Saruel, who had seemingly perished and dissolved into pure light mere moments ago, now stood revitalized. He was flanked by the twelve Clan Leaders of the Archangels, their presence commanding and terrible. The collective aura radiating from them painted the heavens in blinding hues, a celestial army ready for judgment.
Across from them, Daruel casually dusted off his shoulder, his demeanor chillingly unbothered.
"Oh? Would you look at that," Daruel smirked, his voice dripping with mockery. "You've returned with the Twelve Clans? How thrilling. Come then—let us make this game truly beautiful."
In the blink of an eye, the angel at Saruel's right launched himself at Daruel, a blur of holy speed. The leader on the left followed instantly. It was a pincer attack meant to end things in a single breath.
But Daruel was faster.
With two swords, he parried their strikes with lazy elegance. Then, shifting his stance, he snapped his wings forward, enveloping both attackers in an inescapable embrace.
WHOOSH!
Daruel's entire form erupted into a volcanic inferno. The temperature spiked to cataclysmic levels. The two angels trapped within his wings didn't just burn; they were incinerated instantly, their essence evaporating into harmless drifts of light.
Daruel had transformed. He was no longer just a warrior; he was a walking natural disaster—a titan of molten rock and fire. The very ground he stood on hissed and bubbled, melting into slag beneath his feet.
To Saruel's left, Ratuel screamed, his eyes widening in horror. "A Solar Flare?! That form is unstable! Saruel, you must go! Get to Toram and get her out of here! We will hold him back!"
Saruel hesitated, looking at his comrade in confusion. But the reality was undeniable. The massive, magma-dripping monstrosity that was Daruel was accelerating, melting the air itself as he charged. His power had doubled since the skirmish began.
The remaining eleven Archangels didn't hesitate. They gave the enemy no quarter. moving as a single consciousness, they descended upon Daruel like a thunderstorm, striking with the finality of a death sentence.
Attacks rained down from the sky, the earth, the front, and the rear. The air was filled with light-speed assaults. Yet, within the chaos, Daruel remained the eye of the storm. As the hurricane of blades and magic swirled around him, he simply stood there—calculating. He measured their velocity, their patterns, and their weaknesses in a fraction of a second.
The moment the pattern clicked in his mind, he struck.
Whips of concentrated fire erupted from his palms. They lashed out like vipers, seeking and finding their marks. In one fluid motion, the fiery coils snagged the wings of all eleven attackers.
With a sickening crunch, they were yanked from the air, paralyzed and bound at Daruel's melting feet.
It was over. Or so it seemed.
In that moment of absolute despair, Ratuel made a choice that defied logic. With a scream of agony, he severed his own wing—a brutal, visceral sacrifice to slip free from the fiery bind. ignoring the blood gushing from his back, he lunged at Saruel, shoving his friend with every ounce of strength he had left.
"GO!"
Saruel tumbled across the dirt, skidding to a halt. He scrambled to his knees, wings spreading instinctively to dive back into the fray to save his brothers.
"DON'T YOU DARE!" Ratuel's voice boomed like thunder, stopping him cold.
Ratuel stood broken and bloody, holding the line with nothing but desperation. "Don't look back! Go to Toram! What are you waiting for?! We have no time... RUN!"
The scream pierced Saruel's heart, but he swallowed his grief. Gritting his teeth, he turned and shot toward the church where Toram waited.
As he fled, the remaining Archangels, bound and broken, rallied for one final act of defiance. They threw themselves at Daruel like a swarm of bees against a bear, unleashing a suicidal torrent of lightning to keep the monster contained.
But Daruel was not so easily caged. He expanded his arms, his blows hitting with the weight of a collapsing sun. The sky screamed, torn apart by the clash of divine lightning and hellish fire.
Meanwhile, inside the church.
Saruel slammed against the stained-glass window, his glowing face pressing against the pane. Inside, his eyes locked with Toram's.
Toram shrieked, stumbling backward in sheer terror. She didn't see a savior; she saw a monster.
She scrambled to her feet, weaving through the rows of pews like a rat in a maze. Her eyes were fixed on the corridor that led to the main exit.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Her heart battered against her ribs like a trapped beast. Every pulse screamed one command: Run! Run! She threw herself toward the door, her legs pumping furiously. Freedom was right there. It was so close she could taste the fresh air.
Just one more step—
Snap!
A rope of azure flame materialized from thin air, coiling tightly around her waist. Toram froze, staring down at the fiery tether in disbelief. She didn't even have time to scream.
With a violent yank, her feet left the ground. The world tilted on its axis.
She was hauled backward through the air, the interior of the church blurring into streaks of light and shadow. The speed was dizzying.
Abruptly, the force suspending her vanished. She dropped like a stone, hitting the floor with a painful thud.
Trembling, Toram scrambled backward, looking up at her captor.
It was Saruel.
But this wasn't the giant, terrifying entity she had seen through the window. He had shrunk, his form condensed into the size of a mortal man. The sudden change only deepened her confusion and fear.
"No... No!" Toram whimpered, scrambling on her hands and knees. "Get away!"
She tried to bolt again, but Saruel moved like a phantom. In a blink, he was in front of her, blocking her path.
Toram skidded to a halt, her legs giving out. She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face.
"Please... don't hurt me. Please!"
Saruel's face was etched with urgency. He had no time for explanations or comfort.
"Come! We have to leave, now!"
He didn't wait for an answer. He snatched her up, and with a sweep of his right hand, he carved a circle in the air. Reality warped. A swirling vortex of water, like a miniature ocean storm, tore open in the middle of the church.
Clutching Toram tight against his chest, Saruel leaped into the maelstrom.
They were instantly engulfed in a tunnel of rushing water, a magical hydro-conduit hurtling them through space. Toram was helpless, spinning uncontrollably like a ragdoll in the current. Saruel, however, was in his element. He tucked his wings, streamlined his body, and propelled them forward like a torpedo.
Moments later, they burst through the water wall on the other side.
Saruel landed with the grace of a cat, his feet planting firmly on the new ground. Toram was not so lucky. The momentum flung her from his grip, and she tumbled violently across the earth, crashing into the dirt.