earth, could cast him into the vacuum of the cosmos.
But he could not take away his will.
And as his body fought to endure, Rodrigo knew—
He had to act. Now.
The impossible was becoming possible.
Rodrigo felt every cell in his body imploding from the lack of oxygen, but then... the torment ceased.
What had been suffocation turned into relief.
The cold of space, once as sharp as invisible blades against his skin, no longer bothered him. The weight of vanished gravity, which should have sent his body adrift into the void, now felt controlled.
He opened his eyes, gasping, and realized he was alive.
His widened gaze reflected the vastness of the Moon, but his mind quickly steadied. The shadow…
That entity, that part of him that always whispered in the darkness, was supporting his body.
It was healing. It was protecting.
He didn't know how, didn't know why, but it didn't matter.
Rodrigo tightened his grip on Caliburn's hilt, feeling the sacred metal radiate intense heat through his fingers. The fear, the pain, the despair—all of it scattered like dust in the wind.
He was still in the battle.
He was still Rodrigo Raphael.
And he was not going to die here.
Rodrigo closed his eyes for a brief second, inhaling air he shouldn't be able to breathe. Then, he opened them again, determined, burning with fury and conviction.
His body leaned forward, his muscles tensed, and a roar of pure determination exploded from his throat:
"COME, CALIBURN!"
The blade gleamed in a golden flash, answering its wielder's call.
And then, Rodrigo surged forward.
The Apostle, in his divine fury, extended his hand.
The Moon's surface, once inert and desolate, began to distort and reshape according to his will. Enormous pillars of lunar stone rose in colossal spirals, like black spears tearing through the vacuum. Deep fissures split open, exuding a reddish glow, revealing a slumbering molten core within the satellite.
Rodrigo felt the space around him twist, as if being pulled and crushed at the same time. Gravity shifted, the terrain folded, and the laws of physics were rewritten.
But then…
A blinding light filled his vision.
He looked up—and horror took hold.
The Sun was moving.
Like a cosmic god awakened from eternal slumber, the burning star tore through the fabric of the universe, dragged by the Apostle's will. The black sky was dyed in a fiery red, and the heat, even in the vacuum of space, was felt like searing blades cutting into his skin.
"He's lost his mind…" Rodrigo thought, his wide eyes reflecting the apocalyptic glow.
The Apostle's intent was clear.
He didn't just want to kill him.
He wanted to erase him from existence.
He wanted to destroy the Moon.
He wanted to reduce everything to nothing.
Rodrigo clenched his teeth, his lone arm firm on Caliburn's hilt. He could feel the blade's pulse, its sacred energy vibrating in sync with his own racing heartbeat.
If he didn't act now… nothing would remain.
Not him. Not the Moon. Not the world below.
Rodrigo then shut his eyes for an instant, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, his gaze was resolute.
He would not retreat.
It was now or never.
Rodrigo launched forward.
His body burned. His muscles screamed. His blood boiled.
But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
With every step across the Moon's gray, dusty surface, craters erupted beneath his feet, hurling debris into the vacuum as he accelerated beyond what his mind could process. It was as if he were tearing through reality itself with sheer speed. Space around him distorted into streaks of bluish light, his energy aura blazing like a ferocious flame.
Then, the obstacles began.
The Apostle, floating above, his silhouette framed by the overwhelming brilliance of the moving Sun, raised his hand in a sovereign gesture. The Moon itself responded.
Titanic obsidian spires erupted violently from the ground, attempting to impale Rodrigo mid-sprint. Entire mountains materialized out of nothing, trying to crush him. Colossal chasms split open beneath his feet, seeking to swallow him into an endless abyss.
But Rodrigo did not hesitate.
"HRRAAHH!"
Caliburn cut through everything.
With a single twist of his body, Rodrigo unleashed a luminous, devastating arc, obliterating the black spires that sought to pierce his flesh.
BAM!
He leaped over one of the lunar fissures trying to devour him, planting his foot against a floating rock and propelling himself even faster.
The rising mountains loomed, but his body reacted before his mind could process. He dodged, slashed, shattered, demolished— as if his very soul had seized control.
It was pure instinct.
The echoes of his shadow resounded in his mind:
"Stop limiting yourself."
