The nightmare was fading.
The "Abyss of Oblivion," shrouded by Lockmadon's Chaos power for ten thousand years, was gradually breaking free of the darkness. The first place to change was the heart of that epic battle: Spiral Hill, once the throne of the Nightmare Tyrant.
The twilight that had hung like dusk vanished without anyone noticing. The twisted, strange remnants of Spiral Hill silently crumbled away. The monsters that had poured out of the nightmare were like morning dew beneath the sun: smoke rose in layers from their bodies as they gradually turned transparent, until one after another they vanished from the world. The storm over the plain died down, and the towering pillars of smoke collapsed as if a dream had just ended. Flecks of light rose from the smoke, drifting upward like souls finally set free. Mysterious, faintly glowing fragments fell from the sky and scattered across the battlefield, landing on every soldier and general.
Kalasios stared at the sight in a daze and instinctively reached out.
A glowing fragment landed in his palm. It was faintly warm, and he thought he heard someone whispering their thanks. But when he listened closely, he realized it was only his imagination.
All the supernatural forces had vanished. A shaft of light fell across his face.
The clouds rolling across the sky gradually settled and scattered in every direction. Light, absent from this world for so many years, streamed down from above and dispelled the last of the gloom. Beams pierced the heavens, pouring down like countless torrents.
"The nightmare is over..." A senior paladin removed his bloodstained helmet and tucked it under his arm. Squinting up at the radiant sky, he said, "This time, it's really over..."
The exhausted warriors could finally rest. No longer able to force themselves to