Fear took hold of the three legions. Years of fighting in Last Bastion had made them witness all kinds of horrors: resurrections and the undead among them. Yet never had they believed they would live to see one of their beloved commanders—one of the last shields of humanity—return only to fight against the very allies for whom he had once given his life.
Zorig raised his mace, preparing his strike, while the rest of the beastmen resurrected from his legion butchered soldiers, seeking to cause the greatest number of deaths possible.
The earth cracked beneath the weight of a semi-transcendent's power. Zorig was determined to wipe out all three legions in a single blow.
But then, a radiant light surged from the front lines where the legions were arranged. Michael flew swiftly from the opposite flank, cutting down any beast that dared to stand in his way.
Zorig unleashed his might, bringing down his mace and releasing a gigantic torrent of aura that threatened to engulf the three legions—uncaring that his own beastmen were caught in between.
Amidst the sea of Void energy, one light refused to dim. Slowly it expanded into a protective barrier, preventing the corruption from breaking through. The angel Michael stood at the front of the assault, forming a shield of pure divine power to resist the onslaught.
When at last the wave of energy ceased, Michael's state was revealed—and it was harrowing. A single attack had destroyed the entire right half of his armor. His once flawless white skin bore grievous burns, scarred from withstanding the Void while simultaneously releasing his own aura in violent opposition.
Michael gasped for air, clearly exhausted. To endure the strike of a semi-transcendent had demanded a terrible toll.
Zorig studied him in silence. Then a voice, abyssal and low, echoed across the battlefield. It came from Zorig, though the owl-man had not even opened his beak—the sound reverberated directly through the ether.
"Living creatures of this world, you have delayed the inevitable for far too long. Today I am here to continue the natural cycle of all things."
The voice carried little emotion, but within that cold tone lingered traces of hatred and disdain, as though a man had stooped to address the insect crawling upon his food.
"For countless cycles you have postponed the inevitable for millions of years. Enough of your arrogance! Bow, accept your death, and let the Void consume all."
Michael, usually calm, now glared at the creature with his face burning with fury.
"Get out of my head, monster! I will not tolerate the words of the arch-enemy. The only one who decides over our lives is the glorious and almighty Sun God!"
The abyssal voice returned, sharpened with impatience at the mention of the Sun God:
"You are bold, creature, to barely stand on your feet. But do not worry. Soon your false rebellious god will join you in the grave. Everything is destined to vanish—even those you adore."
Michael straightened, rising slowly. Yet as he did, the wounds on his body—burns that had marred his flesh moments ago—were already healed.
He stared at the being that wore Zorig's body with pure contempt.
"You are vile and pathetic, foul thing wearing my friend's flesh. You cannot corrupt my mind, you cannot anger me, and you cannot even make me hate you. The only thing I feel toward you, arch-enemy of all that lives… is disdain."
Michael raised his hand, and all his legion surged forward, their blood burning from cutting down the resurrected beastmen.
"You bring your men, but that only means you hasten their inevitable death. So be it. Face the destiny that awaits all things: DESTRUCTION AND DEATH!"
The abyssal voice rose once more as Zorig advanced, this time ready for close combat.
Quickly, the rest of the legions surrounded Zorig. Midas's Skutari, the Lions of Asturias, and the Children of the Sun all braced themselves to face the semi-transcendent head-on.
Zorig lifted his hand and clenched his fist. Suddenly, powerful winds swirled around him. It was the natural trait of his owl-man race—masters of wind magic. Combined with his warrior's class, he was an enemy perfectly designed to break through large groups.
The soldiers advanced. And then, a voice they knew well rang out:
"EVERYONE, FALL BACK, QUICKLY!"
It was Hernán, son of the Lion of Asturias.
The ground around Zorig suddenly collapsed inward, gathering into a sphere that enveloped his entire body.
"Arthur, help me bury this bastard!"
Arthur understood instantly. Years of battle side by side had made words unnecessary.
He quickly manipulated gravity beneath Zorig, pulling the sphere-prison downward, while Hernán softened the earth and cleared the way. Together, they drove Zorig's body deep into the ground.
