Hanna, standing near the altar, inhaled sharply and took a step back. She recognized that thing. She knew exactly where she had last seen such an abomination, and her stomach clenched.
"Do you want her, Hilda?" Friedrich's voice cut through the rising murmur. He ignored the thrown evidence, his eyes fixed solely on his former wife. His face was a mixture of arrogance and cruelty. "Then come and get her."
He reached his hand out toward the altar. An invisible noose tightened around Ema's neck, lifting her into the air. Ema hung a meter above the altar, gasping for breath, her legs kicking helplessly. Friedrich raised his other hand and focused on her chest again. He resumed the extraction, this time with maximum brutality. He wanted to tear it out before anyone could reach her. Ema screamed in a fresh wave of agony.
It was a signal.
Hilda was not alone. Others stepped out from the crowd and from behind the massive pillars. They threw off their disguises, and raw, untamed power flared to life in their palms with a crackle.
Hell was unleashed.
The rebels immediately clustered around Hilda, and in a single heartbeat, a massive fiery protective sphere materialized around them. It wasn't just a static shield; it was a pulsing, ravenous dome of white heat. Flames radiated wildly outward from the sphere, their convulsive tongues licking the ancient frescoes on the high vaults, which instantly blackened and cracked under the intense heat. The air rippled in unbearable waves, and the gold on the heavy candelabras near the rebels began to soften under the pressure, dripping to the ground like tears of precious metal.
The family members reacted immediately. A massive wall of ice, thick and clear as glass, erupted in front of Friedrich and the altar, shattering the rebels' fireballs upon impact. The hall filled with the hiss of steam, immediately dropping visibility to a minimum.
The water from the large vases lining the aisle shot into the air. The Architects shaped it into thousands of sharp needles and deadly icicles. Spears of ice whistled through the air.
One of the rebels standing by Hilda's side couldn't react in time. An ice spike pierced his chest, pinning him to a wooden pew. The man didn't even scream; he merely slumped to the ground as the ice splintered in his wound, mingling with his hot blood.
It was utter chaos. The guests shrieked in panic, trying to reach the exits, but they were blocked by the battling groups. Magic flew in all directions. A fiery whip from one of the rebels severed a stone pillar, which crashed down among the fleeing crowd with a booming thud. Dust and rubble mixed with the steam.
Hilda unleashed fire eagles directly at Friedrich. Every thought directed against the man to whom her existence was still magically bound by the old marriage vow felt like being sliced by razor blades. Her body rebelled. The disfigured bond, etched deep into her soul, tried to stop her heart. She felt the very tissue in her chest tearing.
Suddenly, bright red blood spurted from her. Her face contorted in excruciating agony, her eyes bloodshot. But Hilda did not stop. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and bared her teeth in a predatory snarl.
"Hilda!" cried one of her comrades, a massive man who immediately pressed against her so she could lean on him. He supported her with a strong arm, helping her stabilize just as her knees buckled. "Hold on!" he growled into her ear, his voice full of urgency as ice projectiles exploded around them.
With his support, she regained her balance. Her hatred was stronger than the power of the bond, stronger than the laws of blood trying to force her to her knees.
Hilda suddenly threw her head back, and an inhuman, guttural roar tore from her throat—a sound blending years of oppression with pure, unadulterated pain. It wasn't just a sound; it was the very essence of her suffering. The sphere of fire surrounding them began to vibrate frantically in that instant. Its walls bulged to the breaking point, and with a deafening roar resembling a volcanic eruption, a mass of untamed heat erupted from within.
The flames did not form randomly in the air. Under the whip of Hilda's will, they coalesced into the shape of a colossal, ravenous dragon. The beast of liquid fire spread its wings, brushing against the hall's vault and turning the precious frescoes into black dust in the blink of an eye. With a roar that rattled the bones of everyone present, the fiery phantom lunged straight forward.
Several Architects standing in the front line before Friedrich, maintaining the ice barrier with every ounce of their strength, didn't even have a chance to scream. The beast of fire flew through them like molten metal through parchment. Their icy pride vaporized in a single flash, and their robes were instantly consumed by wild flame.
The dragon dissipated into a blinding shower of sparks upon impact, but its work was done. The massive ice wall—Friedrich's impregnable shield—was covered in a spiderweb of deep fissures. With a loud, ominous screech, the barrier began to collapse, and chunks of ice the size of human heads crashed onto the marble floor with heavy thuds.
Following the discharge, Hilda folded at the waist as if her legs had been kicked out from under her. Another, even stronger stream of thick, dark blood erupted from her mouth. The red liquid ran down her chin and chest in ropes, mixing with sweat and ash, staining the white floor beneath her feet. Every breath she took now sounded like grinding glass, her lungs on fire, but her eyes, beneath bloodshot lids, still blazed with unquenchable defiance.
And in the midst of it all, in the terrifying eye of this storm, hung Ema.
Her body was locked in a spasm. The pain of the extraction was so intense she barely perceived it as pain anymore, but rather as an absolute white light burning her from the inside out. She felt her connection to the world severing. Her pupils dilated until her irises nearly vanished. Her eyes, hair, and skin began to lose their color, turning gray as if she were turning to ash. Time slowed down for her. She perceived the turmoil around her like a distant dream. She saw the flying icicles as if in slow motion; she heard the screaming as a drawn-out, indistinct hum underwater. Her mind began to wander. She remembered her family. Her mother's smile, her father's voice. She remembered her old room, the smell of a home that no longer existed. I'm coming to you now, she thought. And in that greatest agony, on the threshold of death, the ghost of a smile began to form on her spasming face. A smile of relief. The end was near.
And then it happened. Cutting through the roaring, hissing, shattering ice, and magical explosions, came a sound. Sharp. Clear. Absolutely incongruous.
CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.