Jareth took a deep breath, standing amidst the bustling activity of the Holy Lands. The once-scarred city was healing under his leadership, the walls fortified, the streets cleared of debris, and the morale of the people rising. Lyra stood nearby, her GodGear Fujin shimmering faintly in the sunlight as her voice carried commands to the builders and mages working tirelessly to bolster the city's defenses.
Jareth had made his decision. He couldn't afford another close call like the last attack. This city needed to be able to stand strong without him, especially if he were to face another prolonged battle. He walked the perimeter of the city's newly reinforced walls, inspecting every detail with a critical eye.
"This barrier should hold better now," he muttered, running his hand along the runic etchings glowing softly with protective magic. With a sharp motion, he summoned Bahamut's power to repair and amplify the magic barrier he had placed previously. The air around the city shimmered as the barrier hummed to life, stronger than ever before.
He turned to Lyra, who approached with a determined expression. "I need you to hold the line here, Lyra. The city must be able to defend itself, even if I can't return in time."
Lyra nodded, her emerald eyes sharp. "Understood. I'll ensure that the defenses are ready for anything. But Jareth, be careful. The further you go, the more dangerous it gets."
Jareth gave her a faint smile. "I know. That's why I'm counting on you. And one more thing… if the worst should happen, I've had plans drawn up for a tunnel leading to the Skybound Realm's entrance. It's a backup, in case the city falls. Make sure it gets built."
Lyra's expression hardened, but she nodded. "It will be done."
Without wasting more time, Jareth took to the skies, Bahamut's wings spreading wide as they carried him beyond the Holy Lands' borders. The air felt heavier as he flew, the distant horizon marred by the towering structure that loomed ahead. He returned to the spot where he had camped before, the charred remains of his earlier battles still visible on the ground below.
"We're close," Bahamut's deep voice resonated in Jareth's mind. "This tower exudes a much stronger aura than the last. Prepare yourself, Jareth."
Jareth shivered involuntarily as the oppressive energy washed over him. The air crackled with tension, and his instincts screamed of danger. As the tower came into view, so did its guardians – a massive formation of flying units, their sleek, triangular shapes glinting ominously in the dim light. There were thousands of them, arranged in a precise formation that spoke of a coordinated and deadly force.
"This is going to be a nightmare," Jareth muttered, his fists clenching. "I wish I had more allies to fight alongside me."
Bahamut's voice rumbled with reassurance. "Do not despair. The Godsword that guides us never lies. I sense other GodGear users out there, still alive. You are not alone, Jareth. In time, you will find them."
But time was not a luxury he had now. Gritting his teeth, Jareth charged forward, Bahamut's power surging through him. The triangular units swarmed like a living storm, their numbers seemingly endless. Their synchronized attacks lit up the skies with deadly precision, but Jareth's experience and growing strength turned the tide in his favor.
Each swing of his blade cleaved through dozens of enemies, Bahamut's flames scorching the air as they engulfed the attackers. His movements were a blur, his newfound confidence and skill making him a one-man army. But even with his overwhelming power, the sheer number of enemies tested his limits.
Hours passed, the battle dragging on like an endless nightmare. His muscles burned, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his body was drenched in blood – both his own and that of his enemies. Yet he fought on, driven by the knowledge that he could not afford to fail. By the time the last enemy fell, Jareth stood alone amidst a sea of destruction, the ground littered with the remains of over 150,000 foes.
He stumbled forward, every inch of his body aching. His armor was dented and bloodied, and there wasn't a single spot on him that wasn't stained red. He longed for water to cleanse himself, but Bahamut's voice reminded him that such luxuries were not his domain.
"Rest, Jareth," Bahamut's voice was gentle now. "You've earned it. The tower's true challenge lies within, and you will need all your strength to face it."
Jareth nodded weakly, collapsing to his knees before the massive doors of the tower. The dark, foreboding structure loomed over him, its surface pulsating faintly with an ominous energy. He could feel the weight of the battles to come pressing down on him, but he steeled himself. He was ready.
As he closed his eyes, leaning against the cold surface of the tower, he whispered to himself, "No turning back now."