And then he understood.
He didn't need to understand.
He just needed to move forward.
The nonexistent wind of the Moon seemed to slice against his skin. His heart pounded uncontrollably. The Sun's glow grew even fiercer.
The Apostle was close.
Rodrigo tightened his grip on Caliburn.
And roared.
"I'M GOING TO REACH YOU!"
The Apostle's roar thundered through the void of space, reverberating in invisible waves of pure disdain.
"ACCEPT YOUR DEATH, WORM! BOW BEFORE THE INEVITABLE!"
But Rodrigo didn't hear.
He was no longer just Rodrigo Raphael.
He was raw will, the refusal to yield, the desperate cry of existence itself.
And then, he struck.
With Caliburn in hand, Rodrigo launched himself with one final, obliterating leap, ripping through gravity, through space, through everything between him and the Apostle.
Time seemed to stop.
Rodrigo spun midair, channeling every last drop of strength into his lone arm. The sword gleamed like a golden comet, its blade pulsing in divine splendor.
He unleashed a slash.
— SHRRRRRRK! —
Space was torn apart. The blade sliced through the Apostle's golden armor as if it were glass.
A line of light traced itself across the celestial being's chest.
For a moment, silence.
Rodrigo landed on a lunar rock, panting, still in an attack stance. His body trembled. His chest rose and fell violently.
He looked up.
The Apostle was still there.
But something was wrong.
The golden energy emanating from him flickered, crackling like a candle about to be snuffed out.
And then, the blood began to pour.
Golden. Luminous. Sacred.
The Apostle gasped, his eyes widening in absolute disbelief.
He lowered his gaze to his own chest. The incandescent rift was expanding, cracking through his radiant armor.
"I-Impossible…"
Rodrigo wiped the blood from his mouth with his forearm. His eyes burned with blue flames.
"I told you I wouldn't die."
…
"It was enough time…"
Rodrigo felt a deep shiver crawl down his spine as he heard the Apostle's words. His tone no longer carried blind fury—it was absolute certainty.
The celestial warrior raised his face toward Rodrigo, and finally, he could see his true visage.
There was no flesh.
There were no eyes.
There was no expression.
The Apostle's face was a veil of pure golden light, radiant and intense, shimmering like a divine forge, like the very fabric of the cosmos. However, within that inhuman brilliance, tiny white points gleamed in a perfect symmetrical formation—as if an unseen presence lurked behind that celestial mask. As if there was… a trace of something human.
Rodrigo felt his stomach twist. The mere sight of that face burned his mind like embers pressed against his soul.
And then, he realized.
The sun had stopped.
There, on the horizon of space, the colossal flaming star, once moving to collide with the moon, was now suspended in the void, motionless, like a titan on the verge of awakening.
But that wasn't what truly mattered.
The real danger was all around him.
Rodrigo felt the temperature spike violently. The lunar ground beneath his feet trembled. Brilliant fissures began to open, revealing a searing radiance as if erupting from the very fabric of reality. The particles around him vibrated, crackling like tiny golden thunderbolts.
It was an accumulation of divine energy.
And then, he understood.
The Apostle wasn't just fighting him—he was preparing for the final judgment.
Rodrigo clenched his teeth, gripping Caliburn tighter. His breathing was ragged. His body was in ruins. But he was still standing.
He lifted his gaze, locking eyes with the entity before him.
— So that was it? You were just… buying time?
The Apostle did not respond immediately. He merely remained silent, allowing the golden radiance around him to intensify even further.
Then, at last, he spoke.
— The wheel of fate has already been set in motion, creature.
His voice was vast. It reverberated through the empty void, as if a thousand voices spoke at once.
— You no longer face a mere envoy.
The light around him expanded brutally, blinding everything.
— You now face… the Divine Decree.
Rodrigo gasped, feeling exhaustion tear through his body like invisible chains. His trembling hand gripped Caliburn tightly, but he knew—he was reaching his limit.
The adrenaline keeping him on his feet was fading.
Pain was coming.
He felt his muscles pulse as if about to explode, his blood boiling, his skin throbbing where open wounds still bled. His only arm was going numb, and his vision wavered like a fractured mirror ready to shatter.
