Looking across all of Orario, the only faction capable of immediately organizing a sufficiently powerful expedition team to rescue the Loki Familia was the Freya Familia.
"I just hope Goddess Freya... will prioritize the bigger picture."
A bitter smile surfaced on Royman's face.
While the gears of the surface world began to slowly turn in response to the intelligence from the Dungeon, down on the frozen lakes of the twenty-seventh floor, another desperate battle burning with life force was playing out its most violent and furious movement.
ROOOOOOOAR!
Tiona's roar no longer sounded human.
Her entire body was covered in deep gashes that exposed bone, the brutal aftermath of being shredded by Childe's electrified hydro blades. Blood had thoroughly soaked her already tattered combat attire a deep crimson, yet she seemed completely immune to the pain.
Torrents of scalding, visible white steam billowed out from every inch of her skin and every wound, engulfing her entirely in a warped, boiling mist.
[Intense Heat].
It was an ultimate skill that only activated in the final moments when one was on the verge of death and their life force was about to burn out completely.
The closer she was to death, the stronger she became.
At this moment, Tiona's rationality had been completely drowned out by boiling battle lust and primal instinct. Her brown eyes, which usually sparkled with innocent naivety, were now reduced to the crimson glare of a wild beast.
Her massive double-bladed weapon, Urga, was long gone, but her own body was the most terrifying weapon of all. Like a tireless, crazed beast, she launched a relentless, suicidal assault against the pitch-black Demon Lord.
Every charge carried the absolute resolve of mutual destruction. Every punch abandoned all defense, aimed solely at leaving scars on her enemy.
On her flank, her sister Tione had entered a similar state.
[Backdraft].
At the brink of death, all of her anger and unwillingness were converted into pure, unadulterated power.
Her beautiful face, which always strove to maintain a lady-like elegance, was currently twisted in agony and rage. Having also abandoned her weapons, she fought bare-handed, swinging fists tempered through countless battles—fists as hard as steel—to deliver blows capable of shattering mountains right at Childe.
She completely ignored the high-pressure hydro blades and purplish-black lightning that coiled around her like venomous snakes, allowing them to leave charred and torn wounds across her flesh. Every single one of her attacks had only one goal—to smash the enemy before her into a bloody pulp.
Faced with this sudden, berserk counterattack from the Amazon sisters fighting like two wounded mother beasts, even someone as strong as Childe had to start dodging and blocking seriously.
However, this was only the beginning.
"Initiation of the starving wolf king."
A low, hoarse voice, dripping with endless hatred, echoed from another corner of the battlefield.
It was Bete Loga.
He was half-kneeling on the ground, bathed in blood, but his silver wolf eyes were locked onto Childe. From his lips, he was chanting the spell he loathed to use more than any other in his life, maintaining a slow and steady rhythm.
"One wound, bind. Two wounds, howl. Three wounds, stake."
This was the magic he despised most.
It was a fire-attribute enchantment magic requiring a super-long chant—[Hati].
It absorbed the magic and physical damage inflicted upon him, storing it all away before finally erupting all at once in the most violent manifestation possible.
The very act of chanting this magic was a form of self-mutilation. It forcibly tore open the most painful scars in the caster's heart, turning all forgotten and suppressed anger and hatred into the fuel needed to ignite the flames.
"Starvation and drool are the only hope. Open the river, blend with the blood, and wash away the tears."
In Bete's mind, the memories of that night so many years ago surfaced. His clansmen, his family, his lover—all of them torn to pieces by the claws of monsters. That powerlessness, that despair, that deep-seated hatred was a nightmare he could never escape.
"The unhealing wound, do not forget."
He didn't want to use this magic, because every time he chanted it, he was throwing himself back into that hell.
But right now, he had no choice.
The life and death of his comrades, the survival of his Familia, and the overwhelmingly powerful enemy standing before him... He had to cast aside his ridiculous pride and dignity.
"This wrath and this hatred! Your cowardice and your raging fire!"
He could feel the damage inflicted by Childe's berserk hydro-electro attacks during the battle—the alien magic invading his body—being drawn out and absorbed by the incantation.
"Hate the world, acknowledge heavenly principles, cry until the tears run dry."
"Scars turn to fangs, wails turn to roars, lost flesh and blood turn to power!"
His voice grew louder, more frantic.
"Shatter the binding chains and break free, let the roar that pierces the heavens resound!"
"Genealogy of wrath, I command you to devour the moon in my stead, drink deep of the thousands and millions!"
When the final line of the chant squeezed out from the depths of his throat like a blood-weeping curse—
"—Devour utterly with your flaming fangs!"
BOOM!
An unprecedented, violently extreme crimson flame erupted outwards from within Bete's body. The fire was so intense, so incredibly pure, that it instantly swallowed him whole.
But the flames didn't burn him to ash; instead, they condensed into a mantle of fire across his skin.
He had transformed into a true Demon Wolf of Fire.
"Awooooo!"
Bete tipped his head back and let loose a wolf howl filled with agony and rage. In the next second, he became a crimson shooting star, moving several times faster than before. Carrying a momentum that threatened to incinerate all of creation, he launched a berserk, fight-to-the-death assault on Childe.
For the first time, Childe's expression changed.
He was caught entirely off guard by the sudden eruption of these three fighters. Tiona's suicidal tackles forced him to dodge sideways; Tione's heavy iron fists sealed his retreat from another angle; and Bete's flaming wolf claws slashed down from above with a sure-kill ferocity, akin to an erupting volcano.
"Now this is interesting!"
A twisted smile of pure exhilaration formed beneath Childe's mask.
He hadn't expected these three prey, who were clearly at their limits and running on fumes, to experience yet another burst of power. It was just like those boring storybooks—breaking through one's limits in a desperate situation, burning their life force to bloom with a final, brilliant light.
Clang!
At the very last second, Childe turned into a streak of lightning, narrowly evading the trio's coordinated strike. However, Bete's flame-wreathed claws still managed to drag across his shoulder armor, leaving a deep gouge accompanied by an ear-piercing screech and a shower of sparks.
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