Seraph put as much distance between himself and the target as possible. The previous conflagration at the Goblin Valley and the burning grasslands had nearly roasted him alive; he would not be so reckless a second time.
Standing atop a distant Greatwood branch, he turned to cast a final defensive measure before the cataclysm commenced.
"Flamus Shellux!"
A mageia shield of crimson fire manifested before him. The flames emitted a low, predatory hum, its orange-red glow defiant against the darkening sky.
Defensive spells were of varied lineage: some stood against physical trauma, others warded off rival mageia; some intercepted long-range volleys, while others repelled demonic curses and demonic fel. There were even those that rendered the caster's flesh and raiment as unyielding as tempered steel.
The Shellux incantation stood as a specialized bulwark against rival mageia; though ranked as a minor spell, when wielded with such singular intent, its potency reached a devastating zenith.
A brilliant orange-red radiance saturated the forest canopy, a herald of the compressed solar fury within the sphere. The instant it descended to kiss the oil-drenched earth, the world ignited in a blinding flash of white and amber.
The mageia detonated in a hollow, vacuum-like silence. The Sphera appeared to swallow every particle of light and sound, plunging the world into a momentary, breathless void—
The young magis had not unleashed a Flame Nova, yet the resultant cataclysm surpassed that spell tenfold.
[KRA-BOOM!]
An all-consuming ring of fire surged outward in every direction. An incandescent flash of searing brilliance followed. Waves of flame swept through the Raffblooms with aggressive, predatory violence. The earth groaned in a low, subterranean rumble, and the entirety of the Darkwood shuddered as if gripped by primal terror. Every Raffbloom within the radius, whether dead or merely broken, was hoisted into the firmament by the sheer concussive force.
The violet twilight was usurped by a gore-red glow, as if the heavens themselves had begun to bleed. Then came the sonic backlash—a roar of annihilation that threatened to shatter the eardrums of every living soul.
The Raffblooms were fortunate in their lack of senses; possessing neither eyes nor ears, they remained shielded from the sensory onslaught of the glare and the thunder.
Seraph, however, fared worse. Even at his retreated distance, his eyes stung and a sharp ache lanced through his ears. He was forced to shroud his entire frame in mageia to repel the encroaching shockwaves, a crimson radiance enveloping him in a protective cocoon.
The young man allowed not a second to go to waste. Only a fraction of the Raffblooms had been caught in the absolute heart of the detonation. Though the majority were now plummeting from the sky, the impact alone would not suffice to deliver a terminal blow.
The concussive backlash of the detonation hurled him backward into the void, yet the young magis righted himself mid-air and surged back toward the fray. Incantations for offensive mageia were uttered in a relentless stream, seizing the fleeting window to annihilate the disoriented Raffblooms before they could recover their defensive poise.
"Ventus Galeblade!"
"Flamus Pulseblade!"
The twin elemental blade-gusts were unleashed in a singular breath. These gale-force spells did not merely coexist; rather, the raging flames and the turbulent winds acted as catalysts for one another, amplifying their destructive potency manifold.
[Shing-Fwoosh!]
The shriek of the gale withered the hearts of those below. The forest canopy thrashed as if it were to be uprooted and cast into the heavens. These mageia-tempered winds had now burgeoned into a relentless force, transcending mere spellcraft to become a localized natural catastrophe.
A terrifying whirlwind of flaming steel began to coalesce. The frames of numerous Flora Demons were sucked into the eye of the firestorm. Walls of flame gradually hemmed in both Raffbloom and human alike, a looming shroud of total obliteration. It had evolved into a pyre-calamity, hewing and rending every substance within its reach into mere motes of ash.
[WHIRRR-ROAR!]
The tempest of fire-blades gathered strength with every passing second, its hunger now threatening the lives of the three hundred demon hunters trapped within. The roar of the disaster resonated as if the world itself were fracturing.
Though the young magis had initially intended his fiery bulwark to take the shape of a horseshoe with a narrow aperture for egress, that gap was now sealing with lethal velocity. The wall of flame raced to complete the circuit, threatening to become a tomb of fire within heartbeats.
[FEE-UUU... BOOM!]
From the churning heavens above, the storm rained down an incessant volley of flaming blades. Hundreds of fiery conduits plummeted through the air, their passage through the firmament sounding like the cries of a world driven to madness.
Seraph could still exert a measure of dominion over the fire-blade tempest, yet he could no longer forestall the wall of flame as it hungrily devoured the forest.
It was not only Myre's company who were now offering desperate orisons to the gods of mageia; other demon hunter parties scattered across the Darkwood were fled the epicentre, abandoning all else in a frantic retreat. Even a few Raffblooms were seen fleeing alongside their human adversaries, driven by the same primal instinct to survive the inferno!
"SEVEN HELLS! The mageia's slipping again!" Seraph exclaimed, caught off-guard by the spell's volatility.
"Resonancia!"
The young magis urgently cast the sonic incantation, his voice projecting with desperate haste.
"All three hundred of you! Evacuate through the gap this instant! If you don't break through now, I'll lose all command over this wall! Move!!"
Seraph's mageia-enhanced voice reverberated throughout the entire forest like a peal of thunder. It was not only Myre's contingent who heard the cry of the mysterious young man; even warriors positioned far from the heart of the pyre-calamity heard the call and bore witness to the terrifying majesty of the fire-blade storm.
The young magis's sonic wave acted as a clarion call, rousings their souls from the abyss of despair. Though the three hundred were still plagued by the ringing in their ears from the prior detonation, the message vibrated through their very marrow, piercing their eardrums with absolute clarity. Their eyes widened in sudden, jarring astonishment.
"I know that voice! It's the magis, Seraph!" Myre bellowed, his elation so profound he nearly buckled.
"Everyone, pour every ounce of strength into your strikes!" Harbert's command echoed across the circle. "Break through with everything you've got!"
Harbert, a spear-warrior and the commander from the third airship, did not know the magis Seraph personally, though the name had drifted past his ears through Myre's frequent mentions.
He had no inkling of the man's true identity, yet familiarity with the speaker was irrelevant; he knew only too well the visceral horror of the mageia unfolding before his eyes. He understood with grim clarity that unless he seized this fleeting sliver of time, he would be reduced to a mound of ash within the Darkwood, fated to share the eternal silence of his fallen comrades.
The roars of the warriors and demon hunters thundered through the forest, their spirits rekindled by a sudden, surging tide of morale. Their hope for survival had been plucked from the very maw of the inferno.