Rosette's heart hammered against her ribs, each beat a frantic drum as she was swept along with the flood of terrified civilians. The tunnel air was heavy with the grit of stone and the acrid tang of fear-sweat, lit only by the ghostly shimmer of blue crystals jutting from the walls. Beastkin and humans alike shoved forward in a desperate tide, eyes wild, voices rising in panicked cries. Knights stood scattered, a fragile line of order, shouting themselves hoarse as they fought to keep the flow from turning into slaughter.
Her fingers clenched tighter around the royal ring, its weight burning against her palm. A promise. A burden. She forced her way forward, toward the chamber doors, when her gaze snagged on a figure cutting through the chaos.
Eryndor.
His voice was steady, carrying above the storm, as he hurled commands at fleeing citizens and knights alike. The moment his eyes caught hers, the mask of composure cracked—something raw flickered there. He surged forward, his hand breaking through the crush to seize her wrist. With a firm pull, he wrenched her from the tide and into the shadow of an alcove.
"Rosette," he breathed, his tone urgent, his eyes searching her face for wounds. "What happened to you? What is happening out there? Where is the Queen?"
Rosette, her breath ragged, sagged against the rough wall, her body trembling with exhaustion. "Sir Eryndor…" Her voice broke into a fragile whisper. She forced the words out, stumbling over the truth. She told him of the Queen's mission…the rescue of the enslaved, the end of the Covenant's reign. She told him the Paladin Knights had gone with her, into the maw of danger. Her hand opened, revealing the ring. "She gave me this… told me to deliver the transmission to King Thorn. Outside…" Her throat tightened. "Outside, it is nothing but nightmare. The Countess forced me to safety, commanded me to come here."
Eryndor's thoughts churned like a storm. The Vielwalker still moves in the shadows. Zephyr still holds the threads. The Queen and the Paladins… against that? Not enough. Not nearly enough. He bit back the words that rose to his tongue, the futile promises he longed to give, but before he could speak, the ground trembled beneath them. A low rumble reverberated through the stone, followed by fresh screams, closer now, rawer, soaked in terror.
The orderly flow shattered. Panic became stampede. The civilians surged together, no longer people but a torrent of survival. Faces twisted, bodies slammed, voices cracked into shrieks. A burly beastkin shoved past, his horns goring the air as he rammed through, toppling those in his way. A human father screamed for his child, clutching the boy high against his chest as he fought against the crush. Others clawed forward with no regard for who they trampled underfoot.
A man collided with Rosette, his shoulder a brutal slam, and she staggered. Eryndor's arms wrapped around her, anchoring her against the tide. He braced his body as a shield, his voice roaring, "CALM YOURSELVES!" The command rang out, sharp as steel, but it drowned in the deafening roar of panic.
Knights fought desperately, dragged under by the surge. Some hoisted children above the crush, their own bodies battered as they tried to carve paths to safety. Others, grim-faced, shoved aside the fallen to carve breathing space for the living. Blood streaked the stone. The sound of bones cracking underfoot vanished beneath the stampede's thunder.
Rosette clutched the ring tight, pressing it to her lips as silent words tumbled in prayer. Please… let this madness end. Please, guide King Thorn back to us.
Eryndor held her closer, the iron of his embrace unyielding even as his own heart wrenched at the carnage before him. His fury burned against his helplessness, his fear sharp and unrelenting. He had no word of what awaited beyond the tunnels, no vision of Zephyr's schemes, but in his marrow, he knew with sick certainty—
The worst is already here.
~~~~~~~
The Royal Graveyard had become more of a nightmare of steel, screams, and blood. The air shook with the cries of the dying and the clash of steel against monstrous hide, but worse still was the shadow that had now descended upon them. A presence unlike any before.
The behemoth moved into view, its hulking form towering above knights and monsters alike. Yet it did not thrash with blind rage; it moved with an uncanny, dreadful purpose. Its stride was deliberate, each swing of its massive arms shattering formations, breaking shields as if they were parchment. The ground seemed to groan beneath its weight.
"Kill everyone! Do not let them escape!" the boss monster roared, its guttural voice a quake that rattled bones and hearts alike.
The Countess froze, her blood turning to ice. It could speak. That single truth struck deeper than any blade. Intelligence. Strategy. This was no mindless beast.
