The battle raged on every front.
Countless knights fell in tormented ways their bodies torn apart, their screams swallowed by the chaos of war. With every passing minute, the death count climbed higher, a grim tally that seemed to have no end.
The barriers and bunkers kept the civilians safe for now, but no one could say how much longer they would hold. If the barriers were penetrated, it would be a massacre.
These thoughts consumed Roman's mind as he fought. He had to end this battle as quickly as possible.
That was the only way to save everyone.
He had already unleashed two massive attacks the sword slash that swept across every continent, and the Spear of Separ that had rained down divine judgment upon the monsters.
Both attacks had been precise, targeting only the creatures and leaving humans unharmed.
But these large-scale attacks were taking their toll on him.
His mana core was overheating. His circuits were straining under the enormous power he was emitting.
The physical pain was unbearable a burning sensation that radiated through his entire body.
But he couldn't stop. He had to keep going. No matter the cost. No matter the odds.
But fate had something else planned.
The Shadow System's voice echoed in his mind, cold and urgent.
Warherald. The dark mana in the air is rising to a dangerous level. It will corrupt the humans if left unchecked. You must use the Fallen God's Blessing now. Before it's too late.
Roman's jaw tightened. He was determined not to use the Blessing.
It was uncharted territory a power he didn't fully understand.
He was already using the Fallen God's power at eight percent, and it was already taking a toll on his body. If he used the Blessing, who knew what would happen? He might lose his sanity.
His battle sense.
He might go berserk.
And he couldn't afford that. Not now. Not when they were only facing monsters. The bosses hadn't even appeared yet. And lurking in the back of his mind was the ominous warning: The One is coming.
He couldn't risk it.
But everything does not go according to plan.
As Roman fought, he felt the dark mana in the air rising at a faster rate. He could see it a thick, swirling mist that coiled around the battlefield like a living thing.
The others couldn't see it, but they could feel it. It pressed against their skin, seeped into their lungs, clouded their minds.
Then
A Holy Paladin was struck in the head by a charging monster.
His barrier shattered instantly. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
The other paladins began to panic.
"I can't use the goddess's power! I can't feel her presence! What is happening?!"
"Has the goddess abandoned us?!"
One by one, every paladin and priest who had been keeping the knights safe with their blessings felt the same thing.
Their connection to the divine had been severed.
They ran for their lives, but they were killed mercilessly. The monsters were now targeting only the paladins and priests as if someone, or something, was guiding them.
Without their blessings, they were easy prey.
And it wasn't just happening in Great Presia.
It was happening everywhere.
In the Holy Empire of Arciana, Vice Captain Ezra Violet and her unit fought with everything they had.
Ezra was known as a monster in close combat, her Divine Fist capable of crushing any enemy that stood in her way. But even she was struggling. Her divine power was fluctuating like a switch being turned on and off. One moment her fist blazed with holy light; the next, it flickered and died.
The monsters took advantage. They dragged her, attacked her, tore through her unit. Her comrades fell around her, their bodies broken and bleeding. She fought on, her fists still swinging, but the despair was beginning to set in.
Inside the palace, Pope Lucius Serapheal knelt before the statue of Goddess Aria.
Candles burned brightly before him, their flames casting a warm glow across the chamber. His lips moved in continuous prayer, his voice barely a whisper.
"Goddess, protect your children. Shield them from the darkness. Give them strength to endure. Please"
The candles flickered.
Their light changed from a warm, dark orange to pure, abyssal black.
The flames rose toward the statue, their black light casting twisted shadows across the Pope's face. He recoiled, his eyes wide with terror.
"ARCHBISHOP DESMOND! COME HERE!"
Desmond burst through the doors, his face pale with panic. His eyes fell upon the black flames rising toward the goddess's statue. Without hesitation, he raised his hands and summoned a torrent of water magic, dousing the flames until only smoke remained.
The Pope's hands trembled. His voice was barely a whisper.
"How can this happen? How can this be? Has the goddess abandoned us? Why?"
He turned to Desmond, his eyes burning with desperate determination.
"Contact the Warherald. Tell him everything that is happening. He is our last hope. The goddess's chosen. He will do something. If this continues, the whole world will be swallowed by darkness."
"Yes, Your Excellency," Desmond replied. "I will tell him."
The archbishop reached out through magic, his voice echoing directly in Roman's mind.
Warherald. The dark mana is rising faster than before. I am receiving reports from all the Paladin units their connection to the goddess is being disturbed. They are being annihilated.
And now... when the Pope was praying before the statue of Goddess Aria, the candles burning before it turned black. The flames reached toward the statue.
I had to douse them with my water magic. You have to do something, Warherald. Or else the Holy Empire and the Paladins are doomed. Do something.
The connection cut.
Roman stood in silence, his Archon Sword dripping with ichor his mind raced.
The dark mana. The severed connections. The black candles. It was all connected and it was all spiraling out of control.
He didn't say anything in response.
He simply spoke to the Shadow System.
"Increase the Fallen God's power. To ten percent."