Move...I need to move, or everyone will die!
Ying winced, clutching his head against the searing pain. The destruction of his 'Authority' drained his spirituality and left his innate abilities useless. Spirit flames that once healed were now powerless.
Father Gregory's mocking tone cut through the suffering. "How pitiful, Ying Fo of the Rosalia Guild. How far could you fall?"
Ying, shocked, asked, "How did you know about that..."
Father Gregory chuckled. "Surprised? You made quite the name for yourself 10 years ago. Ying Fo of the Iron Fist, quite the title!"
The dimly lit room echoed with Ying's torment. Father Gregory, draped in a dark cloak, exuded an unsettling air. "Your reputation precedes you, Ying Fo. The Order of the Shadowed Veil has heard of your victories and defeats."
Ying, trying to make sense of it all, questioned, "What interest does the Order have in me? I'm just a nobody now. The Rosalia Guild has been gone for five years now."
Father Gregory's smile widened. "You underestimate yourself, Ying. The Order seeks unique individuals, like you. Your fractured Authority still holds potent energy we aim to harness."
As realization set in, Ying grappled not only with physical pain but the daunting prospect of becoming a pawn in the secretive Order's plans. The room felt suffocating, and Father Gregory's presence cast a dark shadow over Ying's troubled soul.
"Fuck off..." Ying gathered his strength and flew forward, cracking the shield of mythic beasts around Father Gregory. His leylines redirected the flow of spirituality directly into his eyes, allowing him to activate his application technique - [Critical Manifestation].
"It seems you still have some fight in you! How inspiring! However, it doesn't matter much, as you and your colleagues will meet their end.
With a mere forty seconds remaining until Father Gregory could fully absorb the coveted Rank Four Factor, his singular focus was on stalling for time. The notebook's potent power awaited assimilation into his own spirituality, propelling him closer to unimaginable strength. Aware of Ying's diminished state at around 20% of his full potential, Father Gregory deemed it unnecessary to exert much energy in defeating him – distance, in this case, served as his ally.
"Come and get me," Father Gregory taunted, a sly grin playing on his lips. Swiftly, he unleashed a barrage of mythical beasts of the bug variety. These ethereal creatures darted through the air with breathtaking speed, making it a formidable challenge for Ying to evade their relentless attacks. Caught off guard, Ying found himself pushed back into an adjacent room, the onslaught proving difficult to fend off. Despite his proficiency in destroying the creatures, thanks to his application ability, the sheer numbers overwhelmed him.
In the midst of the chaotic clash, Ying's unique skill [Critical Manifestation] came to the forefront. This extraordinary ability endowed him with the power to manifest "critical points" on a chosen target. Striking these points amplified the effective damage dealt by a factor of five. The ability was most advantageous on a single target for maximum efficiency. However, Ying also possessed a less refined variant of the technique, allowing him to conjure it using limited amounts of spirituality.
The mythical beasts are weak individually, but he summons dozens of them to overwhelm me. If I can group them all together I can probably use that technique. It won't have the power of an ordinary critical point, but strength isn't necessary.
Ying deftly turned his back to the relentless swarm of insectoid creatures, narrowly evading their persistent pursuit. Father Gregory's mocking words echoed in the air, "So you'll run away? How far you've fallen! You've only got twenty more seconds!"
That's because you aren't looking closely enough, asshole, Ying retorted in his mind, determination fueling his defiance.
Unbeknownst to Father Gregory, Ying silently wove thin strands of spirit flames around the once-hallowed cathedral. These ethereal threads served a dual purpose – acting as a medium for the execution of his [Critical Manifestation] technique and, ingeniously, binding the mythical beasts within their fiery embrace.
With a calculated chop of his hand, Ying triggered the release of the technique-imbued spirit threads. The thin strands burst forth in a magnificent display, creating a chain reaction that connected the insectoid mythical beasts. In an instant, their bodies ruptured and exploded under the extreme pressure of the extension technique - [Critical Manifestation - Stacking Wave]
Now is the time to close the distance! If I can just disrupt the ritual for a moment, Derrick will have enough time to come back!
Ying lunged forward yet again, intending to deal a pivotal blow to the forbidden notebook. He didn't need to destroy the book itself, he only needed to damage it externally. This would disrupt the synchronization between Gregory's spirituality and the forbidden notebook. At just an arm's length away, he put every last ounce of strength into his fist. However...Ying was already out of time. With a wave of his hand, Ying's arm was torn asunder by a mysterious pressure.
"Gah!" Ying screamed in pain. He clenched the stump of flesh where his arm once was and looked up at the corrupted body of Father Gregory. Half of his face blew open, revealing countless small tendrils and maggots that squirmed around in a disgusting manner. His speech was slurred and scattered in a similar way to Derrick's, but he still retained a part of his ego.
"Ah...it seems I rushed the process. I need...to hide..."
Damn it...I can't quite control myself. Killing Ying Fo right now would be a complete waste, and the Sylph is likely dead. I need to gain my distance...from that thing.
With Ying and Naoto effectively out of commission, Father Derrick's ritual had almost served its function; but the incomplete assimilation of the Rank 4 Devotee Factor delayed his plan. If he could not escape the monster that Disciple Cramwell contained, then everything would be for not.
"...!?"
Out of the corner of his eye, and oppressive and violent aura radiated behind Father Gregory, the sound of heavy footsteps echoing through the chamber. The urgency of the situation heightened as a mysterious figure crept out of the darkness with a trail of blood left in his wake.
It murmured a cryptic message, "You are...special...my child..."
The mysterious figure was Derrick Foster, swallowed deep in the depths of madness. In his right hand was the severed head of Disciple Cramwell.