This is the lesson: never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.
Sir Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill:
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Yuno stared at him, her pink eyes wide, her disbelief palpable. "You're… you're doing this on purpose?"
"Of course," Amil replied, his eyes locked on the crumbling, grotesque form of the entity. "This isn't a battle. It's a flood. And no matter how strong it thinks it is, it can't hold back an ocean."
The entity thrashed wildly, its molten veins flickering like dying embers as its massive form began to collapse under the sheer weight of Amil's relentless clones.
Yuno felt an overwhelming swirl of emotions—fear, awe, and something unnameable.
The apocalyptic scene around her was surreal, yet Amil stood in the middle of it all with a terrifying calmness.
She turned her gaze to him, his smirk unbroken, his presence unyielding against the chaos.
For the first time, Yuno wondered if this infuriating, chaotic man might actually be capable of doing the impossible.
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The battlefield shimmered with an unearthly glow, the kind that seemed to exist between reality and something far beyond comprehension.
Amel stood at its epicenter, his slender frame outlined by the swirling void of the cosmos.
In his right hand, he held a weapon that defied mortal understanding—a sword not forged by hands but willed into existence.
Its blade shimmered with starlight, galaxies spiraling along its edges as though the universe itself bent to its will.
The weapon pulsed faintly, its rhythm matching the heartbeat of creation, a simultaneous promise of life and annihilation.
Beside him, Yuno clung to his arm, her pink hair whipping violently in the unnatural winds that howled across the battlefield.
Her pink eyes were wide, caught in the conflict of awe, disbelief, and a fragile thread of hope.
She couldn't look away from Amel, the raw power radiating from him both terrifying and mesmerizing.
The audacity of what he was about to face left her breathless, her thoughts racing.
Before them loomed the Elder God, a creature birthed from chaos and eternity.
Its form was a maddening contradiction of shapes—tendrils stretching into infinity, shifting masses of shadows, and grotesque textures that seemed to both exist and not exist at the same time.
The space around it warped, bending reality as though the very concept of existence recoiled from its presence.
Then, its gaze—or the incomprehensible approximation of one—settled on Yuno.
She staggered, her knees threatening to buckle beneath the oppressive weight of its attention.
The air grew heavier, pressing against her chest, squeezing the breath from her lungs. Fear wrapped around her like chains.
But she wasn't crushed. She wasn't consumed.
Amel was shielding her.
The endless tide of clones was gone now, their purpose fulfilled. It was just the three of them: Amel, Yuno, and the Elder God.
He released her hands, his touch leaving behind a warmth that stood in stark contrast to the bone-chilling aura of the god.
His voice was calm, steady, yet carried an unmistakable authority. "Stay back."
Yuno stumbled a step backward, her legs trembling, instinct screaming at her to flee.
But something stronger rooted her in place—her trust in Amel.
She watched as he shifted his grip on the cosmic sword, the blade glowing brighter, the energy around it rippling and distorting the air as though reality itself bowed to its presence.
The Elder God stirred, its endless, writhing form shifting, as if it now fully understood the threat before it.
Tendrils of shadow lashed out with impossible speed, tearing through the void, their edges shimmering with a darkness that devoured light itself.
The force of the attack threatened to collapse the world around them, a crushing inevitability aimed squarely at Amel.
Yuno's breath caught, her heart pounding as the void seemed to contract. The attack carried the promise of obliteration, a force that could erase not just bodies but entire realities.
But Amel didn't flinch.
In a single, fluid motion, he raised the sword. The blade cut through the air—and through reality itself.
The tendrils disintegrated the moment they came into contact with the weapon, reduced to nothingness by its immeasurable power.
The cosmic winds howled louder, as if the universe itself roared in defiance alongside Amel.
Yuno's chest tightened as she watched, her emotions a swirling tempest of fear, awe, and something else—a feeling she hadn't allowed herself to embrace in years. Hope.
