CHAPTER IX: For Darkness is as Light to You…..
"Where was Midgar? In its capital? In its rich cities? Some say it exists at the frontlines, but the frontlines were fleeting. Some say it was in the homeland itself, but the homeland was, more often than not, deceptive. Was it in the Monarchs? But its monarchs were fallible — easily corrupted. Was it with the Aristocrats? But the aristocrats were easily bribed and tempted. Their hearts were devoid of love for the Fatherland. Was it in the people? But the people only clamor for bread and will put any imbecile on the throne if it fills their bellies. Is it in the state? But the state always degenerates with irresponsibility. So, where was Midgar? Midgar is in those who struggle for the idea of it. Midgar is in those who take up the sword, pray for victory, and willingly suffer for it."
—From the Letters of Sir Marco Granger, a renowned Dark Knight and a proud Midgarian Nationalist. The Collected Archives of the XVII Primarch. Volume II.
=I=
Nathaniel Balotelli, for better or worse, is now unhinged.
"...WHAT!? WHO DARES!? WHO DARES!? WHO HAS THE GALL TO STOP THE GREAT RITUAL!?" The echo of his voice reverberated throughout the rear area of Ashborn, sending shivers down the spines of all who heard.
The hired mercenaries beside the dark agent took a step back.
"...Lord-san… I think someone—" He did not finish his insight.
The corrupted blade had already passed through his neck.
The head rolled in the muddy ground. The rolling of the head stopped just beside the area where the once-humiliated Legionaries kneeled to be sacrificed to the Dark Gods.
Just like that, a life was extinguished.
Nathaniel hissed. He looked at the mercenaries he had hired as he waved his bloodied sword.
Dark red eyes. Madness.
"DID I ASK FOR THE ADVICE COMING FROM YOUR FEEBLE MINDS!? WHAT MADE YOU IMBECILES THINK YOUR TONGUE HAS ANY WORTH!?" Nathaniel shouted. Clearly, opening the empyrean damaged his rationality in some way.
The mercenaries stepped back. Some of them, in their hearts, began to regret. Though they are mercenaries, dabbling with the dark forces of the world is still a taboo for them.
Even the greatest imbeciles still respect the basic commands of the Divine.
Goddess Beatrix commands it.
Thou shalt not worship corrupted idols.
"..." The mercenaries stayed silent. They didn't want to be the next victim of the maddened baron.
Nathaniel looked above again — to the raptured sky covered with Gold
"GRRRKKKKK! THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN A SUMPTUOUS FEAST! A GODFRAKKING FEAST!" He shouted once more. His eyes grew more blood-red as seconds went by.
Then, boots rang out in the mud.
"Lord-san—" a mercenary with a half-plate and halberd spoke. But he was cut off.
"WHAT!?" The maddened baron asked in anger and hurry.
The half-plated mercenary faltered but nevertheless continued, "The flanks and the front of the village are being pacified! The Third and Fourth Brigade are encountering heavy losses! The left flank assault won't hold!"
"...Explain..." The voice of Nathaniel echoed out. This time, not roaring. Yet, the low volume only made him more sinister.
Demonic calm.
The half-plated mercenary hesitated, "Um...well... the enemy... received thousands of reinforcements... All outfitted with muskets, magical trinkets, and full armor..."
"Go on." Nathaniel cheerfully stated while smiling.
"..." The man refused to talk. His legs were shaking in fear.
Total malice oozing.
Nathaniel looked the mercenary in the eye. His bloodshot eyes were bulging. His facial muscles were protruding. He's more like a wild beastkin than a human.
"GO. ON." He repeated once more with his smiling beastly face.
"...Collapsing battle lines, insufficient supplies, our tired men, and furthermore, the enemy still has more reinforcements coming... This is a losing battle Lord-sa—GRAKKKKKKKKK!" He didn't finish.
A plume of crimson mist appeared, covering his half-plate. His head simply exploded. His headless corpse joined the muddy ground.
Chaotic Force. Corrupt.
Nathaniel Balotelli retracted his extended hand covered in corruptive lightning. The smile on his face became madder.
"...To anyone who dares to utter defeatism in this moment of glory... That will be your fate." The mad baron pointed at the headless corpse.
The mercenaries watching were seriously doubting their previous decisions. In fact, before the half-plated mercenary died, some were thinking of just pulling out of the fight. After all, no matter how much the gold, it is worthless if they are not alive.
