Chapter 266
The moonlight mixed with fire leaked through the cracked stained-glass window, like blood mixed with tears.
The vibrant blues and reds of saints and angels were fractured, their holy visages warped by the inferno raging outside, casting a kaleidoscope of broken promises across the stone floor.
Ryuu stood alone by that window, a lone spire of despair in the echoing silence of the abandoned church.
Erebus’s question, a silken dagger coated in poison, still rang in her ears.
“Tell me, elf! Make a choice! What will your justice be?”
Her vision swam, splintering into a thousand sharp-edged reflections of her own tormented face.
It was as if she had been cast into a maze of broken mirrors, each shard showing a different path to ruin.
She couldn't breathe; the simple, instinctual act of drawing air into her lungs felt like a forgotten art.
The light piercing the window was a physical assault, a searing pain in her eyes, yet she couldn't remember what it was, or where she was, or why her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
“Rest assured, Ryuu. This will be the last time I ask you about justice.” Erebus smiled, a serene, placid expression that was more terrifying than any snarl.
He stood apart from the chaos, an island of calm in a sea of damnation.
Ryuu’s hand flew to her chest, her knuckles white as she clutched at the fabric over her heart, a desperate attempt to hold herself together.
Her breath came in short, ragged bursts, the prelude to a full-blown hyperventilating collapse.
Her face was a deathly, ashen mask.
“So hurry up,” the god’s voice was a soft whisper, a lover’s murmur meant only for her.
“Give me your answer. Don’t wait for me to grow bored with you. You know what will happen to that girl if you do.”
“Grh…!” A guttural sound tore from her throat, a mix of rage and utter helplessness.
As if on cue, a violent explosion painted the window in brilliant, terrible shades of orange and red.
The image of a tortured saint was momentarily consumed by a real, living flame.
Through the fractured glass, Ryuu saw the source.
Unbelievable plumes of acrid smoke rose from Asfi’s body.
The scorched, sickening smell of burnt flesh and seared leather reached even here, a miasma of torment.
Asfi tried to regain her balance, a flicker of confusion crossing her features before she remembered she was already on the ground, lying prone amidst the rubble of a collapsed building.
The magical cloak that had deflected many blows, her trusted shield against the world, had blackened and disintegrated into feathery ash.
It would not, could not, protect her from the next attack.
With a monumental effort of will, Asfi fought off the encroaching oblivion.
She forced her eyes open, the world a blurry mess of moonlight and shadow.
In her trembling, blood-slicked arms, she gripped her weapon, the metal cool against her burning skin.
“Haah… Haah… Haah…!” Each pant was a battle, a wet, ragged sound that sent droplets of crimson spilling from her lips to stain the grey cobblestones.
She rose, faltering, unsteady, like a newborn fawn taking its first, agonizing steps.
Olivas stood facing her, bathed in the ethereal silver of the moonlight, a cruel, triumphant grin splitting his face.
“Adventurers always cling so stubbornly to life. You, girl, are no exception.”
He hefted his magic sword, its blade pulsing with a malevolent red light, and swung it not with killing intent, but with the calculated cruelty of a master torturer.
The blade discharged a bolt of fire energy that slammed into Asfi, not to kill, but to maim, to prolong the agony.
“Urgh!” Asfi groaned, a low, pained sound as she was blasted across the ground, her body rag-dolling before crashing into a pile of shattered masonry.
“Asfi! Dammit!” Falgar’s scream was raw, torn from his lungs.
He and the rest of Hermes familia were locked in a desperate struggle, a swirling melee against an unending horde of evilus cultists.
They could see her, see her torment, but they were trapped, unable to cut a path through the sea of bodies to reach her.
“Look at you,” Olivas sneered, his voice carrying over the din of battle.
He sauntered towards her, his boots crunching on the debris.
“The sacrificial lamb, bleeding and burned, unable to even scream. I wish I could capture this moment, have it forever preserved in a painting, Perseus!”
He called her by her alias, twisting it into an insult.
His body began to shake with an almost religious fervour, his eyes wide with ecstatic delight.
He turned then, his arms spread wide, addressing the terrified civilians huddled behind the adventurers’ lines.
“People of Orario! Do not avert your eyes! Gaze upon the consequence of your cowardice and weep! Let your pathetic cries be heard all across this dying city!”
The people were frozen, not by courage, but by a paralyzing cocktail of shock and terror.
They couldn't run, couldn't fight, couldn't even look away.
All they could do was stare at the torment unfolding before them, their hearts and minds possessed by a gnawing, acidic guilt.
“Stop it… Stop it!!” a woman wailed.
“Help her! Somebody please, help her!” a man screamed, his voice cracking.
But they were only words, empty pleas into a merciless night.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!” Olivas’s laughter was a high, unhinged shriek.
