*BOOM!*
"What was that?!" Zolovat exclaimed.
The thought left as easily as it formed.
Ducking under a rusty blade, he manipulated the ground and conjured a crude spear to stab the gap between the suit of armor's vambrace and gauntlet.
The suit of armor paused, its arm stuck in place. It didn't mind the earthen protrusion and spun, stretching a leg. But by now, Zolovat had recovered from the momentary distraction and collected himself. Dodging the blow with a calculated step, he threw an arm at the suit of armor.
Bang! His fist clattered against the rusted metal. It did not sound hollow.
'There really is something inside!' Armed with this knowledge, he jumped back and manipulated the earthen spear to lengthen. This was a difficult endeavor—not to mention annoyingly strenuous to his reserves—as manipulating an already complete spell took more than an unfinished one by a large degree—much more than he cared for.
Expending too much mana strained his mind and body, laying him into a cold grave.
Still, the risk was worth it. The spear pierced through the rusted swordsman's hand, jutting out the other side. Zolovat's hand still hurt, and in the spirit of keeping his pain low, he reached the other.
Bang! Bang! His knuckles struck the man's arms, almost like he was a spear himself. The rusted swordsman counterattacked, but with its arm stuck and its position fixed, there wasn't much it could do against Zolovat's free self. With another bang, the rusted suit of armor fell, its arm still stuck in crude spear protruding from the ground.
Behind him, Selen Votum wasn't doing much worse. Her vast reserves that complimented her powerful spells, excellent external mana control, efficient use of Invokers, and the insight to use her magic when and when not to. It was a sight to see… well, would have been. The enemies around Zolovat never let up, and he found surrounded as a dozen knights in rusted armor stood up as if pulled by a string.
"Tch." Balling his hand into a fist, he threw it forward and ducked, collapsing his arm and letting the opponent strike empty air—the place he had just been positioned in. Using his non-rusted physique, he spun and raised his arm as if grabbing an invisible object.
With a low rumble, a spear jutted out of the ground at astounding speed, and he looked up and away, jumping to the side—the next second, a heavy blow split the ground into shards.
Bam! Zolovat panted.
"That could have killed me." Banishing the thought, when he saw in the corner of his eye that the shadows were seemingly writhing from something, he looked eastwards, and found the increasingly familiar tall giant with bloody knuckles.
Apparently, the barrier was tougher than they thought. Lowering his head whipping his body in a quick spin, he swung an enhanced arm and delivered a snappy chop, cracking the rusted knight's elbow… if it even had one. Resuming, he delivered a roundhouse kick.
Bang! The rusted knight fell… and a dozen more awakened in his stead. Gritting his teeth, he expended a dangerous amount of mana to raise a barrier made of crossed stone spears, kicking from the ground quickly and delivered one of the spears to a rusted knight attacking Vesba.
"I could've handled that fine," the lying giant eyed him warily, raising his brow.
Throwing the crumbling stone to another knight, Zolovat said through gritted teeth:
"We can't keep doing this forever. By now, you should have realized that those thing aren't going to stay down anytime soon. If not, then there would've been signs: There hasn't."
Rusted clangor filled the air.
Sometime later, Feng Xing Liu found herself struggling to breath. Resisting and failing to stagger, she let the memory and experience of a hundred battles permeate her bones. From the skin peeking out of her robes, there seemed to be winding curved lines of red creeping up to he neck, and her usually stern expression told that she wasn't happy about that.
Behind this lagging formation, Mysta busily conjured blood red strings from her black glove with spider web-like patterns. Her mouth was knitted shut in concentration. With a look that can freeze grown men, she grumbled in between incoherent mumblings:
"It's ready!"
A second too late compared to the others, Zolovat understood her intentions:
The plan had been accomplished!
Kneeling on the ground—leaving himself vulnerable for a second—he muttered a soft aria and ascended in height the next second. A cylindrical chunk of earth shot up from where he stood and him with it. For a second, life was like a freefall skydiving lesson.
The next, it was an inevitable, harrowing future of splattered red paste. Zolovat paste.
'How the hell did Aquarius deal with this?!'
Realizing—or perhaps developing—a new phobia, Zolovat waited for a second and ignited Manavision.
Motion slowed at an infinitesimal increment. The colors of brown and beige lit up in nearby streams, and he felt himself drawn to them.
Or maybe they were drawn to him? Who knows. He could never tell.
Above those streams were blood res strings strewn about in a reckless manner, as if the person that left them had done so in a hurry. There was minimum cohesion to them, but the again, if she took this fast, then most prior conditions and restrictions must have already been fulfilled somehow.
As others found their way around or above the swarm of blood red strings, Zolovat flinched when he felt a gentle wind overcome his person and set him upright, no longer the laying swan he just realized had been.
He almost felt embarrassed. Almost.
And then, a bright explosion resounded…well, not exactly. Rather than sound, it was more of a… feeling, like something breaking the forces of nature—doing things they aren't supposed to.