Amel stood tall, unyielding against the onslaught of chaos incarnate.
The Elder God's form writhed in frustration, its endless tendrils retracting, its mass twisting and reshaping as though trying to comprehend how it was being challenged.
Yuno's hands trembled, but her heart surged.
Amel wasn't just powerful—he was resolute, an anchor in a storm of madness.
In the face of infinite destruction, he stood as a reminder that even against the unimaginable, resistance was possible.
And for the first time, Yuno truly believed.
Maybe—just maybe—he could win.
With a roar that transcended dimensions, Amel shifted into a ready stance.
The sword, shifting its form at will, now took the shape of a katana.
The stars embedded in its blade ignited, their brilliance outshining a thousand supernovas, bathing the battlefield in a light so radiant it seemed to halt time itself.
The chaos, for a fleeting moment, surrendered to the enormity of the moment, and an unnatural stillness took hold.
In one fluid, devastating motion, Amel swung the sword in a wide, deliberate arc.
Its edge sliced effortlessly through reality, the fabric of existence parting like fragile parchment beneath its power.
From the gaping rift spilled a light—primal, pure, and overwhelming. It was ancient, carrying the gravity of creation itself, and too radiant for mortal eyes to behold without trembling.
The Elder God froze mid-writhing.
Its infinite, incomprehensible form quaked violently, each tendril recoiling as though it felt pain for the first time.
The chaotic mass of shadow, tendrils, and shifting impossibility began to unravel, its essence unraveling thread by thread.
Amel's strike was not merely an attack; it was an annihilation, the weight of existence itself bearing down on the god's very being.
The god released a soundless scream, one that bypassed the ears and struck the soul—a raw, silent cry that resonated with unfathomable anguish.
Its immense form collapsed inward, folding in on itself like a dying star.
Light and shadow scattered in its wake, fragments of its broken existence drifting aimlessly into the void, dissipating like cosmic dust.
And then there was silence.
The battlefield, once vibrating with oppressive energy, now lay still.
The suffocating aura that had loomed over them vanished, replaced by the faint hum of the universe slowly knitting itself back together, mending the rift in its fabric.
Amel stood at the center of it all, his figure faintly outlined by the residual glow of the cosmic sword.
But his strength faltered; his knees buckled as the blade dimmed in his hand.
The once-blinding brilliance of the stars that adorned it now faded to faint, flickering glimmers, as the weapon returned to it's dormant state.
Yuno was at his side in an instant, her hands gripping his arm with urgency, steadying him as he sagged against her.
The exhaustion etched into his features was clear, but there was something else—a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, a deliberate lean into her grip that felt more playful than necessary.
"You..." Yuno whispered, her voice unsteady, caught between awe and disbelief. Her pink eyes shimmered as they locked onto his. "You killed it."
Amel's gaze locked onto hers, his eyes still shimmering with the remnants of starlight, the faint echo of the universe's power lingering.
A shaky laugh escaped him, barely audible but brimming with strange satisfaction. "I think… I just did."
Yuno's awe shifted into something deeper—a complex blend of admiration, wonder, and something else she couldn't quite name.
Her breath hitched, and she found herself staring at his face, which now seemed somehow beautiful. Her voice trembled, barely more than a whisper. "Amel... what are you?"
He glanced down at the sword, still crackling with the brilliance of the stars, before meeting her gaze again.
A quiet admission slipped from his lips, tinged with something almost painful. "Trust me," he said softly. "You don't want to know." {AN: Actor}
The battlefield was silent now, save for the low hum of the cosmic winds, a ghostly whisper in the air.
The remnants of destruction lay scattered around them—a world undone—but the weight of the moment felt different.
In the stillness, Yuno's pink eyes never left Amel's, her mind racing to comprehend what had just happened, what he truly was.
And for the first time in millennia, she felt something that completely caught her off guard—something light, delicate, like the softest brush of a feather against her soul.
A sense of freedom, of some kind.
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