Her eyes darted across the field. Mr. Kaito stumbled back, his movements heavy, his satchel hanging limp. Empty. Angelo was still in motion, a tempest of blades, his every strike taking life, but for each foe that fell, two more pressed in to replace it. Futility gnawed at the edges of the Countess's mind. We will all be buried here if I do not act.
Her gaze locked on Lucian. Amid the storm, he was a beacon of light and defiance. Arcane patterns shimmered at his fingertips, his projectiles finding robed men before their spells could manifest, his kinetic bursts toppling Minotaurs long enough for knights to drive steel into their throats.
"Lucian!" The Countess surged toward him, her hands seizing his with desperate force. Her voice split through the chaos, sharp and commanding. "Create a barrier! Seal everyone near the entrance, now!"
Lucian flinched at her words, his brow tightening with protest. "Countess, wait! There are still too many outside…we need more time to—"
"There is no time!" Her voice cracked, but her eyes blazed with iron. "If you hesitate, we are all finished. Do it, Lucian. Do it now!"
For a moment, anguish crossed his face, but then his jaw clenched. With a guttural cry, he thrust his will into the area.
Light erupted, searing and beautiful. A vast dome of radiant mana spread outward, its edges hissing against the air. The shimmering wall swept across the battlefield, cleaving the living from one another. In the span of a heartbeat, the entrance was sealed.
The screams that followed tore at the Countess's soul.
Men and women—beastkin and humans alike—slammed their hands against the glowing surface, their eyes wide with terror as the Minotaurs and robed men turned upon them. Mothers shrieked, clutching children to their chests. A beastkin father bared his teeth in defiance, but his roar was drowned by the wet sound of claws tearing through him. Blood splashed against the radiant wall, staining its glow.
Lucian's face twisted, grief etched deep in every line. His voice trembled as he forced out a transmission to the knights now trapped outside. "Knights beyond the barrier… protect the civilians! Guard them with your lives! I will join you shortly!"
Before the Countess could stop him, he turned and hurled himself at the wall of light. For a breath, it seemed unyielding, but with a surge of power, he forced a fracture into existence—a fissure wide enough for one man. He slipped through, sealing it behind him, leaving only the echo of his determination.
On the other side, his fury ignited. Arcane torrents exploded from his hands, vaporizing a Minotaur before it could crush a fleeing girl. Blades of pure light spun into existence, severing the forms of robed men, their bodies dissolving into smoke and ash.
"Take cover!" Lucian roared, his voice echoing like thunder. "Protect those outside the barrier! Fight for your lives! Fight for tomorrow! Fight for Balmount!"
He was everywhere at once, a storm made flesh, carving swathes through the tide of enemies. Knights, hearing his defiance, rallied. Some formed shields into new defensive lines, while others dragged civilians toward narrow pockets of safety. Despair turned into grim resolve, their movements sharpened by the presence of a man who had become a blazing wall against the dark.
Inside the barrier, the Countess's chest tightened as she watched the scene unfold. Lucian, brilliant and reckless, had become the spark that drew every eye. He was fighting like a man who had already offered his life to the gods, and though she wanted to curse his foolishness, pride burned in her heart all the same.
Foolish Lucian. Brave, but foolish. You will burn yourself away for them.
But there was no time to dwell on that truth. She spun on her heel, her voice cutting like a blade through the chaos.
"Knights! Cut them down! Do not falter. Clear every enemy within the dome!" Her voice rose higher, fierce and commanding. "And move the civilians! Keep them in line! Do not let them trample each other before they reach the tunnel. If you must strike them down to maintain order, then strike with the flat of your blade…but do not let chaos consume us here!"
Her words struck the knights like a lash, and they obeyed without hesitation. The few robed men and Minotaurs trapped inside were dispatched with cold efficiency, blades sinking into flesh and splitting bone, their cries silenced in moments.
The civilians, though herded toward the tunnel, were far from calm. Panic clung to them like smoke. A beastkin mother screamed for her child, shoving through the press of bodies, while two humans clawed at each other in desperation to reach the front of the line. A young boy stumbled and fell, only to be dragged up by a knight who shoved him into the arms of his weeping father. Every breath, every step toward the tunnel was a struggle between survival and terror.