Looking at the distorted scene with an uncanny gaze, he flinched when he saw the light distorting as if something or someone had pulled on it, stretching the invisible space as the spear he had made—half crumbed and cracked at several pages—seemingly flew into a frenzy at a single point.
A point of convergence.
Beside him, the temperamental sage stood on empty air, her robes fluttering as an invisible wind surrounded her robed figure. Using her stellar external mana manipulation, she stood on a translucent orange barrier with seven sides. There was a weird zone around her, suffused with her own mana.
From the side, Zolovat could almost see her eyes. The next moment, he looked back down, his instincts screaming at him to do so.
The scenery below did not disappoint him.
In the center of the room, a small point of convergence gradually grew in size, warping the space around it as it attracted all his spears, which were connected to the point of convergence through a series of blood red threads. From here, he could see that the threads had been weaved to increase its durability.
Even now, he still wondered what the uptight attendant—Mysta—had been sent out here to do. He knew that instinctively that she had wasn't a warrior, nor was she the most effective support. Still, there had to be reason… right?
Right. The more he saw, the more closer he felt to the truth.
The stone spears he had discarded flew towards the warped point in space, fast and true. It flew at an unnatural speed, wrecking, tearing, sweeping, and utterly annihilating the other rusted knights.
What his spear and fist had failed to do, the warped point in space more than compensated. A minute passed as they stayed high in the air, looking at the carnage of a deafening clangor—of rusted metal being eviscerated and disassembled.
It tore and shifted, crumbling into nothing as the stone spears flew past. Aside from the clangor, none of the knights made a sound. How could they, even? Its not like there anybody in them.
And that's where he was wrong. Sure, he suspected it, even assumed that something had been in those ancient armors… but never could he have expected something as horrid as this…
Bodies. Dead bodies laid inside the rusted armor, charred and broken, their skin entirely black from having been roasted alive and their bodies like an ancient mummy, their charred-black skin clinging to their bones as if there was no flesh or organs in between.
It was horrid, disgusting, and depressing scene. With a frown, Zolovat looked away and grit his teeth, his knuckles unconsciously clenching.
Still, he made himself look. These people were long dead, he hoped—the horror it would have brought him had they not been would have been enough to commit suicide.
Could you imagine? Killing what should have been dead, long ago, but unable to because a madman used his depraved powers to prevent otherwise. It was horrifying, not to mention utter lunacy.
With a deep breath, Zolovat solidified his resolve and looked forward, watching as the undying army finally laid to rest.
…Beside him, Selen Votum gazed at the madman wearing a top hat and frock coat. Her blue eyes ignited with unresolved fury.
The temperamental sage was not done just yet.
◇◆◇◆◇
Under the moonlight of the twelfth moon, Lieren and co. walked down the streets of the slums of New Mireton, their eyes darting from one shadowed corner to another.
In the depths of the night, several figures seemed to move deep in the darkness, the messy and chaotic layout of the slums hiding prowling monsters. In here, they couldn't help but take a deep breath and smell the turbid air.
There was a slight metallic stench drifting about: blood. Lost of it. The battle that ended moments prior—against the titanic bird of prey with yellow and sapphire feathers—did not end peacefully. There was blood and filth in some places.
The slums, overall, carried the stench of death.
Oddly enough, Lieren felt familiar to this. Back in the Karas Forest, when he met that Witch and saw Red bleeding black, there had been the same stench. Smoke rose and darkness prevailed.
Back then, he thought that he surely would have died. He had a faint hope, still, back then—as foolish and unrealistic as it was. Right then, he was nothing more than an empty fool who wished to not be abandoned anymore.
He wished that he could just stay with people for longer. Even right now, with the way he did things and the way he simply continued to be swept up by everybody's ploys and plans, it felt like he was being losing himself. As if somebody was replacing him.
Even his scant few meetings with King were an oddity. He didn't like them, but he couldn't help but find the unchanging attitude of the regal man impressive. The outside world didn't seem to affect him that much.
And why would it? He was trapped, or closed, or sealed, or manipulated, or dead, or reviving, or dead in himself, with nowhere to go apparently. Lieren did not know much about King's situation, but he did feel like his oddity—his Resistance—was a key factor that played in his plans.
Maybe Lieren was inhibiting King? Maybe King was waiting for something. Maybe King was running away from something.
Maybe King was just tired and wanted to get some respite after he allegedly "brought the world to ruin and saved it."
Or, maybe, Lieren had just been imagining it all. He had read a book about such a thing, though that kind of ending, after reading it, did make him frustrated a little, for some reason.
Looking away from the dark shadows, he turned his attention back to another shadow: Umbra.
"So, what now? Are you gonna go home?" He said casually.
For once, he just wanted to act like a kid.
"…Yes, I suppose I am." She turned around as Harita stepped in between them, sizing the thin girl up.
Lieren's Aegis opened his mouth to speak:
"Ms. Horis Han Li, by the power vested in me by the Knight's Order, I put you under custody. Your family is waiting for you, young lady."
Lieren's face turned ashen.