In mere seconds, the semi-transcendent was buried beneath kilometers of earth.
"Well, that should keep him busy," Hernán said, feigning a casual tone, though his eyes flicked warily toward the place of burial.
Of course, such an attack hadn't harmed Zorig in the least. All they had achieved was buying themselves moments of respite.
"MY LORD!"
"COMMANDER!"
A grizzled veteran of Hernán's legion and a young Skutari were the first to reach him, followed by others.
"My lord, we thought you dead. We are overjoyed to see you alive and well."
Tears welled in the old soldier's eyes. Joy radiated from the legion's faces.
But Hernán's gaze fell upon a small bat perched on his shoulder.
"Commander Victoria, we are relieved to see you safe. We feared you were lost in the explosion."
The bat landed, transforming into a tall, pale woman with a slender frame. It was Victoria.
"You have done well to survive until now. But it is time to retreat—or we will all be dead once that creature rises again."
Hernán focused, sensing the rumblings below.
"Yes, we must leave. He is already forcing his way upward."
At that moment, Michael stepped forward.
"Commanders Victoria, Hernán—take the rest of the legions to safety. I will remain and buy you time."
He said it as though announcing some mundane task, like sweeping the floor.
Hernán's heart sank. He knew they could not retreat fast enough, but perhaps Michael's sacrifice could give them a chance.
"Take care, Michael. Thank you for protecting the legions."
Victoria bowed her head slightly, a rare gesture of respect, then moved ahead with Hernán.
"I will stay as well."
Hernán turned in surprise. It was Arthur.
"Don't look at me like that. I believe our chances are better if I restrain his movements with the terrain. Let's just say the Geomancers' style inspired me a little."
Hernán paused, as if wanting to say something, but let it go.
"Take care, Arthur. If there's a life after this one, let's talk more about magical schools, yes?"
"Sure—but only if you don't bring wine this time."
Hernán chuckled.
"No promises. Farewell, my friends."
Hernán and Midas's legions vanished into the horizon.
Only Michael and Arthur remained behind.
For the first time, Michael looked at Arthur with something like respect—or perhaps understanding.
"Have you finally chosen to turn to our almighty Sun God?"
Arthur nearly choked on his own saliva. Was Michael proselytizing now, of all times?
"Cough! Damn it! How can you say something like that at a time like this?"
Michael, radiant as ever, suddenly laughed.
"Ha ha ha! It's a joke. Even I need to release some stress sometimes."
Arthur stared at him for a few moments. For the first time, he thought Michael was far more bearable when not wearing that arrogant, solemn face—when laughing like this instead.
But his thoughts were cut short as tremors shook the ground, growing stronger by the second. The aura fragments rising through the soil heralded the inevitable: their enemy was forcing his way back to the surface.
Michael stood before his legion.
"Children of our Lord Sun God, hear me! Today our faith and strength will be tested. Our enemy is the arch-enemy who stole our home, who tore us from our families, who drove us into hiding like rats. We have suffered again and again at his irrational hatred for all life. But there is no reason to fear, listeners! The arch-enemy claims dominion over death itself; arrogantly he believes he rules how and when we die. But my dear listeners, my dear brothers…"
Michael's voice rose, as if he wished even the heavens to hear him.
"TODAY WE SHOW HIM THAT DEATH IS NOT HIS TO COMMAND! TODAY WE PROVE THAT DEATH IS NOTHING WE FEAR! ON THE CONTRARY, WE WILL EMBRACE IT GLADLY, TO HONOR OUR GOD!"
At that moment, the chest of every Child of the Sun God began to glow. Their ranks surged exponentially. Even those who could not normally form an ether core manifested a temporary one—unstable, yet equally powerful.
And it had a single purpose, one function alone:
To explode with all its might and inflict the greatest possible damage upon the semi-transcendent—the one they called their arch-enemy.
"¡PREPARE FOR A GLORIOUS DEATH IN THE SERVICE OF OUR LORD!"