The Countess's eyes flicked across the battlefield. Angelo was still standing, his blades slick with gore, his expression grim but focused. Mr. Kaito moved with deliberate care, his satchel empty but his resolve unbroken, pulling a wounded knight toward safety. Relief—faint and fleeting—passed through her features. They live, for now.
Then her gaze was drawn back, unbidden, to the boss monster.
He had stilled. Its monstrous head turned toward the glowing barrier, its expression twisting with something close to disdain. Slowly, it raised its massive arm, a club of living flesh and bone, and let out a roar that shook the marrow of every soul inside the dome.
The very air vibrated with the force of it. The Countess's ears rang, her breath caught in her throat.
Do not fall. By every god, do not fall.
The monster's strike came down like the wrath of the heavens. The earth quaked, dust raining from the cavern ceiling, and the dome of light shuddered under the titanic blow. For a moment it held, shining brilliantly, but then fractures spiderwebbed across its surface, jagged lines of light warning of its impending collapse.
The Countess's eyes widened, her lips parting in a silent, desperate prayer.
Lucian was still fighting on the other side, his sacrifice buying them every heartbeat. But she knew, with a certainty that made her stomach turn cold, that he could not hold the tide forever.
~~~~~~~
The putrid air of the sewers clung thick in the lungs, heavy with the stench of stagnant water, rot, and blood. The sound of rushing feet and shrill cries echoed down the stone tunnels, but Kibo moved like a phantom. His katana flashed, silver arcs in the half-dark, cutting through the robed men with unrelenting precision. They came in waves, fanatical eyes gleaming, weapons raised, staves swinging with reckless fervor.
Kibo twisted, bent, and struck with fluid grace, every movement a cruel dance of death. His smile — sharp, predatory — lingered on his lips as though every scream of his enemies was part of some grim melody only he could hear.
A zealot lunged at his chest. Kibo's Manatrack vision shimmered, tracing the man's intention before it even began. He sidestepped lightly, his blade snapping upward in a swift, merciless cut. The man clutched his throat, a wet gurgle spilling out before collapsing.
"Hurry up, you idiot! What are you, a slug?" Ignis's voice roared inside his mind, laced with irritated sarcasm. "They just keep crawling out from the cracks. How many more of these vermin are there?"
Kibo parried a staff that cracked against stone, his smile stretching wider. He slid his katana home into another man's chest and whispered, almost to himself, "We're almost there. I can feel it."
Beneath his feet, the floor vibrated with the pulse of something foul. The rhythm of dark mana seeped through the stone, each beat in tune with the rising chants that filled the air.
"doG htaeD liaH liaH, doG htaeD liaH liaH…"
The words reverberated, twisted and backward, their cadence chilling. It was worship and madness woven together.
Kibo cut through one more zealot, the man's head rolling to the ground, but he never slowed. He surged forward, blurring into a Mana Rush that turned his body into streaks of speed. He vaulted atop sewer pipes, his katana carving down anyone within reach. Zealots toppled into the murky waters, crimson spilling into the current.
The tunnel curved, and then it widened — opening into a cavernous chamber.
The sight froze even Kibo's breath.
Dozens of robed worshippers filled the chamber, not fighters but supplicants. They stood like a congregation, heads bowed in reverence, voices raised in thunderous unison. The air rippled with the weight of their chanting.
At the center, the altar loomed grotesque, carved from obsidian and smeared with fresh blood. Elves — dozens of them — were bound across it, their pale faces twisted with terror. Robed executioners held each one, daggers gleaming, ready to descend.
And at the altar's heart stood the priest. His robe was heavier, adorned with dark sigils that writhed in the sickly glow of mana. His hands stretched to the cavern ceiling, and his voice carried with an authority that made even the worshippers tremble.
"The Specimens are here! The enemies dare to disrupt the ceremony of our God!" His voice cracked like a whip, echoing with twisted conviction. "Forget the enemy! Forget your fear! Raise your voices higher! Only through praise shall our Lord awaken!"
The congregation's chanting surged, deafening, a storm of voices beating against the walls. The cavern itself seemed to pulse with their madness, waves of dark mana battering against Kibo's senses.
