I'm a villain within the hero's party-Chapter 13 - 11.5: Ren Restes, Hero of the Apocalypse

As the smoke cleared, all eyes locked on the blood-soaked Ren at the center of the chamber.

Ren Restes lay motionless, his staff broken beside him, his robes shredded and soaked in crimson. Ice shards jutted from the ground around him, and a pool of blood spread slowly beneath his body.

Silence gripped the battlefield.

Allen lowered his hands, chest heaving as he whispered, "It’s... over,"

Commander Darius exhaled, his grip on his great sword loosening. Romeo sheathed his sword

But then.

"STOP!" A voice rang out from the far end of the chamber. All heads turned. It was Priest Jarek, once unconscious from the earlier skirmish, now stood. His robes were torn,and his face is pale.

He shouted, "He isn’t a witch and more importantly, you’re all being deceived! That’s not Ren!"

Confusion rippled through the knights.

Allen frowned. "What are you talking about? We saw him fall."

Jarek stepped forward, his hand glowing faintly with divine light. "I felt it the moment I awoke. A powerful illusion magic but it wasn’t a magic from a witch, woven so subtly it bypassed even our senses. But not the divine sight."

He pointed toward the fallen body. "That is a clone."

The illusion flickered for a moment—just long enough for doubt to turn into truth.

They had squandered their stamina and aura battlingagainst a mere clone. The truth shattered the morale of the elite knights. Weary and starved, they could no longer raise their swords. The brutal clash with the barbarian, the grueling duel against Sophius, and the relentless pursuit of Ren Restes’s illusion had drained them.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

From the black oak char, a slow clap echoed through the chamber. It was the real Ren Restes, legs crossed, staff resting beside him.

Unharmed, calm and watching.

His eyes sparkled with quiet amusement. "An eye that sees the truth. Your divine power is something else."

Before they could comprehend what was unfolding, a massive crimson magic circle had already formed in the air.

Commander Darius turned to Allen and screamed in desperation, "What are you doing Allen? Dispel that magicimmediately."

Allen’s face twisted with fear and frustration. "I tried, but I can’t. That spell is eighth-core magic."

"Tch," Darius thought. Then he shouted, "Everyone, get out of the way—just survive!"

Still seated, Ren Restes calmly waved his staff and spoke, "Eighth-class spell: Necrotic Tempest."

BOOM! CRACK! ZZZZZT!

Black lightning burst from the magic circle, crashing down in wild, furious strikes. Each bolt hit with a loud explosion, shaking the stone floor. The air crackled with energy as the storm grew stronger—bolts falling faster, harder, and more wildly.

Knights screamed as they were thrown back, their armor burned, and shields broken. The dark magic clung to them, not just burning their skin but draining their life, eating away at their flesh.

The battlefield turned into a storm of death and chaos. The ground shook under the weight of the spell.

Allen tried to cast a dispel again—but the storm was too big, too strong, and too complex. His dispel faded, powerless against the overwhelming force.

Darius raised his great sword to shield a group of knights, his aura flaring to absorb the impact. Romeo darted through the chaos, trying to regroup the scattered formation.

But Ren stood untouched at the center of the chaos, his cloak whipping in the storm. His eyes narrowed as he spoke coldly, "You ducal lapdogs should’ve left us alone. You shattered our peace and brought destruction. Now, pay the price—for invading my magic tower and ruining my privacy. You poke the nose of a sleeping lion."

Ren shifted his gaze as he noticed an arrow firing from the chamber ceiling, concealed in shadow.

CRACK-TINK!

He raised two layers of magic barrier to block the attack, but the arrow shattered through them like glass. One struck his hand, another pierced his shoulder.

From above, a hooded figure in red leather leapt down, his aura glowing in red. A bow and quiver rested on his back.

He muttered, "Sagittarius Art, First Form: Piercing Arrow."

A thought crossed his mind, "His instincts are sharp—the same as that kid who looked at me with hostility."

The knights erupted in cheers, shouting in unison, "Galt Redcap, the duke’s secret weapon!"

Darius wasted no time from Galt’s opening and blizted forward.

