Radiant-rank was unlike any other mana rank, a realm of ascension that separated legends from mortals. Like the ranks before it, Radiant-rank had four distinct levels: low, mid, high, and peak. However, the journey through these levels was an entirely different beast.
The first hurdle was the cruel truth that most never escaped low Radiant-rank. For every ten who ascended to Radiant-rank, only one in ten managed to break into mid Radiant-rank, and those who did often found themselves at the pinnacle of their generation. To ascend to mid Radiant-rank was to rise above the competition, a level of power that made even the strongest falter.
This generation of humanity had two such individuals: Valen Ashbluff, the Necrotic Sovereign, and Charlotte Alaric, the Zenith of Magic. Their strength loomed large, their auras vast. Yet for all their might, both stood on the same threshold—unable to cross the Gates of Transcendence.
The Gates of Transcendence were no mere metaphor. They were a tangible, insurmountable wall separating mid Radiant-rank from high Radiant-rank, a barrier so immense that even humanity's brightest star, Magnus Draykar, the Martial King and Paragon of Humanity, had only glimpsed it in his final moments. He had fought and bled, but even he had not been deemed worthy.
Only one living being had walked through those gates, leaving every contender far behind.
Alyssara Velcroix.
Her power didn't merely surpass the others—it rendered them insignificant. High Radiant-rank wasn't just a level; it was a shift, a transformation. Against Alyssara, it wasn't a battle but a foregone conclusion.
Even knowing this, the five Radiant-rankers gathered outside the Domain of the Infernal Armis made an unspoken decision.
They attacked.
It was unthinkable that Valen Ashbluff, Charlotte Alaric, Sun Zenith, Kael Nyctharis, and Evelyn Blackthorn would ever join forces. Yet in this moment, they moved as one. Their combined strength wasn't driven by camaraderie but by necessity. Alyssara was a threat not only here and now but in every future they could imagine.
She was the fulcrum upon which the balance of power teetered. If there was ever a time to stop her, it was now.
Valen's daggers, sharpened by Dagger Unity and infused with the devastating precision of his Grade 6 art, hurtled toward her with deadly speed. Charlotte's nine-circle spell, a swirling vortex of destructive mana, ripped through the air, a storm no one could weather. Sun Zenith, the youngest and most impetuous of them all, leaped into the fray, his Crimson Sunset, the third movement of the Violet Mist Divine Art, turning the battlefield into a cascade of burning mist. Kael Nyctharis, his shadowy presence amplified by his own Grade 6 art, brought his blade down in a strike meant to sever worlds. And Evelyn Blackthorn unleashed her own nine-circle spell, a symphony of flames that burned hotter than mortal comprehension.
The air roared with their combined assault, the sheer magnitude of power enough to shake the fractured space around the Domain.
And yet, Alyssara smiled.
Her movements were not hurried, nor were they uncertain. She simply raised a hand, and from her fingertips flowed crimson threads. The Threads of Carnage, woven with her mastery of Thread Unity and guided by her Gift, moved with deadly elegance.
The threads danced.
They pierced through Sun's plum blossoms as if they were no more than decorative paper, the once-beautiful petals falling lifelessly to the ground.
They deflected Valen's daggers, sending them spinning harmlessly back into the dark air.
They wrapped around Kael's sword mid-strike, binding it tightly and stopping the blade before it could even graze her.
They trapped Charlotte and Evelyn's nine-circle spells, encasing the devastating mana storms in cocoons of glowing crimson before disintegrating them completely.
Alyssara stood at the center of their combined onslaught, unscathed, untouched, and utterly unimpressed.
"Really?" she said, her voice carrying a coy amusement, as though addressing a group of children playing at war. "This is what five Radiant-rankers can muster? I'm almost disappointed."
Her threads tightened, a ripple of crimson light cutting through the space between them. The five attackers fell back instinctively, their auras flaring in defense. Even Valen, whose mana swirled around him in waves of blackened astral energy, hesitated.
"I'll admit," Alyssara continued, twirling a thread between her fingers, "you have spirit. Foolish, perhaps, but commendable."
Charlotte narrowed her emerald eyes, her fingers twitching as she prepared another spell. "We don't need your condescension, Alyssara."
Alyssara tilted her head, her silver hair shimmering like moonlight. "Oh, I'm not being condescending, my dear. I'm merely stating a fact. You've already lost."
Valen stepped forward, his Shadow Armour crackling with renewed power, his summons looming behind him. "Even you have limits, Alyssara."
Her smile widened, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Do I? Then, by all means, prove it."
The five of them hesitated, but only for a moment. Their resolve was iron, their pride unyielding. Together, they surged forward again, unleashing their might once more.
And once more, the Threads of Carnage danced, weaving a story of absolute dominance.
Because against Alyssara Velcroix, there was no winning.
