Northern Ireland | Belfast | Kragalta Family Villa
In the dining room of the villa, evening light hangs heavy over the long wooden table. Embroidered velvet curtains swallow the light, while soft rustling comes from the fireplace. The air is filled with the spicy scent of cigar smoke, worn leather - and the dry aura of old magical parchments that smell like yellowed paper.
At the head of the table sits James Kragalta. His tailored suit fits flawlessly. Beside a half-filled glass of brandy lies his fedora - carefully placed, almost reverently. A smile plays on his lips, balancing somewhere between arrogant self-assurance and charming power.
Next to him sits Jesse, his daughter.
Her violet hair falls gently over her shoulder, her reddish-brown eyes shimmer in the twilight. Around her wrist is an etched magic circle band, with the name Dunmeer burned into it. Her deep-dark robe is crested with silver symbols of protection and attack - stylish and functional at the same time.
James casts her a brief glance.
"How is your study going, Jesse?" he asks calmly.
"Good, Father." Jesse's tone is formal. A faint smile lies on her lips. "The arts of Dunmeer are astonishingly extensive."
At the other end of the table sits Janette, Kragalta's wife.
Her blonde hair is tied in a strict bun, her face seems carved out of marble - cool, elegant. A simple black eyepatch covers her left eye; the right sparkles in deep brown. Her clothes don't fit into the picture: an oversized sweater, sweatpants - cozy, almost defiantly against the aristocratic setting.
She looks at James and speaks softly, with a trace of concern.
"Are you sure that you want to compete in this trail, darling?"
"If we want to finally anchor our bloodline in the Mage Tower… ", answers James with casual self-understanding, "... i need the Avatar Ritual. And Behemoth… will accompany me."
Jesse looks up. Her eyes narrow slightly - there's something unspoken, a hint of fear.
"A pact with Behemoth binds your life to his", she says. "His essence fuses with yours. If he dies… then you die too, Father."
James leans back. His smile remains untouched.
"I am an Archmage, Jesse. No ritual has ever brought me down."
Janette takes a step closer, her voice becomes more insistent.
"James… this is a duel to the death. Only one of you can survive. We don't know who your opponent will be. Maybe it's someone who can actually oppose your magic."
James looks at her - calm, almost poetic, as if already writing his own inheritance.
"If I fall, then it's my price to pay. I don't just want to summon him - I want to defeat him. Because if I cannot kill him, I don't deserve him. Besides that: no force will stop me. After all, I'm not weak."
Jesse lowers her gaze. Her voice is barely more than a whisper.
"Please…take care of you."
Deeper within the Estate - Ritual Chamber
Soft jazz music hums from the record player; the vinyl crackles unnaturally compared to the crackling magic in the ritual chamber.
The walls are lined with ancient ban signs. Runes in shimmering blue and violet pulse in rhythm with the magic, which hangs in the air like electric smoke. In the middle of the room, a complex multi-layered circle twines across the floor. At its center glows the Seal of Behemoth - an ominous monogram of fangs, horns, and endless chains.
Frankincense hangs heavy in the air, its swathe dulling the senses. The jazz sounds far away, almost surreal - a final sound from the world that James Kragalta is about to leave behind.
He stands at the center of the glowing ritual circle. Relaxed, almost casual - yet with an elegance only possessed by those who truly know what they're doing. Beside him: Jesse with a steady gaze, resolute and silent. And Janette - motionless like a statue, yet within her silence lies strength.
James raises his voice, dignified.
"Behemoth, my companion... soon you become my Avatar, and we enter the Mage Tower. May our family receive the glory it deserves."
He extends his hand, calling out with calm clarity.
"Dunmeer. Knira."
A sharp hiss slices through the air. A black blade materializes before him - born out of pure shadow. Without hesitation, James draws the edge across his palm. Thick, black-red blood drips heavily onto the center of the seal.
His eyes begin to glow - deep, bottomless black.
The circle beneath him flares up. Light in endless motion, magic, that pulses like a second heart. James closes his eyes - and sinks into a trance-like state.
