New York. Children squatted by the roadside, drawing on the ground with stones.
They drew houses, trees, and the sun. No one remembered those human figures anymore—the ones covered in cracks, spikes, shadows, frost patterns, and light had been scattered by the wind and buried beneath dust.
Hell, Holy Light Rift.
The last ray of light went out.
Michelle stood in the darkness, the six golden spikes behind her back slowly folding shut. She watched the rift, watched the last trace of light vanish into the air.
"It's over," she said softly.
No one answered.
In the distance, Isaac stood atop a watchtower, looking over the cooling lava. The wind carried the scent of sulfur. That lamp still shone in the darkness—not bright, but steady.
Hell Palace, Royal Hall.
On the map before Wu Heng, all ninety-nine blue points of light had gone out. The passages had closed. The human world no longer needed them.
The remaining threat was the Heavenfall Blade that Metatron was forging behind closed doors. No one knew when it would be completed, nor what it would bring.
A new balance had emerged. Heaven was sealed shut, Purgatory was sealed away, and the demons were trapped inside, never to emerge again.
Hell was under Wu Heng's control, guarded by the Demon Hunter Guild, while the human world gradually returned to normal.
He rose and walked to the window.
Outside, Hell's sky was still dark red, but lights glimmered in the distance. They came from Demon Hunter camps, roads under construction, and places where surrendered demons worked. Those lights shone in the darkness—not bright, but steady.
The wind swept through, making them sway once, but they did not go out.
War had turned into steady development.
At the edge of the Lava Plains, in a newly opened