But now, after witnessing the eldritch magic…
"Don't worry about the gold. There will be plenty! That I promise you! This is a feast after all!" Nathaniel proclaimed as if he had read the minds of the warriors serving him.
"But to those who utter such heresy in this great feast that was... temporarily disturbed... your reward will be what I gave those two earlier!" The baron shouted. His tone filled with wrath and malice.
The field was silent. The mercenaries dared not to speak anymore. They do not want to taste the graces of the Dark Gods. The idea of mutiny was expunged from their minds. At the moment, it is impossible. They will simply see this to the end.
Nathaniel looked at the raptured sky sealed by gold.
The Empyrean Gate.
"Tch. Who dares…." The baron scowled.
=I=
Photonar Tarandis was smiling. Yes, the raptured sky heralded a grim occasion. Well, it was a grim occasion, until it was bathed in gold.
Now, that's different.
The color of the Divine light.
Then, his smile widened as he heard the cadence and heavy sounds of boots hitting the ground from afar.
"They are here," Tarandis smiled and raised his sword, signaling for a command.
"HOLD TIGHT LADS! THE FRAKKING LEGION HAS COME! HOLD TIGHT!" He shouted with enthusiasm to his legionaries at the Charred Gates, all of them holding muskets and blades.
Then, an arrow flew close to his ear.
An almost meeting with the Gestalt Himself.
At that, Tarandis let out a hearty laugh, "WHOEVER SHOT THAT, AREN'T YOU ASHAMED OF YOUR EYES!? YOUR MOTHER DID NOT WHORE HERSELF JUST FOR YOU TO MISS THAT SHOT!"
His legionaries joined in his laughter. Then, he issued more commands, and the Sunbeams at the watchtower reloaded their muskets.
He gestured with his blade toward the Sunbeams in charge of the watchtower. Upon observing that they had completed the reloading of their muskets, he issued the customary command.
"MAKE READY!" Tarandis shouted.
The usual order that was pounded countless times in their heads during training.
Muskets were cocked and loaded.
"AIM!"
Eyes and muscles moved in synchrony.
"FIRE!" The final command echoed. Violent roars resonated in the wind once more, followed by the crunching sounds of metal meeting flesh a second later.
Beneath the charred gates, tens of brigands roared in pain, their bodies dropping beside the corpses around them.
He would have commanded them once more to reload, but suddenly, one of the Beam Marshals shouted.
"That's the last of the bullets, sir! We're out!"
"What!? What about the supplies from the 2nd Photon?" Tarandis inquired. After all, the 2nd Photon was responsible for communications and supplies.
"It was all used, sir! The 2nd Photon is already stretched thin fulfilling their duties!" The Beam Marshal shouted back.
Tarandis would've told them to ready their Solar Blades and halberds for close-quarter combat, but he refused to do so.
After all, their brothers from afar had arrived.
The Legion arrived.
The cadence of their march echoed—the boots of the Legion hitting the ground in unity.
Then, the brigands attacking the Charred Gates looked at their rear.
They were dumbfounded.
After all, anyone would be confused when they saw thousands of boots marching in unison, fully equipped with muskets and blades behind their backs.
At the forefront of the march, flags emblazoned with the Golden Lion could be seen.
The ruthless and stoic legionaries of Valdoro.
The stone-faced legionaries of Valdoro arrived.
Their armbands of the bladed sun cross were further emphasized by the golden cloth covering the dark rapture in the sky.
Tarandis' smile almost threatened to split his face in half.
"COMRADES! WILL YOU DISHONOR OUR BANNERS!?" He bellowed with passion, urging the Legionaries at his command to summon every ounce of their strength.
His Photon, their cores ablaze with the inspiration of the approaching Legionaries, thundered back in a resounding chorus.
The words that were drilled into their heads when they willingly formed their own Sunbeams and followed the ideals of the First Brother.
"DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR!"
The Battle for the Charred Gates was nearing its conclusion.
=I=
Beam Marshall Wolfram aimed his musket at the kneeling Brigand. His face remained unchanged as he targeted the bald mercenary who had chosen surrender.
"P-please! I surren—" The Brigand's plea died unfinished, a bullet entering his skull without a hint of resistance. Wolfram's expression remained as cold and unmoved as before, even after the life he had taken.
The legionaries standing alongside him didn't utter reproach nor displayed surprise. They hailed from Valdoro, a stronghold perpetually under siege by scoundrels and barbarians alike. For the people of Valdoro, mercy was deemed a weakness, and weakness invited death.