Jesse lowers her head. Her voice is barely more than a trembling whisper.
"Father… come forth victorious."
Janette nods slowly, with a dignified calm, that feels like a blessing.
"The Mage Tower awaits you. Triumphantly."
Behemoth's Domain – The In-Between
A dark, endless forest. The trees bear black leaves, their tips stretching like claws towards the sky. No sound, no wind - only the sensation of ancient, lurking power. The world feels lifeless, frozen in a moment of eternal twilight.
At the center of the forest stands a statue. Colossal. Carved from black stone, it shows a creature with horns, claws, and a bowed head. The mass seems to breathe, though motionless - as if the stone beast could awaken at any moment.
Kragalta stands before it. His breath steams in the cold, unreal air. His lips are bluey, his skin tensing from the cost the interworld already demands.
He speaks roughly, with a trace of reverence.
"Will you become my Avatar… my companion?"
For a moment, silence hangs over everything. Then, as if from the marrow of the world itself, a deep, primeval roar rings out. The ground trembles, the shadows flicker.
The statue shatters. A thousand black shards shoot in all directions.
From the heart of the darkness rises Behemoth.
A walking nightmare - constantly in motion, constantly in change. Claws, teeth, armor, wings, shadows - an endless play of forms. No body stays the same, no shape repeats itself. And yet, its presence is overwhelming.
Interworld | Domain of the Behemoth
A faint smile flickers across Kragalta's lips. He looks relieved.
"Thank you, Behemoth."
He steps beside the beast.
But then… something is wrong.
A noise that does not come from shadows, but from light and color:
Rose petals drift across the dark ground. A high-pitched dragon's roar tears through the eternal night like a shrill lightning.
Kragalta spins around sharply. His gaze scans the border of the domain, every fiber of his body tense.
"Behemoth… do you think we've grown?"
The Behemoth - humanoid for a moment, then massive bestially again - nods slowly.
Then he starts moving. Determined. Directly toward the direction of the scream.
Kragalta pulls his jacket tighter. The black blade appears again in his hand - bloody, glowing.
He raises his voice, speaking into the storm of the interworld.
"Only one can live, challenger."
And he follows.
Present | Rose Temple
The scream of impact slices through the air.
Kragalta's sword crashes down like a guillotined comet - full of force, full of desperation.
But Lucil presses against it. The rose blade clashes with the shadow blade.
A collision of light and steel.
Dust swirls up as the impact shakes the field - but Lucil smiles.
Not mockingly. Not arrogantly. Just calm, enjoying.
With fluid movement, he deflects the strike to the side. The blade slides effortlessly past him - and in the same motion, he puts his right foot forward.
Thud.
A kick lands straight into Kragalta's stomach.
Kragalta gets pushed back to his starting position. He stands with drawn sword, his gaze is sharp. Mana streams through his body like liquid fire.
"I'll show you what my magic is capable of. Survive... I won't anyway."
Before him Lucil walks forward slowly.
In his right hand: a rose blade. Raw. Forged from pure aura, pulsing with every step.
The air around him shimmers. Every move of his weapon sweeps like heat through the field - red mist spreads out like blood in water. And where Lucil walks, roses follow.
"You have earned my respect", he says with a firm voice.
"That's exactly why… you get a glimpse of my blade. For the first time, I see a human - not a possessed one. But someone with emotion, with resolve."
Another step.
The roses trail behind him like shadows.
In Kragalta's eyes, Lucil no longer looks like a mere opponent. He looks like an executioner. Like a warrior, who has come to pay him the last honor.
"A warrior, then…" Kragalta murmurs with a rough voice. "I don't see that every day. And then someone who moves through magic."
He sets himself in motion.
His own haze - black, ethereal, heavy - starts to blend with Lucil's red mist. Two forces, twining around one another like rival gods.
Lucil speaks with a voice that sounds both weary and relentless.
