In less than ten minutes, The Reaper had defeated five hundred warriors. Killed maybe five of them—accidents where he'd misjudged the lethality of an adapted technique. Injured hundreds more. And looked barely winded.

He stood in the outer district of the Fallen Spires, surrounded by bodies of the wounded and unconscious, and sighed.

"This is exactly what I was afraid of," he said to no one in particular. "You guys are trying. I can see that. You've got good coordination, creative tactics, some interesting magic variations. But it's not enough. Nothing's ever enough."

He looked up at the central spire, where he could sense the stronger presences waiting. "So how about this—whoever's in charge, send me your best. Your commanders, your elite, your whatever-you-call-your-strongest-fighters. Let's skip the cannon fodder and get to the people who might actually make me try."

High in the central spire, Seraphine's council watched the battle through scrying crystals, their faces grim.

"He's not even trying," Veronica said, her voice tight with frustrated rage. "He's treating this like a training exercise. Like we're not even worth his full attention."

"Five hundred of our best warriors," Lilith added, her four wings bristling with fury. "Five hundred, and we haven't touched him. Haven't even made him block seriously. He's just dodging and countering like we're children."

The third council member a sorceress named Morgana (not to be confused with Loki's subordinate) watched with calculating eyes. "He's adapted to sixteen different magic schools so far. Fire, ice, lightning, earth, wind, water, holy, dark, corruption, disintegration, binding, enhancement, transformation, summoning, spatial manipulation, and time dilation. He encountered each one once, adapted immediately, and now uses them better than our specialists who've trained in them for decades."

"The reports were accurate," the fourth council member said—an ancient vampire named Carmilla who'd served Seraphine for two centuries. "Absolute Adaptation. Anything we throw at him just becomes his weapon. We can't win through conventional combat."

"Then we fight unconventionally," Lilith said, standing. Her four wings spread wide, and power radiated from her like heat from a forge. "The plan was always to exhaust his attention and create an opening. We've gathered data. Now it's time for the real fight."

"All of us?" Veronica asked.

"All of us," Lilith confirmed. "Together. Full power. No holding back. We hit him with everything simultaneously—enough different abilities and attack patterns that maybe, just maybe, we overwhelm even his adaptation speed."

"It won't work," Morgana said quietly. "We all know it won't work. But we have to try anyway, don't we?"

"Yes," Seraphine said, entering the war room. She'd been coordinating the wounded evacuation, but now she was here, ready to join her council in what would likely be their final battle. "We try. Because that's what we do. We fight for our home until there's nothing left to fight with."

The five of them—Seraphine, Veronica, Lilith, Morgana, and Carmilla—stood together. Five powerful demons, each one capable of destroying armies alone. United, they represented the strongest force the Fallen Spires could muster.

"Then let's make an entrance," Veronica said with grim determination. "If we're going to die, at least let's die with style."

They moved to the balcony of the central spire, looking down at where The Reaper stood in the outer district, casually examining a broken building like a tourist appreciating architecture.

"Now," Seraphine commanded.

All five of them launched simultaneously, but not toward The Reaper—toward the sky. They flew straight up, their combined auras blazing with enough power to be visible across the entire city.

Lilith's four wings became wreathed in crimson flames—not normal fire, but soul-fire that burned at spiritual levels. She was War incarnate, and her very presence demanded attention.

Veronica's six wings split into twelve separate constructs of pure magical energy, each one a different color representing a different school of magic she'd mastered. She was Knowledge made deadly, and reality bent around her will.

Morgana's body became semi-translucent, existing partially in multiple dimensions simultaneously. She was Mystery given form, and trying to predict her was futile.

Carmilla's vampire nature fully manifested—not the beautiful facade, but the ancient predator underneath. Her skin became pale as death, her eyes blazed crimson, and an aura of blood magic surrounded her like a cloak. She was Hunger eternal, and she would feast or fall.

And Seraphine…

Seraphine's corrupted angel nature fully emerged. Her wings expanded to three times their normal size, each feather becoming a blade of corrupted light. Her mismatched eyes glowed with power accumulated over three centuries. Her aura was Corruption perfected—not evil, but transformation, the promise of becoming something beyond mortal limits.

Together, they hung in the sky above the Fallen Spires like five falling stars, their combined presence so overwhelming that even The Reaper looked up with actual interest.

"Oh," he said, his bored expression finally shifting to something like excitement. "Now that's more like it."

The five demon lord commanders descended together, landing in perfect formation around The Reaper—each one at a cardinal point, surrounding him in a pentagram of power.

Their landing cracked the stone beneath them, sending shockwaves rippling outward. Buildings shook. The air itself screamed from containing so much concentrated force.

Below, in the defensive positions, the surviving warriors of the first and second waves watched their commanders arrive, and despite their injuries, despite their fear, they felt something else.

Hope.

If anyone could stop The Reaper, it would be these five. The strongest fighters the Fallen Spires had ever produced, working together with perfect coordination.

Lilith's voice rang out, magically amplified, addressing the battered warriors. "Everyone still standing—fall back! Return to the safe zones! Let us handle The Reaper now!"

"But Commander—" one of the warriors started to protest. It was Serra, captain of the Valkyrie Squad—Seraphine's elite aerial unit. She and her remaining squad members were bloodied but still standing, still wanting to fight.

"That's an order, Serra," Lilith said, more gently this time. "You and your Valkyries have done your duty. You've gathered intelligence, tested his capabilities, bought us the information we needed. Now let us use it."

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