The battlefield was a chaotic maelstrom of light and darkness, a cacophony of clashing steel, demonic roars, and desperate cries. Elian, wielding the five divine weapons, fought with a desperate ferocity, a whirlwind of elemental power cutting a swathe through the demonic horde. But for every demon he vanquished, two more seemed to take its place. The villagers, though fighting with courage and determination, were being overwhelmed, their defenses crumbling under the relentless demonic assault.

  Skilvyo watched the carnage with a heavy heart, the Author's words echoing in his mind: Time to shine, little protagonist. Let's show these demons what you're made of. He knew he couldn't stay hidden any longer. The lives of his adoptive parents, his friends, his people, were at stake.

  He took a deep breath, focusing his will, channeling the power of the weapon god that coursed through his veins. It was a power that felt both ancient and new, a force of creation and destruction, of balance and chaos. He felt it thrumming within him, waiting to be unleashed.

  He took a step forward, then another, his small body moving with a speed and grace that defied his age. A golden aura began to emanate from him, a radiant light that pushed back the encroaching darkness. The demons recoiled, their malevolent eyes widening in surprise and fear.

  "What… what is that?" one of them hissed, its guttural voice filled with a primal dread.

  "It's… it's the light of the weapon god!" another snarled, its grotesque form trembling. "We must destroy it!"

  The demons lunged at Skilvyo, their claws and fangs dripping with venom, their eyes burning with hatred. But before they could reach him, a wave of pure energy erupted from his body, a shockwave of power that sent them flying, their forms disintegrating into wisps of shadow.

  The villagers, witnessing this incredible display of power, stopped fighting for a moment, their faces filled with awe and disbelief. They had never seen anything like it. This was not the power of the five war gods; this was something… more.

  Harlan and Elara, fighting back-to-back near the center of the village, stared at Skilvyo in stunned amazement. "Skilvyo?" Harlan gasped, his voice barely audible above the din of battle. "Is that… is that him?"

  Elara's eyes widened. "He's… he's glowing! Like… like the legends!"

  Skilvyo, now radiating a golden light that illuminated the entire battlefield, felt a surge of confidence, a sense of purpose. He knew what he had to do. He had to protect his people, to help Elian defeat the demon realm, to fulfill his destiny.

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  He raised his hands, and five ethereal weapons materialized around him, shimmering with the same golden light that emanated from his body: a greatsword of pure energy, a bow formed from solidified light, daggers that danced with celestial fire, a trident of solidified energy and a shield of pure force. They were not the watered-down versions granted by the war gods, but the true, unadulterated weapons of the weapon god himself.

  "Alright, folks, the show's about to get really interesting!" the Author's voice boomed across the battlefield, his tone a mixture of excitement and anticipation. "Looks like our little protagonist has finally decided to join the party. And he brought the whole arsenal!"

  Skilvyo launched himself into the fray, a golden whirlwind of divine power. He moved with a speed and agility that defied his three-year-old form, his ethereal weapons cutting through the demonic horde like a hot knife through butter. He wielded the energy greatsword with the ferocity of Ignis, cleaving through ranks of demons with fiery arcs of light. He fired bolts of pure energy from the light bow with the precision of Luna, striking down distant enemies with unerring accuracy. He danced with the energy daggers with the swiftness of Zephyra, creating whirlwinds of destruction that tore through the demonic ranks. He summoned waves of pure force with the energy trident, washing away hordes of demons with overwhelming power. And he defended his allies with the energy shield, deflecting demonic attacks with unyielding strength.

  Elian, witnessing Skilvyo's incredible display of power, felt a surge of hope and determination. He fought with renewed vigor, the five divine weapons in his hands singing with newfound energy. He and Skilvyo fought back-to-back, a whirlwind of elemental and divine power against the demonic tide.

  The demons, initially emboldened by their overwhelming numbers, began to falter, their morale crumbling in the face of Skilvyo's unstoppable power. They had never encountered anything like this before. This was not the power of the war gods; this was something… more. Something ancient, something primal, something that threatened the very fabric of their existence.

  The tide of the battle began to turn. The villagers, inspired by Skilvyo's incredible power, fought with renewed courage, their fear replaced by a burning determination. They pushed back against the demonic horde, their swords and spears finding their mark, their spells striking true.

  The demon leader, a hulking monstrosity with glowing red eyes and a voice that echoed with dark power, roared in fury. "Destroy them! Destroy the light! Destroy the child!"

  The demons surged forward, their numbers undiminished, their hatred fueled by desperation. But Skilvyo and Elian stood firm, a beacon of hope against the encroaching darkness. The battle raged on, the fate of Aethelgard hanging in the balance. The awakening of the weapon god's power had turned the tide, but the war was far from over. The demon realm had unleashed its full fury, and the true test was yet to come.