"...No Heretics shall be taken as prisoners…" he issued his monotonous command to his own Sunbeam, who simply nodded in assent. They understood. Their synchronized boots carried them forward with other Photons.
Their mission was straightforward: Liberate the Charred Gates of its foes. Nothing more, nothing less.
The brigands, caught between an onslaught to the front and an assault from the rear, found themselves in a lethal meat grinder.
The atmosphere crackled with magical bolts as the Legion's own Magical Division ruthlessly decimated their adversaries.
The scent of burnt flesh permeated the air.
Valdoro's Legionaries took no captives.
Only lifeless forms remained as they pressed onward to rendezvous with their comrades guarding the Charred Gates. The mercenaries trembled, their minds fractured. Some dropped to their knees in despair.
"We-we-we will die!" one shrieked out in despair. They knew. They will be delivered to the afterlife.
The advancing legionaries offered no amnesty.
They gunned down every surrendering Brigand, hacked off the heads of those who dared to surrender, and immolated those who tried to reason out.
The message was clear: Not a single one of them would depart the field alive.
The banners of the Golden Lion fluttered defiantly in the wind, while beneath them, boots steeped in the blood of foes persistently marched, never faltering.
After a few minutes, the wails ceased.
The battle for the Charred Gates had concluded.
In the end, the Bladed Sun Cross stood triumphant in the middle of crimson colored field, and not a single enemy was left breathing.
Total Extermination.
Such was the nature of war.
=I=
Athanasius marched.
With his obsidian and crimson robe billowing in the wind, he did not stop striding with his comrades-in-arms. His form was glowing.
A symbol of the divine light.
Golden circuits were focused on his left eye, giving his pupil a deific look. The purpose of this was to seal the empyrean rapture opened in the sky. The divine essence was compressed into one area with the purpose of containment.
Just like the Eye of Horus
He would've given another speech and verses from the Holy Book, but when he looked into the eyes of his comrades, he refused to do so.
They already knew their duty.
He looked at the banners of his Legion, and he was proud of what he had witnessed.
Motifs of Falcons, Lions, Spears, and Suns are all united in one purpose.
He dispersed the majority of Valdoro Legionaries at the Charred Gates. He knew their ruthlessness and brutality. That's why he placed them where the battle is decisive. To quickly finish it.
He ordered the Solar Wings of Maremonte to reinforce the flanks of Ashborn. Their fast maneuvering and coordinated offensive are suited for it.
The rest? He brought them with him to march to the rear of the stronghold, where the agent of the Great Enemy was waiting.
'I promise to extinguish you from this world... scum," Athanasius thought with wrath and spite. Too many good men died today. Too many poor men, women, and children who were faithful suffered under the barbarian pillagers attacking the stronghold.
As he marched, he looked at a tree to his right far away from their marching Legion. There, he saw a hooded figure. Blonde hair can be seen peeking out of the hood.
He nodded at the figure respectfully. After all, he owed her for uncovering the logistics and tactics of the agent of the Great Enemy before he marched into Ashborn.
'Alpha is here already. It looks like Soul Brother has finished his mission. Then it is indeed confirmed that there is no presence of Lady Claire here in the North.' He thought with a smile. Of course, his soul brother won't fail.
It is impossible for a man like Cid Kagenou to fail. The skies may rumble, the ground may break, and the seas may part, but even those won't deter Cid Kagenou. Athanasius knows it. Sometimes, it scares him of just how determined and all-knowing his soul brother is.
He continued to march. The tempo of their trudge was harmonious. Not one step was out of beat. The soul of the Legion is manifesting in the music that was formed by the sounds of their boots.
Then, the eyes of Athanasius narrowed, and his gaze became ruthless.
'If Lady Claire is not present here, then there is only one job left—total extermination of the enemy. Kill the agent of the dark.' His thoughts turned to a new primary objective.
The march continued until they reached the rear. The treacherous terrain damaged their boots, but it did not deter the Legion.
Rocks, mud, wood, gravel, pests, insects... It did not stop their march.
They marched and marched until they reached the destination of the dark ritual.
At that, the Legion stopped marching.
Athanasius and his Legion witnessed the brigands and the corpses beside them. Those mangled corpses that were utterly pitch black bore the symbol of the Bladed Sun Cross on their left arm.
Melted and mangled corpses. Total sacrilege. Desecration of the Holy
Athanasius stayed silent. He simply stared. But a sound can be heard coming from him.
The gritting of the teeth.
The Legionaries behind him understood it. They feel the same wrath. Some of the Legionaries even had their eyes bulging out in absolute fury. But they stayed silent. Discipline should be paramount.
