The White Death felt his arm on the verge of collapse, but within that agonizing pain, he sensed something far greater. The principles of the Law of Time unfolded before him at their highest level—the very endpoint of time itself. It was a process deeply connected to the power of entropy, and as it surged through his soul, it granted him a profound and terrifying enlightenment.

Just as his right arm began to crumble into a stream of dust under the relentless current of time, the White Death raised his left hand. His palm remained open, rigid, and poised like a spear.

"Entropy Graviton Grip."

The moment he spoke, starlight-white plasma coiled around his fingers, condensing into a force of entropy so pure and overwhelming that time and space themselves seemed to collapse beneath it. Without hesitation, his hand shot forward.

It pierced through flesh, muscle, and bone as if they were nothing more than paper before a raging inferno.

Beelzebub felt the pain instantly—but what followed was far worse.

The Devil Paragon’s eyes widened in pure terror as he felt that hand reach into his chest... and grasp his heart.

True fear appeared in his gaze. He watched, helpless, as his own heart was torn from his body.

And it did not end there.

Along with the heart, the White Death was ripping out his soul itself.

"Im...possible..."

That single, broken word was the last thing the Paragon of Hell uttered before his heart—and the greater part of his soul—were completely extracted, held tightly within the White Death’s grasp.

Silence fell over the battlefield.

For a few fleeting seconds, everything seemed to stop. All eyes turned toward that scene—some filled with horror, others with awe and savage triumph.

The warriors of the Six Sun Alliance could not contain their reactions. Wide, radiant smiles spread across their faces as they saw the body of the Devil Paragon go limp. Their gazes rose toward the White Death, filled with reverence.

He stood battered and broken.

His body was covered in torn flesh and shattered bones, his right arm barely holding together, threatening to disintegrate with the slightest strain. Yet none of that diminished his overwhelming presence. Against all odds, he had slain a Devil Paragon—one empowered by the very essence of Heaven—entirely on his own.

The White Death allowed himself a faint smile of pride and grim satisfaction.

Carefully, he stored Beelzebub’s corpse while still gripping the beating heart. Then, without another word, he turned away from the battlefield. Crossing through the collapsing sky, he retreated toward the fractured expanse of the Eighth Layer.

Vlad did not react with anger at his departure.

On the contrary, a knowing smile formed on his face.

He understood. Alexandros had endured catastrophic injuries. To remain any longer would have risked not only his life, but the possibility of falling into a prolonged coma—one that could remove him from the war entirely. Retreating was not weakness. It was necessity.

And more importantly, he had already done enough.

The death of a Devil Paragon sent a surge of emotion through the ranks of the Six Sun Alliance. Exhaustion and pain were cast aside, replaced by a blazing sense of purpose and triumph. Their warriors pushed forward with renewed strength, breaking past their limits again and again.

For Heaven’s forces, however, the impact was catastrophic.

Even if the Gods held little respect for Beelzebub, his existence had been vital. Through him, they had anchored their influence within the Ninth Layer of Hell. His will had acted as a bridge, stabilizing their connection to the realm’s Origin Power.

Now that bridge was gone.

The Ninth Layer began to destabilize.

The Origin Power that once flowed smoothly now surged chaotically, weakening the Divine Kingdoms and disrupting the Gods’ ability to draw upon their strength.

"ARGHHHH!"

A God screamed as his weapon shattered upon clashing with a Lord’s blade. Before he could react, the opposing weapon tore through his abdomen, spilling his entrails across the battlefield.

Scenes like that unfolded everywhere.

The Gods grew weaker with every passing moment. Their Divine Kingdoms, already strained, began to crumble under the relentless impact of the falling fragments of the Eighth Layer. Massive chunks of land crashed down like meteors, further destabilizing their foundations.

Lucifer saw it all.

The Archangel of Death clenched his teeth, fury burning in his eyes.

Heaven had sacrificed enormous resources to bring this battlefield into existence. They had healed Beelzebub, empowered the Ninth Layer, and turned it into what should have been the perfect arena to crush the Six Sun Alliance.

And now, everything was unraveling.

His perception shifted toward the other Paragon-level battles—and the situation there was no better.

The Antimatter Doppelgänger, controlled by Overlord, fought Rafael with a reckless, almost suicidal intensity. It accepted grievous injuries—wounds that would be fatal to any true being—without hesitation, as long as it could inflict damage in return.

It was a terrifying strategy.

Because the Doppelgänger was expendable.

Its destruction would merely prevent Vlad from summoning it again for a few days. But Rafael’s death would be permanent.

The imbalance was undeniable.

As for Zamael...

The Archangel of Gravity still held the upper hand against Brightkin and Orkin. His mastery of gravitational forces allowed him to dominate the battlefield, pushing the two Sovereigns closer and closer to defeat.

And yet—

They did not falter.

They did not hesitate.

Brightkin’s radiant sword and Orkin’s thunderous hammer moved with unwavering resolve. Every strike they landed, every clash they endured, pushed Zamael further toward the edge.

Because beneath his power lay a critical weakness.

His wounds.

The damage inflicted by Vlad had not fully healed. Each time he pushed his power to its limits, the strain grew worse. The backlash was building—slowly but inevitably.

And if it reached its peak...

Even a being like Zamael could fall into a coma from which he might not awaken for millennia.

Heaven could not allow the loss of another Archangel, not if it wanted a chance of victory against the rising Six Sun Alliance.