Lusian smashed the first vial against the runic wall of the tunnel.
There was no fire.No explosion.
Only a dense, luminous white vapor spilled forth like a specter, sliding along the stone corridors. The light did not illuminate—it erased.
At once, the three Lithaar giants guarding the entrance shuddered.
Their cores, once glowing with a deep orange light, turned pure white in a blink. The runes etched across their bodies began to flicker erratically, disordered—like blind eyes searching for meaning.
Their granite arms froze mid-motion, trembling with restrained violence.One more step… and they would have shattered.
"System error," Elizabeth murmured, watching as the symbols carved into the stone collapsed over one another. "Their cores interpret the ground as pure light. They can't move without destroying themselves."
Lusian did not smile.
"Move. Now."
Lusian rode Thunder, his steed wreathed in crackling electricity, steady and unyielding. Elizabeth followed close behind, blazing and alert. Further back, Adela advanced atop her tiger, silent and fluid, ready to strike.
They crossed the tunnels, passing the immobilized Lithaar—colossi frozen in war stances, like statues abandoned in a museum built by cruel gods. The vapor still lingered in the air, nullifying magical perception, silencing senses that did not belong to the living.
They emerged through a seismic ventilation shaft directly into the heart of the enemy camp.
Above them, chaos had already begun.
Deprived of the Lithaar's stabilizing pressure, the ground gave way, splitting into treacherous fractures. In the distance, the roar of the Herbivores thundered like something ancient. The Carnivores, disoriented by the silence of their stone guardians, barely had time to react before a tide of horns, tusks, and hooves crashed into them with renewed fury.
The central plaza burned with screams, dust, and blood.
Lusian advanced into the heart of the disaster.
Before him rose the three great Crystal Pillars—divine artifacts embedded into the earth like celestial stakes. From their cores pulsed the golden dome, dense and oppressive, shining with a brilliance that wounded both eye and soul.
"Who handles the artifacts?" Adela asked, unsheathing her blade, its edge still slick with luminous sap.
Lusian lifted his gaze toward the main tent.
Three figures emerged from within the white canvas.
Immaculate cloaks.Hands wrapped in light.Divine marks pulsing like hearts on the verge of detonation.
Lesser Heroes.
Each bore a distinct aura:
Valerius, the Saint of Iron—his sealed armor defying even the sun itself. His presence commanded obedience, as though every soldier's body remembered how to kneel.
Kaelen, the Pyre of Sin—smiling faintly, eyes burning with a strange fire, as if inviting heresy to embrace the sacred wood of the Mother Tree.
Selene, the Weaver of Prayers—eyes closed, fingers weaving threads of energy that turned every prayer into a weapon. Each movement quietly reshaped the certainty of those around her.
Living weapons.Bombs given name and form.
Lusian's eyes darkened into bottomless voids.
"You deal with the crystals," he said, his calm absolute.
Then he stepped forward—and the darkness answered.
"I'll make sure these 'heroes' don't have time…to say their last words."
Lusian did not wait. The darkness at his feet spread like oil spilling over clear water, defying the impenetrable light of the dome.
Valerius, the Saint of Iron, reacted first. He did not charge—he struck the ground with his war hammer. A wave of divine authority surged across the plaza, forcing matter itself to bow. Lusian felt his knees falter—not from weakness, but because Valerius's aura compelled the world to kneel.
"Submit to the mandate of heaven, child of shadow!" Valerius roared, his voice crashing against the camp walls.
Lusian gritted his teeth, his blade humming with dark energy."Mandates… ha. You just want my life," he growled, lunging forward.
At the same time, Kaelen, the Pyre of Sin, spread her arms. From her hands burst white flame—not burning flesh, but will. It sought Lusian's doubts, his fears for Berenia, his guilt for his people. The air became an oven of divine judgment; the heat rose without scorching, suffocating the mind instead.
Lusian shifted his trajectory. The flames licked at his cloak, but his dark mana deflected them before they could touch his skin. The coordinated assault was relentless. From behind, Selene, the Weaver of Prayers, moved her fingers with lethal grace. Silver threads wrapped around Lusian's ankles—not to restrain him, but to distort his perception: the ground dissolved beneath his feet, up and down losing all meaning.
He was trapped within a cage of light, fire, and fate.
"Now!" Lusian shouted to his allies.
Kara, Adela, and Elizabeth lunged toward the Crystal Pillars—and Lusian unleashed his true power. He could not afford a battle of attrition; if even one of them reached its critical point, the entire camp would detonate.
He closed his eyes, ignoring Selene's threads and Kaelen's heat. He focused.
"Primordial Darkness…" he whispered—and shadow erupted from within.
The world dimmed in an instant, blinding Valerius's light. In that fleeting blink, Lusian appeared before the Saint of Iron. Valerius's hammer descended—but Lusian was faster. His blade, wrapped in dark mana, pierced the "indestructible" armor at the junction of the neck.
Valerius froze. His divine mark flared with lethal brilliance, on the verge of detonation.
"I won't give you the satisfaction," Lusian said.
He placed his hand over the mark—and instead of driving it outward, he absorbed the energy before it could explode, smothering it within his dark mana. Valerius fell—not as a martyr, but as an empty man. His armor crumbled into ordinary ash before the stunned plaza.
Kaelen and Selene stepped back, fear replacing arrogance. Selene's certainty unraveled.
The demon did not die.
He devoured their blessings.