The gaze of the bald demigod became frigid cold. He did not speak. He did not express his anger in any verbal way.
He simply kept the Holy Book tucked in his belt and hoisted his mace. The golden glow on his body became oppressive. The intensity is increasing as the moments go by.
He readied himself for a stride. But not without issuing one final command.
Mobilization of the Legion for combat
"Paramount Objective: Exterminate the Heretics!"Athanasius bellowed out, and at that, the demigod charged.
And as he charged, the Legionaries replied in unison — "BY YOUR ORDER!"
And they readied their muskets and magical apparatus.
=I=
Nathaniel Balotelli seethed with anger.
Scratch that, he was consumed by maddening fury.
The moment his eyes fell upon the towering, bald-headed figure emanating a golden glow, madness gripped his soul.
The embodiment of Darkness pitted against Purity, a clash of cosmic forces.
And when this colossal, bald demigod brought forth an entire army, Nathaniel's rage knew no bounds. Why? Because the malevolent fiend was attacking him, right here and now!
"YOU WRETCHED SONS OF BITCHES! WHY ARE YOU SO UTTERLY WORTHLESS!?" the raven-haired baron bellowed at his own men.
His men, however, remained unresponsive. How could they react when faced with the daunting sight of a colossal, glowing creature hurtling toward them, wielding a mace the size of their bodies?
They were equally surrounded by thousands of disciplined and stoic legionaries, armed to the teeth, and marching in total unison.
They knew this was impossible. And when they saw the bald demigod charging, they executed the most logical maneuver on the battlefield.
They fled.
They ran with all their might. Some even discarded their weapons to lighten their load. A few stumbled on the unforgiving terrain, like rats in the mire.
"YOU COWARDLY IMBECILES! COME BACK HERE SO I CAN OFFER YOU AS SACRIFICE! USELESS SACKS OF FLESH!" Nathaniel shrieked, his voice carrying a note of manic desperation as he swung his blade.
The baron's fury was so profound that he began slaughtering his own fleeing men, his dark essence materializing into bolts of obsidian lightning.
Those unfortunate enough to be struck were instantly reduced to mere ash, their forms disintegrating.
The dark essence was too concentrated, too unrelenting.
"Nonononono! Lord-san! Have mercy plea—" one desperate brigand attempted to beg, only to be turned to dust.
Erased.
Another fleeing brigand trembled, "Yo-you MONSTER!"
Dusted.
"No!" yet another screamed, a cry of despair that ended in destruction.
Destroyed.
Nathaniel cackled maniacally, the eerie glow of the dark lightning amplifying the malevolence etched upon his countenance.
"KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE!" The demented laughter continued as he ruthlessly butchered his own men.
Sanity and madness intermingled on the battlefield, painting a gruesome scene.
=I=
Athanasius was baffled, but he was not surprised. Heretics have no sense of loyalty or camaraderie after all.
His form became brighter, and his feet sprinted faster. From the eyes of normal humans, he is practically a blur. A Dark Knight would perceive him, but even they would have a hard time preparing.
His magically charged mace hit a running brigand. The running mercenary that was impacted simply exploded.
Demigod Strength. Superhuman muscles. Concentrated magical essence.
His Legionaries were already commencing their attacks. Musket rounds, magical bolts, and blades hitting flesh can be heard all around. The Sunbeams were tightening their ranks in coordination with their own photon.
Fire. Step behind halberds. Reload. Fire. Step behind the halberds. Reload. And so on and on...
It was a killing field.
The brigands were dying like flies. They were disoriented by the rampaging demigod and their own client purging them with dark bolts of magic.
One of them even shouted out, "It was a MISTAKE! It was a MISTAKE! IT WAS-AHHHHHHHHH!" As the mace of the demigod made his head a bloody rose plume,
The golden demigod continued his carnage. His mace descends on the head of any man unlucky enough to be caught in his controlled rage.
Then the mad baron turned his head. He stopped butchering his own men. His eyes found Athanasius charging to his position.
Nathaniel let out a screech: "YOU! You are the one who interrupted the feast for Diabolos!"
The mad baron stopped his bolts of lightning. Instead, he focused all of his magical essence on his corrupted purple blade.
"All I have to do is kill you and offer your soul to start the Great Feast!"At that, Nathaniel jumped towards the rampaging demigod.
At that, Athanasius turned his head and looked at the corrupted baron jumping at him.