"I wish I were still a warrior. But you can see it for yourself… Fairness doesn't exist. Who tries to kill me, dies - even if their intention is pure. In the end, only two things matter: life or death."
Kragalta nods. He knows what comes now.
His next word can prelude everything - or end everything.
"Dunmeer - Apocalytic - Utias!"
A rift tears through the air as his sword begins to glow.
It grows, reshaping itself from a single charged breath into a gigantic two-handed blade.
The handle is made of pale bone. The blade is split by pulsating runes, each vibrating with raw energy.
Blood spills from Kragalta's mouth. He spits on the ground - and still in midair, rose petals form from the liquid.
Then he leaps. Spins. Whirls.
With every swing of his sword, more power gathers. The air itself seems to tremble - as if the world is ducking for what is about to follow.
Then: the impact.
The blade strikes Lucil with full force.
The earth quakes. The surrounding is torn apart. Shockwaves erupt from the center, splitting the ground, turning the rose carpet into withered dust.
But Lucil still stands.
Unmoving. Calm.
The sword struck him - mighty, unrelenting. And yet…
Only the ground beneath his feet remains untouched.
"As long as one rose lives… nothing happens to me."
Lucil's voice is cunning.
Kragalta looks up. And he sees it.
The corpse of his Behemoth. It is taken as a reservoir for the damage. That bleeds infinitely and turns the blood into roses.
"Fairness…?"
Lucil's tone is cold.
Kragalta lets out a scream. Pushing more and more against Lucil.
That's enough for Lucil. He counters and with the back of the sword an overpowering strike is delivered to Kragalta's stomach. Kragalta cuts something away.
"You want it all? Then listen closely to me. From the moment, I found out that you work with mist, I knew your weakness!"
His eyes glow - a threatening red.
Rose vines erupt from the surroundings, just beside the mist.
"Rose Blossom - Take Eight - Eternal Bloom!"
The roses bloom open.
And at the moment they bloom - they absorb the water in the surroundings.
Kragalta's mist loses immense mass. The mist from Lucil stays the same.
"You wonder why your domain vanished? It doesn't take an army. Not violence.
Just… an endlessly blooming rose."
Kragalta gasps. He looks into Lucil's face.
He sees no hesitation. No hatred - only clarity.
And one cruel truth: Behind that quiet voice lies a brutality colder than any blade.
And a mind that has already disarmed him.
Kragalta charges aimlessly to Lucil, without any possibility to see how he should counter Lucil.
"A–Arghh…!"
Lucil, the aura of an executioner figure intensifies around him, uses the impact and speaks.
"Red World - Rosen Death - World Ending Burst."
Lucil's voice is threatening and calm at the same time.
A glow runs through his sword. In a single, shattering moment bursts a gigantic dragon wing from his right shoulder, imbued with pulsing veins of flame.
A dragon's cry splits the sky. An ancient voice that doesn't roar, but whispers: Annihilation.
Lucil's gaze lowers onto Kragalta. Deep. Steady. Unyielding.
Kragalta's greatsword begins to fracture. The runes flicker - as if breaking from sheer awe.
Around them roses begin to manifest. Hundreds. Then thousands.
They sprout from the ground, from the air, from the blood in the atmosphere. Slowly. Unstoppably.
Time seems to hold its breath.
"Expand."
Lucil's voice is barely more than a breeze.
Silence.
The world loses its colors. Turns to black and white.
No sound. No wind. No light. Only silence. Then - the collapse.
An explosion of apocalyptic magnitude tears through everything.
It shatters the reality itself.
A storm of light, pressure, and rose petals races up into the upper atmosphere. The world is bathed in a glowing red sea of flames.
Kragalta gets launched. His body spins through the storm, his greatsword shatters, and shards tear through his skin.
He coughs - Blood.
But what leaves his mouth are rose petals. Tumbling, he tries to rise.
One eye opens, flickering. His vision is blurry. He sees roses. Countless.
But something is wrong.
He looks at the ground - and sees the sky.
He raises his head - and sees the rose sea above him.
