Chapter 232

As Erebus's chilling declaration dissipated into the blood-soaked air, the god himself, flanked by his three champions—Zald, Alfia, and Mors—vanished into the engulfing darkness.

They retreated from the ravaged battlefield not in defeat, but with a chilling, collective smile that spoke of malevolent ease, already plotting the next steps in Orario's calculated demise.

Left behind, the evilus soldiers were engulfed by a primal frenzy.

Energized by the dark god's final words and the potent aura of their disappearing champions, they transformed into a tidal wave of madness.

They surged forward with a fervor bordering on suicidal zeal, tearing through the ranks of stunned adventurers and defenseless civilians alike.

On this day, Orario was plunged into its longest, darkest night.

Fires raged uncontrolled, painting the sky a ghastly orange as the city burned.

The gutters ran slick and swollen, not with rain, but with blood.

Countless lights were snuffed out—not just the stars obscured by smoke, but the lives of many heroes and innocents.

Though it was impossible to grasp the full terrifying scope at the time, this horrific onslaught was merely the dawn of the seven days of chaos the evil god envisioned.

…………………………………………………………………………….

A slanted stone arm, all that survived of a once-proud statue, poked out from beneath a mountain of rubble.

It pointed towards the sky, a silent, desperate appeal for salvation.

But the dawn that followed offered no respite; no golden sunbreak announced the arrival of day. Instead, dark clouds, thick and heavy as a funeral shroud, rose like a choking pall over the city, blocking out any hint of sunlight.

Yet, those who remained knew this was no funeral gathering.

There was no time for the quiet dignity of mourning, no space for the slow process of acceptance.

Family, friends, companions, husbands, wives, and children—all were lost, transformed into the scattered remnants of life, now nothing more than clouds of ash and sorrow obscuring the sky. Weary, broken figures sat slumped on the ground, their heads unable to lift even as the world transitioned from night to a grey, desolate day.

The brute forces of evilus had temporarily retreated at the break of dawn, but the chilling certainty of their return hung heavy in the air.

The unknown timing of their next strike was perhaps the most terrifying prospect of all.

"Hurry up!" a voice, strained and raw with exhaustion, cut through the somber quiet.

"There are still survivors in there!"

It was Draco, pushing through the ruins, leading the equally weary members of his familia in the desperate rescue efforts.

The night's brutal toll was etched on his body, every muscle screaming in protest, but Draco paid it no mind.

His previous focus had been finding his familia members, and a wave of relief had washed over him when he found every member accounted for in the chaos.

Tears had nearly streamed down his face upon seeing Vasileios alive and relatively well.

Not only had he survived, but he had miraculously managed to save Adi.

Shakti, despite her position as captain of the Ganesha familia, had broken down completely upon seeing her sister alive in the Central Park assembly area.

She hadn't cared about appearances, openly sobbing and then showering Vasileios with a torrent of praises and kisses, much to his blushing embarrassment.

When Vasileios revealed it was Draco who had instructed them to keep a watchful eye on Adi during the evilus base raid, both Shakti and Adi had hugged him tightly, their gratitude overwhelming.

'Sigh, they didn't have to be so flashy,' Draco thought, a familiar annoyance touching him as he glanced at some male members of the Ganesha Familia nearby, who were glaring daggers in his direction.

Both Shakti and Adi were quite popular, attracting a considerable number of hopeful suitors.

"We need a mage! Can anyone help over here?" another voice yelled desperately from further down the street, pulling Draco from his brief musings.

"Vasiliki, you go over there and assist with the fires and wounded. Nikolaos and Michalis, focus on clearing this section of rubble. I'll handle this area," Draco quickly instructed, his voice hoarse but commanding.

There weren't nearly enough magic users left alive to deal with the widespread destruction and the tide of injured.

Many had perished during the brutal battle against the evilus forces.

"Heave ho!" Nikolaos and Michalis chanted in strained unison, their muscles straining as they worked to haul away splintered timbers and collapsed masonry.

"Don't you dare die on me!" Dimitra pleaded in a desperate whisper, her hands performing frantic compressions on the chest of a young boy pulled from the debris.

But her efforts were futile; Draco could tell from a single glance that the stillness of the child's form was final.

Clair and Eleni were busy further out, assisting the Dian Cecht Familia and Astraea Familia in setting up a makeshift emergency field hospital, tending to the endless stream of wounded.

Draco surveyed the grim tableau around him: the survivors working through exhaustion, the raw desperation etched onto every face, and the many piles of shrouded forms—so badly burnt or disfigured that telling who they once were was a heartbreaking impossibility.

He could feel it rising in the air, thick and heavy as the smoke: the burning, potent emotion of revenge brewing within many adventurers.

He knew Finn was already planning retaliation against the evilus; the last time he had seen the Pallum strategist, Finn had been lost in thought, a storm gathering behind his usually calm eyes. Draco felt a similar, churning rage within him, but tempered by caution.

