Even amidst the brilliance of the Holy Light, the crimson of the flames still stood out starkly. Frey took a step forward, and the ground, which had already turned to char in the first conflagration, once more sparkled with red embers.
"We are the last sacrifices." The voice that whispered out carried the heat of a hot wind, hoarse and deep.
The conjoined entity of two Witch Mothers looked at the monster before them, and as Mystics, it was the Holy Light that revealed to them even higher levels of strange power. Biting their lips, they felt the skin at the corners crack with dryness; the high temperature was affecting all of us.
The Guardians reformed into a whole; they were unharmed by the flames and even healed their wounds amid the fire, regaining their vigor. The blazing fire that adorned their war hammer and armor had given the battling witches a taste of immolation.
Fourth Tier, Mystics could borrow the power of their kin.