"What...?! What the hell is this?!"
Lucil's voice echoes from everywhere. A sound that comes from no source - boundless, omnipresent.
"Red World - Aftermath."
The words vibrate through space and reality.
Kragalta screams. Not in pain. But in pure horror.
"Dunmeer! Selia! Schiltveria!!!"
Mana protects his body. He remains stuck in the atmosphere, despite all logic. Another dragon roar thunders in his head - like a curse tearing through his brain.
And then… the roses begin to glow.
He sees the world turned inside out. As space and time themselves begin to bloom.
"This is a joke... this can't... be real! What are you… what ARE you!?"
His voice trembles. Madness creeps into every word.
But the only answer is the blooming of the roses.
Then, they lose their petals. The blossoms dissolve, float in the air. They glow. Grow hotter. Flash.
A nightmare begins. Pain.
Indescribable. Like fire in the nerves. Like glass under the skin.
"No… it has to be… an illusion… a damned illusion!"
Kragalta tears all the remaining mana into his last eye. He channels it, concentrates it - to break the space.
And then - the rupture.
Space tears apart. He falls, stumbling only a few meters - and crashes out of the illusion.
He lives. But his left arm is gone.
His left eye has vanished - and in the hollow of his eye socket sits a single, blooming rose.
In his right hand, he holds the damaged greatsword. The blade is chipped, weakened.
Lucil stands there. Motionless. The rose blade in his hand.
A smile on his lips.
"You freed yourself."
Lucil's voice is calm. Almost admiring.
Kragalta bleeds. Gasps.
"What… are you…? An illusion can't… can't do… such…"
He coughs. Rose petals.
"Illusions know no limits", Lucil says.
"As long as the reality exists in your mind, the damage gets… physical."
Lucil's smile deepens.
Kragalta feels it. Not just defeat. Not just pain. Loss.
The moment when a man realizes - he has fought something that knows no rules.
He staggers. Gasping, flayed. His gaze flickers. Between reality and madness, life and decay.
"What was real!? What was illusion!?"
He screams, the despair bursting out of him.
He throws all remaining mana into his eye, trying to force clarity. Runes light up on his retina. Flame-like veins race through his temples.
"If this is just an illusion… then your physical - can be broken!"
He screams. Charges forward.
One last attack. One last proof of his will.
But the world stops. For a breath moment, nothing moves.
Only a glow. Lucil's sword. Menacing. Eternal.
It burns red - like a bloody eternity.
"Blood World - World Ending Slash."
Lucil's voice is quiet. Like a verdict.
Then - the break. Lucil's blade flickers. Barely visible.
But the effect is absolute.
Kragalta's greatsword - cut like butter.
His right arm - falling into blossoms.
A single cut. A single moment. And the battlefield explodes.
A half-circle of absolute annihilation divides the world.
On one side: blooming roses.
On the other: dead earth. Black ash, nothing. Not even dust remains.
The shockwave tears the horizon. The sky itself seems to shimmer from the impact - as if the strike has split the very firmament.
Kragalta stands. Both of his arms - gone.
From the stumps of his shoulders, eternal rose petals drift outward.
Blood no longer flows - only petals.
His mouth opens - a surge of rose petals.
"The roses… they're your power… If I hadn't… been so brainless… running into them… should have withered them first… Then you'd have to… tap from other resources… Your blood… right…?"
His voice is fragile, dying, but his gaze stays clear. A bitter smile flashes across his lips.
Kragalta falls to his knees.
He knows he's dying. But his mind… still functions. Just long enough to recognize the cost.
The price the trial demands.
"Say I'm right. You owe me that - as a mage."
Lucil stands still for a moment.
Then he speaks, without hesitation.
"You're smart. Therefore…"
"Rose Expand."
A single rose petal glides through the air - it lands gently at Kragalta's right stump.
There, a thorny plant-arm grows, a final act of honor. Not of flesh, but of magic - a gift. An ending.
"Last words", Lucil says quietly.
