"Six Arms of The Warden of Hell."
As Klarineht uttered the incantation, the fiery cords entwined around her fists ignited with a searing brilliance, only to dissolve into a dense cloud of ash. From the swirling smoke emerged a sacred, bone-white wind instrument, which she raised to her lips, releasing a soft yet haunting melody into the desolate sanctuary.
This ethereal tune seemed to command the abyss itself. The lone ember hovering above the chasm began to tremble, radiating with a destructive force.
In a sudden burst, a stream of fire surged from the ember, racing directly towards Primnear, who stood by the altar. The shadow-wielder brandished his dark scythe, ready to slice through what appeared to be a simple spell.
Yet as the fiery projectile closed the distance, its divine facade shattered.
The flames transformed, morphing into a terrifying, otherworldly arm—an appendage of legend, as if torn from the cataclysmic scriptures of ancient lore. Recognizing the impending doom within the spell, Primnear opted for prudence over confrontation. He shadow-stepped to the far right side of the hall, narrowly escaping the strike.
But the abyss was relentless. Before his feet could even meet the ground, a second demonic arm materialized from the central ember, hurtling toward him with an unyielding, predatory speed.
---
Elinea stood paralyzed, overwhelmed by the spectacle unfolding around her. Her past encounters had exposed her to a myriad of lethal spells, but this surpassed anything she had ever imagined.
The initial pair of blazing arms quickly multiplied into six, driving the shadow-wielder into a rapid retreat. As Klarineht's melody morphed into a frantic, chaotic rhythm, the floating ember in the void erupted with explosive fury. A blinding column of fire surged through the shattered ceiling, forming a towering pillar of raw incineration that seemed to cleave the sky. The suffocating heat was oppressive, but even more unsettling were the feral growls rising from the flames, reminiscent of a wild beast battling to break free from its fiery confines.
Through the haze, Elinea's eyes fixed on Primnear by the altar. His armor was charred, and his skin was blistered, yet he held back from unleashing a single powerful shadow technique. He was deliberately restraining himself, fearful of harming the vacant, silver-haired girl. To Elinea's amazement, Klarineht mirrored his restraint, diverting her fiery assaults away from the altar.
Who is she? Elinea mused, feeling a chill despite the searing heat surrounding her. What kind of girl could compel two powerful warriors to guard her with such intensity?
Elinea's instincts as a soldier quickly came to life. In the chaos of battle, when a general falls, you have two choices: eliminate them or take them captive. Each path has its own strategic value depending on the enemy's nature. With ruthless barbarians, slaying their fierce fighters is more effective, as they care little for their return. But for someone like Raiking—who was willing to ignite a global conflict for those he cherished—there was only one path that made sense.
While Klarineht and Primnear stood locked in a fiery and shadowy standoff, Elinea harnessed her Wind Magic—the fleetest of the seven elements. In a blink, she was beside Ezmelral, reaching out to grip the seemingly lost girl by the shoulder.
As her fingers brushed the fabric, reality itself seemed to warp.
The ancient cathedral, a testament to the enduring might of Peak Immortals, simply ceased to exist.
There was no blinding divine light.
No deafening boom of annihilation.
No whispered spell.
Just a sudden, complete dissolution into ash.
A wave of lethal intent surged over Elinea, freezing her in place and stealing the breath from her lungs. She forced herself to look up. Raiking hovered effortlessly behind her, his dark eyes piercing into her soul, while the remnants of the sacred sanctuary drifted down like ashen snowflakes.
The once-mighty amber pillar—a force strong enough to obliterate the entire capital—had vanished in an instant, as if it were nothing more than a fleeting illusion.
But the destruction of the sanctuary was not Raiking's only act of vengeance. Elinea began to pay the cosmic price for her defiance. An ancient, searing heat started to devour her right arm, originating from the very flesh that had dared to bind itself to Ezmeral.
"Arghhh!" she screamed.
The pain was unbearable. Crushed by the overwhelming pressure, she collapsed to her knees, clutching her arm as agonized cries escaped her lips.
Klarineht observed the young vanguard endure her excruciating punishment. She recognized the terrifying marks of Raiking's authority. Her conscience urged her to intervene, yet her wisdom counseled restraint. With Arshara gone, the responsibility of pseudo-leadership over the Twelve rested on her shoulders. She recalled the days when Raiking and Arshara roamed these grand halls together, long before they were reduced to ashes.
The Demon King was a figure of calm restraint, his wrath rarely provoked. Yet when he did decide to act, the impact of his retribution reverberated across entire civilizations. He had shown leniency to the Paladixtus Order, opting not to seize the altar by force, but this leniency was as precarious as a single thread in a vast tapestry.
Just as Klarineht hesitated, Dia'Tia burst forth with a surge of kinetic energy, positioning herself protectively between the deity and her lieutenant.
"Raiking!" Dia'Tia shouted, her voice resonating with authority. "Did we not forge a pact?!"
"I have spared her life," Raiking responded, his eyes void of emotion. "But I will claim the limb that dishonored my sister."
Dia'Tia felt a chill grip her soul. "That is her sword arm! To a warrior, such a loss is a cruelty far worse than death!"
"She should have considered the consequences of her actions before carrying them out."
The decree was irrevocable. In the next instant, Elinea's screams filled the air, a piercing sound that echoed through the ruins. Dia'Tia watched in horror as the nightmare unfolded: Elinea's fingers, then her palm, forearm, and finally her shoulder, crumbled into fine, lifeless dust.
Ignoring Elinea's desperate cries, Raiking glided towards the altar's steps, beginning his ascent to claim the final component needed to resolve Ezmelral's curse.
"Sister Klarineht," Raiking murmured, summoning an ancient technique scroll and allowing it to drift into her fiery grasp. "Within this scroll lies the key to conquering the Tower of Ascension. I trust that when we next meet, Arshara's grand vision will have come to fruition."
He vanished into the ether, leaving no trace, while Primnear seamlessly merged into the surrounding shadows.
In the silent aftermath of the ravaged sanctuary, Dia'Tia cradled her shattered comrade, who clutched desperately at the void. "My arm! Commander... where is my arm?!"