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The five of us finally emerged from the relentless gauntlet of trials, our breaths heavy but determined. Though the battles had pushed us to our limits, our wounds were swiftly mended, and Rachel's healing light had seen to our bruises. Together, we pressed forward into the final chamber, the air growing hotter with every step.
The space we entered was enormous, an unfathomable cavern carved from molten stone and jagged obsidian. The ground glowed faintly beneath our feet, traced with glowing rivers of magma that snaked through the terrain like veins of fire. The air shimmered with heat, thick and oppressive, and every breath carried with it the metallic tang of raw power.
At the center of it all, on a jagged dais of blackened stone, rested the Infernal Armis.
It was not merely an object—it was a presence, a force of nature. The crown sat atop the dais, its edges jagged and molten, as though the fires of creation had only just cooled. Pulsing faintly, it radiated a deep crimson glow that cast the entire room in a sinister light. The energy emanating from it was palpable, suffocating, a mix of fury and destruction that gnawed at the edges of our sanity.
The molten crown thrummed with life, each pulse like the beat of a dark and terrible heart. It whispered promises of power and dominion, a song only the strongest could hope to answer.
But we weren't alone.
Across the cavern, a shadow moved, and the air seemed to shift. From the far side of the chamber, the Axe King emerged, his hulking frame silhouetted against the molten rivers. His battle-scarred armor glinted in the fiery light, and his massive axe rested against his shoulder. The grin on his face was predatory, his eyes alight with raw ambition.
"You made it," he said, his voice carrying over the oppressive silence. It was rough, guttural, like the grinding of stone. "I was wondering if I'd have to take this thing uncontested."
Behind him, his team stepped into the light: a towering Orc Chieftain wielding twin axes, an Ogre Prince clutching a mace that shimmered with molten energy, Vice Cult Leader of the Savage Communion whose hands wove curses into the air like venomous threads, and an Orc Vice Chieftain snarling with a greatsword at the ready.
My heart sank at the sight. The Axe King hadn't come alone, and each of his lieutenants radiated strength.
Our eyes locked for a moment, and I could see the same hunger burning in his. There would be no words, no negotiations. The Infernal Armis had drawn us both here, and only one of us could claim it.
"Go," I said, my voice calm but commanding. Rachel, Seraphina, Cecilia, and Rin broke off, their mana flaring as they intercepted the Axe King's team. The cavern roared with explosions of magic and steel as the two groups clashed, their battles tearing through the space with reckless abandon.
But my fight was elsewhere.
The Axe King roared as he charged, his massive axe swinging in a wide, murderous arc. I met him head-on, Nyxthar rising to intercept his strike. The impact rang out like a thunderclap, a shockwave rippling through the cavern as sparks flew.
"You've gotten stronger, Guild Grandmaster," he snarled, pressing his weight into the blow. His grin was feral, filled with the joy of combat.
I stepped back, twisting Nyxthar free before parrying his next strike. "And you're still as loud as ever," I shot back, my voice calm despite the intensity of the fight.
His attacks came heavy and fast, each swing of his axe leaving cracks in the ground where it struck. But brute force wasn't enough. I weaved through his strikes, countering with precise blows that forced him back step by step.
"You're holding back!" the Axe King roared, his voice echoing off the cavern walls.
I didn't answer. There was no need to.
A feint to his left left him open, and I capitalized with a quick strike that slashed across his side. He grunted, stumbling back as dark blood dripped onto the molten stone. His eyes burned with fury, but he didn't slow.
I didn't stop. My focus shifted to the dais, the crown's glow drawing me forward. With a burst of speed, I closed the distance and leaped onto the platform. The heat radiating from the Infernal Armis was suffocating, every breath feeling like fire in my lungs.
Reaching out, I placed my hand on the molten crown. The moment my fingers touched it, raw power surged through me, and the world fell away.
A storm of energy crashed into my mind, its voice a silent roar. Images flashed—worlds burning, thrones crumbling, armies falling. It wasn't a vision. It was a promise. The Infernal Armis didn't just offer power; it demanded destruction.
I gritted my teeth, my soul reaching out to claim it, to bond with it.
And then, it rejected me.
The connection snapped like a broken thread, and the crown flared violently. I was hurled backward, crashing into the molten ground below. The pain was excruciating, but the worst wound was to my pride. My body screamed, but my mind was silent, stunned by the artifact's refusal.
Through blurred vision, I saw the Axe King climb the dais, his grin triumphant as he reached for the crown. His massive hand closed around it without hesitation, and the chamber shook with the force of the artifact's acceptance.
The glow of the Infernal Armis intensified, its molten light enveloping the Axe King. The crown fused to his head, its jagged edges glinting like the fangs of a beast. The energy radiating from him grew monstrous, suffocating, as his aura exploded outward.
His voice, now deeper and far more menacing, filled the cavern.
"Now, Guild Grandmaster," he said, stepping down from the dais, his crimson eyes locked onto mine.
"Let's see how strong you really are."