He walks on, slowly, silently, passing Kragalta.
Kragalta turns after him, watching the back of the man who defeated him - and honors him. He sees the rose tattoo with its wings.
His gaze softens. He takes his fedora, places it to his chest, and bows slightly - in honor.
I hope… I stay in your memory", Kragalta says honestly.
Lucil's voice is soft as he walks.
"Your first name."
"Kragalta James. Shadow Mage."
"I'll remember it. I promise."
Lucil pauses briefly and raises his sword to the sky.
Calmly, dignified, he speaks.
"LuSilfer – End of Roses."
The blade dissolves into rose petals. A dragon's roar echoes across the Rose Temple.
And in the heavens, it appears: LuSilfer.
Dragon wings, mighty and woven from roses, spread across the sky - like a living painting of light and death.
Around the dragon dancing countless violet roses, wrapped in a pulsing aura, as if each blossom is an ancient judgment.
He hovers there - not as a savior, not as a demon - but as a final judge, who did come to silence the world.
Kragalta looks up - no anger, only respect.
"It was an honor, Lucil."
A single wingbeat. The world quakes.
The dragon inhales - a violet gleam in its maw.
Then: a violet stream of fire. Silent. Beautiful. Endless.
Kragalta looks around. Violet roses bloom around him.
The sky becomes petals, the light to silence.
And Kragalta James - departs with dignity.
North Ireland | Belfast
The room is silent - far too silent.
Janette and Jesse stand frozen, as the body of Kragalta James slowly tips to the side.
At first heavy, then feather-light, as if death itself is gently laying him down.
But instead of crashing to the ground, his body begins to change.
Flesh turns into rose petals, veins into delicate veins of light, and every movement, every final tremble becomes part of a surreal, relentless farewell.
Jesse sees it first. She screams, throws herself onto him, but what she holds in her arms falls apart - not into dust, but into blossoms.
"No! No! This can't be!"
Her voice tears itself apart.
"James…"
Janette speaks softly. Composed. Shattered.
The final trace of Kragalta melts into flowers. Violet, warm rose petals drift over Jesse's hands and cheeks, as if he is taking her heart with him.
"He has fallen", Janette says, gentle, but full of mourning.
"In a battle against a mage… just as he wished. Just as he knew. Still… why in this trial?"
Jesse's tears flow silently, but in her eyes burns a fire - one born of loss.
"What good is all of this… if he just disappears…?"
"That is the price, Jesse", Janette whispers.
"The price to become stronger as a mage. And he did pay for it."
She places her hand on Jesse's shoulder. And when Jesse looks up, she sees in the gaze of her mother the same emptiness, the same silent anguish.
Tokyo | Shinjuku – Red Dragon Clan
Lucil slowly opens his eyes. The steam of the bath hovers like mist through the air. He sits up.
His wounds are healed. His tattoo has grown wings.
Softly, reverently, he whispers.
"LuSilfer… I have you again. Thank you."
Lucil rises from the bath, deeply breathes in and out. He walks to his clothes.
Slowly he dresses - black cloth trousers, polished shoes, a deep-black jacket with the label "Uria High School".
His movements are calm and composed after the trial. Around his neck hang two necklaces - the dragon necklace and the rose necklace.
As they glow, a golden echo pulses inside - a living sign of a pact.
"We have our Avatars back, Silver."
A smile lies on his face. Not a triumphant one, but a quiet, honest acknowledgment of what was - and what ended.
With solemn respect, he says.
"James Kragalta… Shadow Mage."
Rose Temple
At the entrance of the Rose Temple, where once only wind and blossoms dwelled, it still stands - Lucil's statue.
But something has changed.
The statue of Kragalta is gone - not shattered, not toppled - but relocated.
Deeper hidden within in the Hall of the Broken, where only a few monuments are ever given place, it now stands:
Kragalta James.
Slightly bowed. Armless. His fedora held reverently to his chest.
A statue that lets no hero cry out - but a mage who fell in the trial.