A blood slipped from Ren’s mouth. He whispered, "Darius Foxsen II..."

Darius narrowed his eyes, thinking, "I used every drop of my stamina and aura to land my first form: Line Drive. He saw me and Galt coming... but didn’t move."

Out loud, he said, "You drained your mana. This is the end, Ren Restes."

Ren’s body trembled. His mana was gone. He could no longer move. He thought, "So, this is how it ends...All the power, all the pride... and yet, I never said the one thing that mattered most. My son and disciple... I watched you grow, stumble, rise again. I saw your strength, your potential and your genius intellect. Given his personality, he will seek revenge against the Southern Ducal."

With a weak smile, Ren reached up and touched Darius’s jaw with his bloodied hand. He wisphered, If you survive this chaos, my son will come for you... and your men."

Darius smirked. "What can a fourteen-year-old brat do?"

Ren gasped, his voice barely a breath. "My brat is the South’s finest assassin."

That’s when Darius’s eyes widened—he had lost track of Sarah’s aura.

His face twisted in anger. "How?" he growled.

Ren closed his eyes, a faint smirk on his lips. "You’ll never know... because I’m taking you with me."

With his final breath, he whispered, "Black Hole."

Ren Restes was dead.

Instinct took over. Darius yanked his great sword from Ren’s stomach and leapt back.

Above them, the air twisted violently.

A small, pitch-black sphere appeared—perfectly still at its center, surrounded by a glowing ring of swirling gas and dust. Its gravity bent the light around it, forming a distorted, shining halo like a cosmic eye.

Then it began to pull.

First, Ren’s shadow was dragged in. Then his lifeforce.

The sphere grew larger.

The knights stood frozen, caught between awe and terror.

Allen’s voice shook. "There’s no doubt... that’s Ninth Class Magic."

Romeo muttered, "I’m no mage... but Ren Restes was only an eighth-core mage. He shouldn’t be able to cast ninth-class magic. And I’ve never even heard of a spell like that."

Allen nodded grimly. "According to the ancient spellbooks, no one has ever successfully cast a ninth-class spell. Cosmic magic is beyond what humans are supposed to handle. That’s what makes it ninth class."

He added, "To think that self-sacrifice, amplified by a massive runestone, could break the limits of human magic... it’s madness."

Allen narrowed his eyes. Frost gathered at his fingertips, forming a long, crystalline spear.

"Frosted Lance!" he shouted.

Beside him, Priest Jareth raised his holy rosary, golden light swirling around him as his divine energy flared.

At the same moment, Commander Darius stepped forward. Gripping his greatsword with both hands, he poured in the last of his strength.

"Storm Swordstyle, Third Form: King’s Wrath!"

The three attacks launched together.

Allen’s icy spear spiraled upward in a trail of mist. Jareth’s radiant beam cut through the air like a blade of light. Darius’s strike was thunderous—a wave of pure, royal fury cleaving the sky.

But the moment they touched the black hole—gone.

The sword’s energy, the light, the magic—all vanished. Swallowed whole. No sound. No resistance. Just silence.

The void consumed everything, as if it had never been there at all.

The ground cracked beneath their feet as the black hole’s pull grew stronger, dragging everything toward its endless void. The sky above twisted, light bending unnaturally, and the battlefield was a storm of dust, debris, and despair.

One by one, the knights began to lose their footing. The knights, bleeding and barely standing, clutched the shoulder of the one beside them. They formed a chain, gripping each other tightly. Commander Darius and Marshal Romeo tried to save the unconscious.

Before they knew it, the black hole vanished. It had consumed everything as if the Magic Tower has never existed: the battlefield’s light, the cries of the fallen, and finally, the last trace of Ren Restes’s life force. With his death, the spell collapsed.

The terrifying pull was gone.

Silence fell over the battlefield.

The surviving knights, bruised and broken, slowly opened their eyes. Some were still clinging to each other, unsure if they were alive or dreaming. Others stared at the empty sky, trying to understand what had just happened.

It was over.

They had won.

They lay scattered across the battlefield—wounded, exhausted, and silent.

No cheers. No cries of victory.