Then the demigod's gaze turned hot. The golden circuits concentrated on his left eye glowed harder than ever.
Concentration of pure divine light.
Holding his mace in his left hand, he crunched his shoulder. His muscles were taut.
Gathering the force. Momentum.
Then the demigod shouted while his left eye let out a golden fire.
"BURN SCUM!" The demigod bellowed with all of his might. His voice thundered throughout the killing field. All those who heard his voice trembled. The Empyrean rupture in the sky began to crack. Even the blood splattered by both the mercenaries and the black-clad golden legionaries in the mud field began to boil.
Divine light consumes the dark essence.
The golden mace began to descend to meet the corrupted blade. And as the mace descends, the golden glow is emphasized in the gigantic blunt weapon. The blunt armament somehow seems to bend the small realities around it.
Not even a second later, the blade met the mace of the demigod covered in gold.
Then, the surroundings were sanded to dust.
'Eh?' This was the only thought that went through the head of the baron.
The clash of weapons was finished in an instant. The mad baron flew away. His body floated into the wind like a rock. The strength of the mace was too much to bear.
Psychical essence mixing with the gene-forged body.
"Grk!" The mad baron groaned in pain. His body buried itself on the ground, which he fell upon. Spider cracks surrounded the ground where his body was.
Then Nathaniel tried to stand up. The pain was too much to bear for him. He tried to use his blade as a crutch.
'Huh?' Nathaniel was dumbfounded. He looked at his blade. The weapon was imbued with a dark essence.
He was confused. Why? His blade was broken into a million shards. Even the handle was not spared. Spider cracks covered the grip of his blade.
"Huh?" The raven-haired baron uttered it with an empty tone.
'Impossible.' This was the only thought that ran through his mind. Impossibility. How can a blade blessed by Diabolos simply be destroyed like a toy? Impossible.
Nathaniel heard a heavy pair of boots walking toward him. At that, the baron scowled. His cloak was in tatters, but he stood up.
"You… YOU HEATHEN! HOW DARE YOU TAINT THE BLESSING OF DIABOLOS!" His shriek was that of a madman.
The raven-haired cultist threw away the broken grip of his blade. Bolts of dark lightning surrounded him. Muscles bulged in his face. His eyes became more reddened than before.
Manifestation of the empyrean will
At that demonstration, Athanasius' brows widened imperceptibly. He understood what the dark agent was currently doing.
"Heretical scum! You are too far gone now..." the towering bald demigod uttered with contempt.
The baron screamed to the heavens. He looked at the raptured sky. He looked mournful. In fact, he was on the verge of crying.
"Frak…. Forgive me, Great Diabolos... I can't do the feast right now. I have to use this... to kill that frakking heathen!" The red eyes of the baron cried out as he looked at the demigod with total wrath.
Then, the Gates of Empyrean that were on the verge of opening, only contained by the golden glow, suddenly exploded, destroying the golden container.
It would have gone back to the Otherworld. But then, the exploded energy—the wisps and circuits—raced down.
To the body of the maddened baron itself.
Absorption of the corruptive essence
"GRAHHHHHHHHHHH!" Nathaniel screamed. Wisps and dark circuits covered his body. His constitution was enlarged. His muscles expanded. His eyes became the color of deep red, like blood. His face became more like the demons of old.
Heretical Bioessence.
His body became an abomination. Countless eyes appeared in his cloak. Bleeding eyes. Like eyes plucked out of people undergoing immense torture. Skulls appeared on his tunic. Blood skulls, skulls of children, skulls of elves, skulls of beastkins—all skulls.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" The transformed baron cackled loudly. The laugh was not human. The laugh was not holy. The laugh, in fact, is both of the world and not of the world.
The transformation was complete.
Total Heresy.
Athanasius was shocked. His jaw even started to twitch. He can't believe what he is seeing. The thing that is currently cackling is not the previous baron that he fought.
Even the Legionaries witnessing such abominations, despite their total discipline and stoicism, can't help but gaggle at what they are seeing.
At that point, the smallest doubt was erased from the hearts of the Legionaries. Demons were real. Heretics were real.
The existence of predators from high places.
The raven-haired abomination didn't stop cackling. Not even for a moment after the completion of transformation.
The abomination looked at the demigod. The raven-haired, skull-filled person grinned.
Then the abominable baron disappeared.
Not even a millisecond later, its terrifying face made itself visible to Athanasius. Their faces were too close. The speed was too fast. Too fast for the human eye.
