Level Up Legacy

From their place high above the battlefield, the five Empyreans seemed more like forces of nature than people. One pounded the golden dome with pure force, each blow shaking the air. Another commanded the elements, flinging ice, fire, and earth at Arthur's strange shield.

A third Empyrean, hidden in a swirl of leaves and flowers, twisted life itself into a weapon. Thorny vines ripped at the dome, trying to strangle it. Roots wormed under the surface, trying to break it from below.

The fourth Empyrean raged with fury. He summoned monstrous creatures, twisted versions of animals from nightmares, to tear and claw at the golden barrier. Their roars were a terrifying chorus against the rumble of the storm.

The last Empyrean, the weakest, was a magic circle maker. He drew glowing symbols in the air, and these circles opened up rifts in space. Weak, ghostly creatures stumbled out of the rifts, but they were no match for the golden dome. They clawed and bit uselessly before fading away.

But for all their power and anger, the shield held. Arthur's defiance, his strange, impossible existence, stood strong against their combined might. Time seemed to stretch out — minutes or hours, it didn't matter. The battle raged, a clash of wills between the outsiders and this defiant man.

Finally, with angry roars, the assault ended. The golden dome flickered...and was gone, as if it had never existed. In its place, a field of flowers bloomed. The vibrant colors looked so out of place amidst the ruins, a defiant splash of life created from Arthur's golden power.

A single corpse lay in the flowers. Beside it stood Arthur Netherborne. Black lightning crackled around him, the echo of his power, of his unyielding will. He didn't look at the dead Empyrean. His gaze was fixed on the heavens, on the five figures hovering above. Even from this distance, their rage was a dark storm cloud of anger and ancient fury.

Lilo, his return like a clap of thunder echoing Arthur's own defiance, landed beside his master. The dragon glowed with power, his scales bright with leftover golden magic. It was a powerful display, less a challenge and more a statement of absolute loyalty.

The Empyrean of Thiria, his voice booming down from the sky, broke the silence. "Outsider! How dare you kill one of our own? You will pay for this!"

Arthur slowly lifted his gaze to meet the five figures. He didn't look afraid, just coldly dismissive. "Ants don't get explanations," his voice rumbled, loud as the fall of empires, the defiance of gods. "If any of you want to join your fallen ally, come down."

Arthur's face hardened. A flicker of regret touched his eyes, then was gone, replaced by a hard resolve. This wasn't a conversation, or a plea. This was a clash of two completely different ideas. Arthur was defiance itself, and the Empyreans, even with all their power, were terrified of the future he was trying to build.

Arthur descended, no longer the distant judge but a man amidst his foes. His voice, though calmer, held no less weight. "The end is coming," he declared, a chilling statement of fact, not prophecy. "Even without my defiance, this world is fated to die a slow death. It's not the grand, glorious war you fear, but a silent, relentless decay."

He turned towards the Empyrean of Janea, the embodiment of life's vibrancy. "Can your forests survive the touch of Nameless?" he questioned, "The chill of Famine, where nothing grows, nothing lives? Can your precious 'balance' withstand the erosion of the Nothing that lurks at the edge of kingdoms?"

A ripple of unease passed through the Empyreans. They were powerful, ancient, but the very concepts Arthur invoked were anathema to their existence.

"This world withers," Arthur continued, his voice laced with growing urgency, "not in a cataclysm, but a gasp. You cling to your petty empires, blind to the rising tide of darkness. The Nameless, the whispers of oblivion... they will consume what is left, while your squabbles rage."

His gaze swept over them, a challenge etched on his weathered features. "I am a threat, yes. But I am also the only hope this world has left. My golden mana, born from realms beyond your comprehension, is anathema to the Nothing. I offer not peace, but survival… if you have the wisdom to see the true threat, instead of clinging to your dying illusions of control."

A dismissive murmur rose from the Empyreans. Survival, the basest instinct, outweighed Arthur's grim pronouncements of encroaching doom. Deals had been struck before. Surely, the powers in Devaheim would see reason when faced with the Nothing.

Arthur's laugh cut through their desperate whispers, an echo of harsh, bitter truths. "Strike a deal?" he spat, the concept so absurd it ignited a flicker of genuine rage in his eyes. "You think those…things residing in Devaheim are driven by reason? By a sense of fairness?"

His voice rose, echoing with the frustration of a man battling not just ignorance, but willful blindness. "They created the Nameless!" He declared. "Their hunger for worlds, for power beyond measure, twisted existence itself! It is their unquenchable thirst that birthed that creeping oblivion. They seek not balance, but an endless feast where you, your petty kingdoms…are devoured along with the rest!"

As if his words fell on deaf ears, there was no response. No gasps of shock or widened eyes, and it was then that Arthur realized these empyreans already had an inkling of the truth. He scoffed and turned away, preparing to leave.

"I wasted my breath on cowards. Meet me in Yalenia with your answer, where we will have our final fight. Either the seven families or myself will cease to exist after that."