“Fools! Can you not see that my allies hold your would-be rescuers at bay? Her fate is sealed! Your heroes are powerless!” His laughter echoed, feeding on their despair, growing stronger with every sob.
“There is no hope for any of you! This is the end, adventurer. And after you, it shall be this entire city that burns!”
Framed by the cracks in the stained-glass window, Ryuu saw it all.
She saw her friend, her steadfast, brilliant friend, being systematically broken.
That single, horrific scene, painted in the merciless shades of the moonlight and fire, stole away what little determination she had left.
A despair so deep it felt like a physical weight settled in her bones, threatening to crush her.
“We stand at a crossroads, Ryuu. But don’t worry. No one’s looking, so choose.” Erebus’s whispered tones were back, sweet and intoxicating as honeyed poison.
He had moved to stand beside her, his presence a chilling void.
“The one or the many. Your friend, or the faceless, ungrateful masses. No one will ever know it was them you chose to forsake. Choose yourself. Choose your own peace.”
A diabolical crescent etched itself into his lips as he symbolically pressed a bouquet of ruin into Ryuu’s unwilling arms.
The world around her turned stark black-and-white, flashing rapidly between blinding light and suffocating darkness.
The crossroads was here.
The scales of justice trembled, waiting for her to place a weight upon them.
“Ryuu,” said the mad god, his voice a final, damning nail.
“What is your justice?”
“I… I…! I…!!” The words wouldn't form.
Her mind was a maelstrom of denial and agony.
“Help will come.”
The voice was not hers.
It was quiet, strained, but it cut through the chaos like a shard of pure crystal.
“!!” Ryuu’s head snapped up, her eyes wide.
Erebus, a flicker of annoyance on his perfect face, allowed his gaze to follow hers.
The two of them, god and elf, looked through the broken window at a silent battlefield momentarily bathed in an expectant hush.
“Help will…come.” Stained in moonlight and her own blood, Asfi was climbing to her feet again.
“What?” Olivas wrinkled his brow, his amusement fading into irritation.
“Someone will come.” Asfi stood at death’s door.
It was hard to find a single part of her that wasn’t burned, bleeding, or broken.
Her legs trembled violently, struggling to bear her weight as her life drained away onto the stones.
It looked as though the slightest breeze would topple her for good.
But her eyes.
Her eyes shone with a strong, unquenchable light.
They burned with a faith so potent it seemed to banish the suffering, to hold the pain at bay.
“Help?” sneered Olivas, recovering his composure.
“Who do you imagine is coming? The Loki familia? Astraea? Or perhaps the Bahamut familia? Hah! Foolish girl, you must be delirious from the pain! This entire sector of the city is isolated. You will be long dead before anyone can even breach the perimeter. But I am curious… what could have possibly convinced you to spout such ridiculous, desperate claims?”
The evilus lieutenant laughed, a low, guttural sound, and his dark host of cultists joined him, their shadows stretching long and menacing in the moonlight.
Standing in their suffocating shade, Asfi closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering her last reserves of strength.
“I know someone will. Because…” She looked up, her gaze sweeping past her tormentor, past the fighting, towards the church where her gaze met Ryuu’s.
She clutched her chest, over her heart.
“If I can’t believe in my allies,” she yelled, her voice raw but ringing with conviction, “then what is there left to believe in?! They have given so much, lost so much, and hurt so much, all for the sake of peace! For the sake of this city!”
Ryuu felt her own fists quiver, a spark igniting in the cold void of her despair.
“A foolish hope! A child’s fantasy! And still you cling to the false promises of justice!” Olivas swept his arm in the direction of the terrified civilians.
“Look around you! Who among them can say they agree? Look at their faces! Not a single one of them still holds trust in the justice you so blindly preach!”
As if in stark confirmation of his words, the faces of some civilians turned away from Asfi’s gaze.
Among them were the young men who had thrown stones at the adventurers just hours before, a woman who had screamed curses at them, and the parents of little Leah, the child they had failed to save.
They hung their heads in shame, their guilt a palpable force.
“They rejected justice!” Olivas howled with manic glee.
“Why should it save them now?! Ha-ha-ha! It shall not! And deep down, all of them know this!” His words rang with a terrible, undeniable truth.
“It doesn’t matter if they despair,” Asfi declared, her voice rising to a defiant shout that silenced the battlefield.
“It doesn't matter if they falter in their faith! We… will never forsake them!”
As if her words were a divine cue, a sudden, concussive boom, deeper and more powerful than any explosion yet, echoed.
It was followed by a bone-chilling pressure that descended upon the entire district, a palpable weight that made the very air feel thick and heavy.
Accompanying it was a light, a silent, blinding flash originating from the factory district, so intensely bright that for a moment, it outshone the moon, turning night into a sterile, artificial day.