'I just hope he won't make any hasty decisions,' he thought grimly.

'The Evilus don't care what means they use – they'll be utterly unpredictable. Their retreat wasn't random; they could have kept pushing, but they chose to pull back at dawn. They wouldn't do that without a calculated reason. We dismissed them as mindless murderers, but they have some big brains on their side, and it's not just Valletta.'

"Draco nii! I found our goddess!" a voice suddenly cut through his thoughts, urgent and relieved.

"Where is she?" Draco asked, a wave of tension he hadn't realized he held finally breaking within him.

He had been searching all night, his worry for his goddess's safety a constant ache.

"She's in the Hephaestus Familia workshop," Vasileios reported, breathless.

'Ah, I should have known,' a wry smile touched Draco's lips.

'She'd been sneaking over there a lot the past few days.'

"All right, I'll head there now. You can help the others finish up in this area," Draco said, already turning and jogging away.

The immediate rescue efforts in this particular block were near completion, and the others seemed capable of handling things until his return.

Draco didn't believe the evilus would attack again so soon after their retreat, and even if they did, his familia members were together; they could manage until he got back.

Besides, priorities shifted.

He also needed to find somewhere safe for him and his familia to update their statuses and assess their growth.

The war had certainly been a brutal catalyst for development among Orario's adventurers.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

In a certain corner of the Central Park, designated as a sprawling, chaotic makeshift camp...

"Finn, wait!" Riveria cried out, clutching her bandaged arm.

Thousands of displaced citizens flooded the park, and despite every available resource being diverted here, there still wasn't enough to keep up with the wounded and the dying.

"Go back and rest, Riveria. You are still severely wounded," Finn replied without turning around, his voice distant and focused.

"Healing the wounded is our top priority, and we need you well enough to do that."

"And it's you I'm worried about now!" Riveria countered, her voice rising.

She hurried around him, forcing him to stop.

Her left arm was bound in a sling, and white gauze covered a deep cut on her cheek, but none of her injuries seemed to deter her.

"I know what you're thinking. You mustn't be hasty!"

"It's far too early to strike back, Finn! We know nothing about their plans or numbers," she pleaded, her eyes searching his.

"I understand time is of the essence, but you mustn't let your feelings cloud your judgment right now."

Finn finally turned, his blue eyes cold and unshaken.

"Right now, we need to play every card we have, Riveria. Do you disagree?"

"Guh!" Riveria clenched her teeth, unable to formulate an immediate counter-argument that didn't sound naive in the face of the night's horror.

"It's time for you to stop playing that girl's mother," Finn warned, his voice dropping slightly, carrying the weight of a difficult truth.

At that stark statement, Riveria's face tightened, a grimace of pain and conflict.

"But... she's only a child!"

"Before she is a child, she is an adventurer in our familia," Finn countered sharply.

"The Bahamut familia are all children, aren't they? Did that stop any of them from participating or risking their lives in this war? Did we stop them or the young ones of other familia’s from participating?" He didn't wait for her answer.

"The young ones need to grow fast, Riveria. We are in a situation where we need to create new powerhouses, and that girl has the single greatest potential within our Familia." He began to slowly circle her, his gaze never leaving hers as he hammered home his point.

"If the enemy maintains this level of attack, and all signs point to them doing so, we will need every ally we can get. That includes every adventurer capable of fighting, even those as young as her. You can hate me for making this decision. I will accept that burden."

His words, delivered in a calm, almost detached tone, sounded cruelly pragmatic, cold and devoid of sentiment.

But that stark reality was reflective of just how dire the situation had become.

If they held any hope of surviving whatever horrors the evilus had planned for the coming days, then every single person capable of fighting needed to do so, desperately and immediately.

Soon, Finn reached the babel tower, the heart of Orario, pushing its grand gates open amidst the surrounding desolation.

Within, away from the immediate chaos, he found the girl he was searching for.

She sat quietly on a step.

Raul and some other younger members of the Loki familia were with her, their presence almost like keepers, attempting to keep her occupied, as if soothing a powerful, perhaps even ferocious, beast from its restless energy.

Her finger traced the lines of the sheathed sword resting eagerly on her lap, her posture one of coiled readiness, as if patiently awaiting the very first opportunity to unsheathe it.

"Are you ready, Ais?" Finn asked, his voice calm, direct.

"Yes, Captain," the slender girl replied instantly, rising fluidly to her feet, positioning the single longsword at her side.

Her golden eyes met his, intense and focused.

"I will fight," Ais Wallenstein stated simply, her young voice clear.

"Just show me where to point my blade." As she spoke, a single, slender shaft of golden light, impossibly bright, pierced through the suffocating pall of clouds that had shrouded the sky, illuminating her momentarily standing amidst the gloom, a fragile beacon of deadly resolve.

A/N: Feel free to read ahead on pat3on and donate.