But the Apostle did not stop.
The golden being slowly ascended into the air, his presence growing colossal, expanding like a star on the brink of collapse. Then, from his throat, echoed not a war cry, but a poem.
— Upon the stairway of judgment, the chosen ascend, the condemned descend.
Rodrigo gritted his teeth, forcing his body to move forward. He couldn't let him finish.
— Upon the sacred steps, impure souls are weighed, their shadows stretching in the glare of truth.
Rodrigo roared, using the last of his strength to raise Caliburn in a final strike, aiming to cut the Apostle in two.
But his body… did not respond.
The shock was brutal. He tried to move his muscles, but they were locked in place. His energy, once burning like an uncontainable wildfire, was now nothing but ashes.
The adrenaline was gone.
Pain caught up to him.
— Upon the final step, where celestial winds fall silent, only one name shall be spoken.
The sword slipped from his hand.
His body faltered.
His knee gave out, hitting the moon's surface with a dry THUD.
The Apostle continued, relentless.
— The name of the one who shall be purified…
Rodrigo tasted the bitterness of blood in his mouth. His vision wavered, darkening at the edges.
— Or the name of the one who shall be forgotten.
And then, the Apostle extended his hand, preparing the final blow.
VRUUUUUUUUUM—an impossible sound echoed through the void, vibrating through the very fabric of reality.
Rodrigo, panting, lifted his eyes to the endless black above him.
And there it was.
THE GOLDEN CIRCLE.
Immense. Monstrous. Encompassing everything.
Its edges stretched beyond perception, as if its circumference encompassed not only the Moon but the entire Solar System.
Rodrigo felt small.
The structure was made of pure light—a light that flickered like the flame of a million suns, pulsing in patterns reminiscent of ancient constellations. Arcane symbols slithered across its surface like rivers of liquid gold, moving in a hypnotic and constant flow.
And then, the sound roared once more.
VRUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMM—
Space trembled.
A chill ran down Rodrigo's spine. No… it wasn't just him who felt it.
The very fabric of the universe contorted, as if that presence were bending reality itself around it.
And then, he heard it.
A voice. Deep, ancient, powerful, and absolute.
— Jacob's Ladder.
Rodrigo barely had time to process those words before the light began to fall.
FROM THE CIRCLE, CELESTIAL BODIES OF PURE WHITE GOLD RAINED DOWN.
LIGHTNING.
PILLARS OF DIVINE RADIANCE FELL FROM THE HEAVENS LIKE FINAL JUDGMENT.
THE ENTIRE MOON WAS BEING CONSUMED BY CELESTIAL GLORY.
Rodrigo gritted his teeth, trying to move, but his body refused to respond.
He could feel the heat of the sacred flames—even in the vacuum.
He saw the Apostle, floating amidst the cataclysm, arms open, as if embracing his fate.
Rodrigo's eyes widened.
— SHIT!
The Apostle whispered something, too faint to be heard.
And then, the world exploded into gold.
Reality collapsed.
Everything around Rodrigo was consumed by an absolute brilliance—a light so intense that it did not illuminate but erased.
It was a golden nothingness.
Not fire. Not heat. Not explosion. It was the very absence of existence manifesting.
The Moon? Deleted.
Space? Dissolved.
Rodrigo?
He felt his body unraveling, as if each particle of his being was questioned by the universe:
"Do you truly deserve to be here?"
And one by one, the atoms of his flesh hesitated.
The light seeped into his skin, as if trying to erase his presence from the cosmos. His cells disappeared.
His nerves ceased to transmit pain.
His blood evaporated without ever having boiled.
Piece by piece, he was being erased.
Rodrigo watched his own fingers disintegrating into golden particles.
His muscles failed. His bones turned into shimmering dust.
And yet…
He was still conscious.
He was still there.
Rodrigo didn't know if it was because of the Shadow. He didn't know if it was the power of Caliburn. He didn't know if it was sheer stubbornness.
But he was not completely erased.
Reality had tried to erase him.
And he resisted.
In the midst of absolute nothingness, where even the laws of physics had ceased to exist, Rodrigo Raphael still remained.
Even when the cosmos denied him a place.