He narrowed his eyes, his smile thinning to something sharper, colder. Then he launched himself forward.
One man against a hundred.
His katana sang, cleaving daggers from hands, tearing through flesh, scattering blood across the stones. His Mana Rush burned in his veins, carrying him in arcs of speed and fury. Yet the fanatics were endless. They hurled themselves at him without hesitation, without thought for survival, their eyes alight with zeal.
"Do not falter, wretches!" the priest bellowed. "Your lives are but sparks for His eternal flame!"
Kibo's arms blurred, but even his relentless speed began to falter. A dagger grazed his forearm, leaving a red trail. Another nearly pierced his ribs before he twisted away. The numbers pressed in, walls of bodies closing around him. The chants were too loud, their rhythm burrowing into his mind, rattling his focus.
"You're slowing down, fool!" Ignis's voice snapped like fire. "Push harder or you'll be buried here!"
Kibo hissed through clenched teeth, parrying another blow. Too many. They're pulling me under. His smile wavered.
Then the world cracked apart.
A thunderous boom exploded from the far wall. Stone ruptured outward, but instead of rubble came a torrent of blinding green light. Mana-infused vines surged into the chamber, whipping across the floor, flinging robed men like straw dolls.
Kibo's eyes widened, surprise flickering for just a breath. Syl?
Before the thought was complete, a figure burst through the opening. Takashi — his speed a living storm. His Godspeed Assault tore across the chamber, his blade cutting clean lines of death through the cultists. He did not speak, only moved, every strike brutal, efficient, merciless.
Behind him, Astrid leapt in, her Moonbind Cord glowing like liquid moonlight. It lashed outward, wrapping around zealots, searing their flesh with purifying light. Each swing shattered conjured shadows, her whip cracking with divine justice.
And then Morganna entered, her presence commanding. Light spiraled around her in radiant arcs, her Celestial Aegis forming a shimmering dome that pulsed with protective power. Each enemy strike against it weakened, their strength leeched away as she advanced with measured grace.
The worshippers faltered as steel clashed and blood spilled around them. Their chants wavered, breaking apart into scattered, trembling voices. Fear seeped through their ranks, their rhythm unraveling like a frayed thread. Some clutched at their robes, eyes darting to the slaughter around them. Others shuffled back a step, their words reduced to a whisper.
But at the altar, the priest did not waver. His shadow loomed in the glow of the ritual fire, his hands rising higher, commanding silence as his voice rolled out — low, guttural, and binding.
"Still your trembling hearts," he thundered, the growl of his words echoing against the cavern walls. "Fear is weakness! Doubt is betrayal! Do not falter before salvation. Our God must be summoned, and His gaze alone will shield you!"
The words struck them like a lash. The congregation froze, caught between terror and obedience. Then, like puppets pulled by invisible strings, their voices surged again, harsher and louder than before. What had been faltering whispers became a deafening cacophony of praise, distorted cries that drowned out even the clash of battle.
The surviving robed men tightened their grip on the elves, dragging them closer to the altar. Each hostage squirmed, their eyes wide with horror as the daggers were raised high. Blades gleamed in the dim light, poised for the first plunge. The elves' muffled sobs vanished beneath the rising chants.
Kibo's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his katana. They mean to finish it now. No matter how many die, they will see it through.
Takashi's stance shifted, his muscles taut, ready to spring, while Astrid's glowing cord twitched at her side, the light reflecting her barely contained fury. Morganna's expression hardened, her shield expanding in a shimmering pulse, but even she felt the suffocating weight of the zealots' renewed conviction.
The priest's gaze swept over them, lingering first on Kibo, then Takashi, then Astrid and Morganna. His lips curled into a grin, wide and cruel, his fanatic eyes alight with triumph.
"Yes…" His voice rose above the storm, every word crackling with fervor. "You have played your parts. Now watch as we complete His will. To your places, children! To your voices! Let your cries shake the heavens!"
The chamber erupted.
Every worshipper screamed as one, their throats tearing with raw devotion, the sound a single, monstrous chant that seemed to claw at the very stone.
"doG htaeD liaH liaH!"
The air itself quivered with their unified roar, the walls vibrating with the force of their devotion. The blades above the elves glinted, the cliff of blood and fate hanging over them, ready to fall.