The abomination whipped his hand—nay—flesh blade to Athanasius. Were it any other normal man, they would have been dismembered before they knew what happened. But Athanasius was different.
Gene-forged reflexes.
His mace met the flesh blade made from the right hand of the baron.
The abominable creature grinned. He did not speak. He did not utter a sound. Only mad cackles—like a beast.
The abomination continued his assault.
The dark essence of flesh meets metal.
Left. Right. Left. Cross. Right.
The exchange went on and on. The attacks on the abomination were heavy. In fact, with every swing of his flesh blade, shockwaves were being released. The strength of the attacks was too great.
Synthesis of Magic and Biological Might
Athanasius kept blocking the attacks as much as he could. He was silent. He was absolutely silent. He even closed his eyes for a moment while blocking.
The abomination interpreted this as fear. And so the barrage of attacks continued. The relentless assault pushed Athanasius back further and further. He was being pushed back.
Yet he was silent. But a curious thing happened. Tears started to stream down his face.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" The abominable baron started to laugh. He thought the bald giant was scared. His tears streaming down his face were a testament to that.
But something different happened.
"I did not know... that a man could sink this low..." The bald demigod uttered while choking on his tears as he blocked the barrage of attacks with his cracking mace.
"Eh? "The baron uttered it in confusion. 'What?' The abomination followed with a simple thought.
"To think that a man would willingly sell his soul..." Athanasius muttered once more. Tears are still streaming down his face.
The demigod dashed back a few yards to reprieve himself of the attacks.
"I will erase you... I have to." The tears stopped streaming from his eyes. At that moment, something happened.
The eyes that were reddened from crying became completely gold. Golden circuits raced down around his eyes and up to his head.
Like the executioner from the Olympus itself.
The ground quaked. The mace that was cracking was encased in a spider web of golden essence.
Psychical control.
"HERETIC!" Athanasius bellowed. The skies rumbled. The ground cracked.
For the first time in his life, the maddened baron was scared.
Athanasius hefted his mace. He narrowed his divine golden eyes at the abomination.
The golden circuits visible on the head of the demigod intensified until its luminescence produced majestic light.
Then reality cracked.
'Huh? ' The abomination was dumbfounded. Why? Because both of his arms became stumps.
"AHHHHH!" The abomination screamed out in pain. He has no arms anymore.
'Howhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhow!?' This was the only thought that went through the head of the abominable baron as he screamed out in pain while stumbling back.
Athanasius walked. His glowing form is frightening. He hefted his mace, readying for an attack. He did not run. He did not stride fast. He simply walked.
But that was enough to maximize the fear taking root in the abomination.
When the abomination saw the golden demigod hefting his mace for the coup de grace, he did what the fleeing brigand did earlier when they saw Athanasius charging.
He ran.
With blood flowing out like fountains in both of his stumped arms, he pathetically ran.
"Agk!" The abominate tripped on a rock. His dark essence was too weak. The previous attacks sapped it. The bloody stump on his arms sapped it. The damned golden glow sucked it all!
"Do not run from your fate, heretic!" the booming words of the demigod echoed as he followed the trail of blood.
"Grrrk! "The raven-haired abomination stood up once more. He struggled. But right now, he was in fear.
'NoNonONNONONONONONONONONO!' One word kept repeating in his head. His rationality is totally sapped after the transformation from earlier.
He ran and ran until he tripped once more.
He can't stand up anymore. And as he lay prone on the ground, the footsteps of the demigod became closer. Too close for his comfort.
Athanasius raised his mace, covered in a golden glow. His muscles were taut. This is the last impact of the war.
Coup de grace.
Golden lightning intensified in the mace. The blunt of the armament was covered with luminescent magical circuits.
"WAIT!" Somehow, some of the raven-haired baron's rationality returned, making it possible for him to utter the final word.
Athanasius closed his eyes and uttered the final words using the Aristocratic Midgarian tongue for the heretical agent —"Rexialim in velorium."
The golden mace descended.
And the world exploded.
The heretic was completely erased. No trace of blood, flesh, or clothing was left.
Totally exterminated.
Then, as Athanasius looked around, the brigands were completely pacified. The heretics were completely defeated. Legion casualties were minimal.
He raised his mace and shouted in Old Vesperan Tongue — "LUX VICTORIUM!"
The Legionaries, clad in black and gold, stopped whatever they were doing and crisply raised their left arm for the Solar Salute.
"LUX VICTORIUM!" They shouted in unison.
The Battle for Ashborn is now finished.
=I=
I'm back! Thank you for your support.