CHAPTER 1361: ONE LEADER DIES.

The air itself screamed as the cracks in Athena’s Rebirth’s Hell widened. But what followed was far worse. The sorrowful Fallen did not simply break her domain—it remade it.

Before their very eyes, the rivers of lava turned to floods of black tears, steaming and endless. The mountains of flame wept molten sorrow, collapsing under the weight of despair. The skies once red with fire now became gray, bleeding with eternal rain that whispered dirges.

Kanada’s chains rattled furiously, sparks of golden light fighting against the transformation—but even her power could not halt the corruption.

"A domain... rewritten!?" Perseus’s voice thundered from above the planet, disbelief shaking even his battle-hardened tone.

The happenings on earth were being transmitted directly to his comms.

Every watcher on earth that saw the scene of the domain take over froze in stunned silence. Domains were absolute, inviolate.

Usually, in battles that concerned Arcane experts, the one that first successfully lauched their Arcane domain is set to win the fight.

This was because Arcane domains were made out of cosmic laws of the individual’s understanding.

Domains were their own worlds. And since no one knew how the laws in these new worlds worked more than the person that casted them. They were usually set to win the fight.

For such a reason, the comprehension of laws was greatly sort after. If one could comprehend them, future battles would be so smooth.

This was why Athena hurried to cast her own the moment the battle began.

But she had forgotten something. Her opponent was not a demon, devil, or any other species in the universe. It was a Fallen Angel.

For one being to overwrite another’s domain was... unthinkable. Yet the Fallen had done it as though it were nothing, reshaping Athena’s fiery hell into an eternal mausoleum of mourning.

The angel spread its arms, tears falling faster, its grin widening across its chest-mouth. "There. Much better. Hell was never fire, never brimstone. It was always sorrow. You only forgot."

Athena trembled as the world around her shifted into this alien despair. She raised her spear, fire trembling at its tip—but then it was simply... there.

The Fallen.

Beside her.

She had not even seen it move.

Her lips parted to cast another ability, but she never got the chance.

A sound like the tearing of souls filled the air as Athena’s body convulsed—then ruptured. She exploded into a mist of tears, her flesh liquefying into a screaming torrent of sorrow. The droplets fell, each carrying a fragment of her voice, shrieking in unimaginable pain as they merged into a pool at the Fallen’s feet.

Her soul writhed within that pool, screaming, clawing at itself until even the sound of her agony became unbearable to hear. The sorrowful Fallen tilted its head, watching like a parent amused by a child’s tantrum.

And then, silence.

The pool stilled. Athena was no more.

Every god, every devil, every soldier that witnessed it felt a chill deeper than death. One of the strongest beings among them... erased in less than a minute.

Athena was Dead.

---

The sorrowful Fallen collapsed to its knees, wailing to the skies as if the heavens themselves should mourn Athena’s end. Its tears struck the warped ground, each droplet birthing ripples of sorrow across the domain it had stolen.

"Why?" Kanada’s voice was low, sharp as the edge of her staff. Her golden glow flared in the oppressive gray gloom. "Why do you cry after killing her?"

The Fallen’s body convulsed with sobs, but its voice was steady—chilling, reverent.

"Her death was such... such beautiful praise to Lucifer’s name. Should I not mourn it? I only wish I could kill her again... so I may praise him again."

Kanada’s frown deepened. For a moment, her eyeless face tilted as though studying a dangerous beast. Then, with a murmur that only the closest caught, she said:

"Careful what you wish for."

She offered nothing further. Instead, her body flashed with light as she surged forward, staff blazing in her hand. Her target was not the weeping one, but the two figures looming behind it.

The first was monstrous—a living pillar, its body smooth and obsidian, black-stained wings stretching wide like colossal walls shielding the sky. Kanada struck with her staff, the blow landing squarely against its head.

CLANG!

The sound was deafening, like a great chime struck in the heart of a cathedral. The pillar-being did not even flinch.

Kanada twisted mid-air, staff raised for another strike—this time at the second Fallen, a figure shrouded in layers of chains, each link etched with words of broken hymns.

But before her blow landed, a warning pricked her instincts.

Danger.

She pivoted sharply, body blurring as she flung herself backward.

RIIIIIP!

A sound like silk tearing echoed as the weeping Fallen appeared where she had been an instant earlier, its claws dripping with the residue of sorrow. A strip of her robes fluttered away, torn clean, baring scars carved deep into her pale skin.

Her guards surged forward, weapons gleaming, panic in their voices. "Prophet! Are you unharmed?"

Kanada only raised a hand, halting them. Her touch brushed lightly against the scars, dismissing them as if they were nothing more than dust. Her featureless face turned back toward the weeping Fallen, and despite her lack of eyes, there was no mistaking the sharpened edge of her focus.

"Don’t worry," she said calmly, her voice almost amused.

"The interesting part is only beginning."

The two fallen behind continued to watch. Kanada could tell without a doubt that they were enjoying the battle. Even though they had not said anything. They were enjoying it enough that they did not just break out and cause chaos, destroying the earth.

They were sickos that enjoyed the vainless effort of their prey before the slaughter.

Then again, this much was expected from such corrupted holiness.

....

Meanwhile, in Space, the battle there had already began. It was Father Black Vs Two Fallen Angels. And impressively, he was doing very well.