Samael snorted coldly and surged forward, intent on teaching this god of light a proper lesson.
Just as Apollo drew his bow and nocked an arrow, a sharp, icy shout rang out from behind the ancient serpent.
"Catch! Use this!"
At the same moment, Medusa hurled the Scythe of Time toward him, passing him a weapon.
Samael nodded in silent understanding and raised his hand, summoning it through the void. Midair, the pitch-black scythe shifted form, reshaping into a twelve-foot-long spear. Its dual, cross-shaped blades gleamed faintly in the dark. The shaft itself was engraved with serpentine grooves—designed for grip, for channeling magical power, and for perfect control.
Apollo's eyes narrowed. He leaned back, aimed toward the sun's heart, and released his shot.
In an instant, a massive golden Magecraft circle expanded outward, spreading across the sky before transforming into a colossal, hundred-meter halo of light that covered the battlefield.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Vast ether surged wildly into the blazing wheel. Golden-red arrows, forged from the condensed radiance of the sun, rained down in torrents toward Samael.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
Now armed with his beloved spear, Samael's aura turned sharp and unfathomable. Amid the thunderous sonic bursts, his body blurred into a trail of afterimages as his wrists flicked and spun, slashing out arcs of black light that crossed and swept through the air.
"My form is like a jewel—untouched by dust, unscarred by blades. Arrow Evasion!"
Golden light flashed within his eyes as he spoke the words of fate inherited from the Tablet of Destinies. A spiraling gale of invisible wind erupted around him, forming a vortex that deflected every stray projectile that managed to slip past his spear's assault. None could reach him—each was blown aside and sent spiraling away.
A chorus of metallic clashes echoed. Apollo's arrows, along with the blazing storm from above, all fell short—unable to pierce within ten feet of their target.
So fast? He's troublesome!
Apollo's expression darkened atop his golden chariot. He activated his divine core, intent on striking hard while his opponent was preoccupied fending off the sky-borne barrage.
"Boy, standing still like that—too confident, aren't you?"
But the ancient serpent only gave a cold snort. Once he'd grasped the rhythm and angles of the attack, he sprang upward. Moving like a fish through water, he slipped through the arrowstorm without taking so much as a scratch, leaping dozens of meters into the air.
Then, the pitch-black spear, wreathed in a sinister glow, tore through the halo and sun wheel above. It carved a path straight toward the unmoving Sun Chariot, its deadly edge aimed at Apollo himself.
Seeing the enemy closing in like a thunderbolt, now only two steps from the chariot, the Nine Muses' expressions hardened. They brought their hands together before their chests and began to sing in powerful harmony.
"Laaa!!"
Lyres, harps, tambourines, and flutes joined in unison, their melody rising like a hymn of praise and courage.
Hum!
At once, the air behind Apollo trembled violently. The golden solar wheel blazed with blinding light. The unleashed divine radiance tore through Samael's magical barrier, riddling it with gashes.
Ether roared and scattered wildly. The ancient serpent's entire body prickled with pain, his movements faltering as if struck by a rain of arrows.
Seizing the moment, Apollo drew his bow once more. The arrow in his grasp shone with runic light, absorbing the radiance around it. When its power reached its peak, a crimson-gold streak split the heavens.
"Concept loaded. Light born of darkness, gods born of demons!
My might above, your power below! — Mandate of Heaven: Judgment!"
Samael did not panic. His lips tightened, exhaling a faint, cold sound. His mouth moved rapidly as he uttered the words of fate—calling upon the anti-Messiah's trait and the darkness of the demonic name to suppress all divinity and light.
In that instant, the cross-shaped spear ignited with dark flames. The moment its tip struck the heart of that radiant beam, space itself warped and collapsed around the impact.
The blinding brilliance was swallowed whole, its radiance consumed by shadow.
Assemble beneath the light, goddesses!
"Aaaa!"
The Muses raised their voices in a soaring aria, layering blessing after blessing upon Apollo. One by one, their harmonies washed away the encroaching darkness, granting the god of light—center stage and radiant once more—his rightful solo performance.
At the same time, the six golden warhorses neighed fiercely, their blood surging as they reared and charged forward, carrying their master toward the approaching foe.
At close range, Apollo abandoned his bow and drew his sword. Like a comet crashing from the heavens, he descended in a blazing strike, aiming to crush his troublesome opponent in one decisive blow.
Boom!
Their clash erupted in an explosion of black and white arcs of light, the shockwave flattening everything within a hundred meters. Trees splintered, boulders shattered, and the ground itself was reduced to dust.
Samael was hurled backward under the comet-like impact, his feet carving a trench dozens of meters long before he managed to stop his retreat.
"So, it's not one-on-one after all? More like one against ten, huh?"
He frowned, exhaling sharply to steady his breath, then rolled his aching shoulders.
A friendly spar with your entourage? Sure, that I can understand. But you're going all out? Really?
Look at your sister Artemis—she brought twenty battle nymphs and still forbade them from interfering. One-on-one means one-on-one. Learn from her, will you?
And you? You brought nine dedicated healers and still call this a duel? Have some shame.
And that's not even counting those six horses!
The ancient serpent sneered inwardly, casting a disdainful glance toward Apollo through the drifting smoke.
At the center of the battlefield, above the crater carved by their clash, the Sun Chariot's brilliance had dimmed. The Nine Muses lay scattered, their faces pale and drained.
Apollo, covered in soot and dust, froze at Samael's mocking words. His face turned pale, then blue with frustration, but he had no retort.
Even worse—ten against one, and he still lost.
As the dust finally cleared, Medusa noticed that the god of light, his expression dark, was pressing his left hand over his right arm. Divine light pulsed beneath his palm as he tried to purge the lingering black mist seeping from a wound.
His once-golden sword lay within the chariot, its luster fading, emitting a low, sorrowful hum.
Hmph. If you'd stuck to the bow, with the Nine Muses supporting you, maybe you could've held out for a 60–40 split.
But class advantage only gets you so far—it still depends on skill.
That half-baked swordsmanship of yours? Throwing away your bow to take me head-on in close combat? You've got no idea what real warfare is, do you?
Ah, right—you've never even seen a true battlefield.
The War of the Gods, the Titan Rebellion—all handled by your father, Zeus. You just sat back and reaped the rewards.
No wonder when Zeus isn't around, Typhon—the King of Monsters—can storm Olympus and beat you all into the ground.
To these pampered theorists, Samael—born and bred for real combat—was their natural predator. His killing intent pressed down like a storm, forcing the wounded Apollo to hesitate, unwilling to move.
Boom!
Meanwhile, Athena, true to her title as the Goddess of War, had already read Artemis's patterns. Closing in, she suddenly broke convention.
Under the huntress's shocked gaze, the Goddess of Wisdom tossed aside her Aegis Shield and shattered bronze spear. In one fluid Pankration strike, she kicked away Artemis's bow and nearly knocked the unprepared goddess so hard she would've coughed up her stomach.
The battle's outcome was clear. The proud Artemis rose, fury burning in her eyes, her silver teeth grinding audibly in frustration.
Sensing their master's anger, the twenty battle nymphs immediately took up attack stances.
Medusa, watching from the sidelines, tensed. Her pupils contracted, and her Mystic Eyes flared to life.
The brief calm between the two sides shattered once again. The air grew taut with hostility—conflict ready to explode at any moment.
...
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