“What?” was all anyone—Olivas, Falgar, the civilians, even Erebus—could mutter, their gazes drawn irresistibly towards the impossible light.
…………………………………..
Twenty minutes into the past…
In the northwestern district of Orario, fleeting shadows dashed under the same cold moonlight.
They moved with purpose and precision, their armour glinting as they leaped from rooftop to rooftop.
These shadows were members of the Bahamut Familia: Michalis, Eleni, Nikolaos, Dimitra, Vasileios and Vasiliki, and Clair.
They were clearing a path, staying ahead of the larger group of rescued civilians they had just liberated from the factory district camp.
Orario was a war-zone, a complete mess, especially the western district.
The northwest road was blocked by the evilus champion Alfia, her power a palpable wall of dread.
The western road was blocked by the hulking form of the champion Zald.
And their own escape from the factory district had been impeded by the third champion, Mors.
Their duty was clear, but a heavy, unspoken guilt was a stone in each of their guts.
Back in the factory district, their Captain, their brother, Draco, was fighting alone.
He was holding back the third evilus champion, Mors, a creature of nightmare, buying them the time they needed to escape with the civilians.
They were only following his direct, unassailable order: "If we ever encounter an evilus champion as a group, you all run. I will buy the time. That is my duty as captain and your brother."
The sounds of that desperate battle were growing more distant as they neared the relative safety of the northeastern district.
They found a defensible plaza, ushering the frightened, exhausted civilians into the shelter of a reinforced guild outpost.
Once the last civilian was inside and the barricades were set, the taut professionalism that had carried them this far finally snapped.
“We just left him,” Eleni said, her voice tight with suppressed emotion.
She slammed a gauntleted fist against a stone wall, the impact echoing in the tense silence.
“We just ran and left him to die.”
“It was his command, Eleni,” Michalis replied, his back to her as he scanned the perimeter.
His voice was flat, betraying none of the turmoil he felt.
“Our mission was to escape while protecting the civilians, we would have been added liabilities if we stayed”
“Protect the civilians?” Vasileios, scoffed.
“Didn’t we just hide behind his orders because we were afraid? Mors… we all saw it. No one can face that thing alone.”
“Draco can,” Clair whispered, her voice barely audible.
She was polishing her spear with a nervous energy, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.
“He always finds a way.” she added.
“Hope is not a strategy, Clair,” Dimitra interjected, her fingers tracing a map.
“Michalis assessment is correct. To stay would have been suicide for all of us and the people we were protecting. Draco-nii made the only logical choice.” Nikolaos, who had been leaning against a pillar, finally spoke.
“However, logic doesn’t make it right. It just makes it necessary.” he added, pushing himself off the pillar.
“The civilians are secure. The mission is complete.” Vasiliki suddenly interjected.
A heavy silence fell over the group.
They all grasped what she was implying.
Their duty was done.
What came next was a choice.
Michalis finally turned around, his face a grim mask in the moonlight.
He looked at each of them, at the shared guilt and fear in their eyes.
He saw the same question reflected back at him: Are we a family that follows orders, or a family that protects its own?
“He’s our Captain,” Michalis said, his voice now filled with a resolve that chased away the doubt.
“He’s our brother. We’re going back.”
A wave of relief washed over them.
Eleni nodded, wiping a tear from her eye.
They all drew their weapons, a new fire in their expressions.
“What’s the plan, then?” Dimitra asked, her tactical mind already racing.
“There is no plan,” Vasiliki stated, a grim smile touching her lips.
“We get to the factory district, and we bring our brother home. Or we die with him.”
Without another word, they moved as one, a silver torrent flowing back into the chaos.
They raced through the burning streets, their destination a beacon of desperate hope.
The sounds of battle grew louder, the air thicker with smoke.
They were almost there, just a few blocks from the factory district’s edge.
And then it happened.
First came the light.
A silent, world-shattering flash that bleached the colour from everything, turning the fiery destruction into a ghostly, overexposed photograph.
It was absolute, impossibly bright, forcing them all to shield their eyes.
Then came the pressure.
It wasn’t a shockwave of force that threw them back, but a crushing, spiritual weight.
The air became thick as water, pressing in on them, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.
It was a primal, terrifying presence that seeped into their very bones, awakening a fear that lay deeper than any monster or battlefield.
It felt… familiar.
Awfully, terrifyingly familiar.
It was a sensation from a shared memory, a half-forgotten nightmare from their childhood.
A feeling they had all experienced once before, on a day the sky burned and the world nearly ended.
They stumbled to a halt, their mission, their resolve, their very thoughts obliterated by the sheer magnitude of what they were feeling.
Frozen in the middle of a ruined street, they lowered their hands from their eyes and stared, their expressions a mixture of awe and absolute terror, towards the source of the blinding light.
Perhaps, it wasn’t their brother who needed saving, it was them.
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