Within the pale world.
"Praise the Lord!"
The Beyonders of the Aurora Order wore expressions of fanatic zeal, chanting hymns to the true Creator as they threw themselves at the Red Gloves with reckless disregard for death.
Among them, the lowest in Sequence were "Listeners," granted eerie powers bestowed by the true Creator.
Others were higher-Sequence "Hermits," lurking in the shadows waiting to strike, or "Rose Bishops," utterly indifferent to bullet wounds, who kept hurling bombs of flesh and blood at the Red Gloves.
"Don't let them break through!"
The Red Gloves held their encirclement, but under the force of the fanatics' relentless assault, their line kept giving ground.
"Damn it... Captain, let me pull them into a dream!"
One of the Red Gloves felt the pressure mounting before him, gritted his teeth, and spoke fiercely.
"No!"
Soest refused coldly. "Do you want to lose control and die?"
The dreams of these cultists carried madness and corruption within them, and might even retain traces of the true Creator's presence.
Careless contact could easily destabilize one's own spirit. For a group where a large portion of the members followed the Sleepless pathway, that was decidedly bad news.
"So we're just supposed to watch them crush our defenses and go interfere with Lord Ishmael?"
The Red Glove said, unwilling to let it go. "For the sake of victory, I'm willing to take some risk!"
"Don't worry."
Soest's voice was low and reassuring as he reached out and patted the man's shoulder. "Lord Ishmael already made arrangements before the operation began."
He raised his voice and gave the order to everyone: "First group, fall back! Second group, prepare!"
"Yes, sir!"
The members of the second group, who had been standing by in the rear, rose at once and hurried forward.
Their gear was somewhat strange, none of them carried weapons in hand, but each held something small. What was more, they wore thick earplugs decorated with peculiar patterns.
The first group, Soest included, retreated swiftly, pulling back to a safe distance and leaving the second group ample space.
Then they began.
Facing the surging tide of Aurora Order members who threw themselves forward without fear of death, their movements were astonishingly synchronized.
They raised the objects in their hands above their shoulders, pitch-black talismans marked with patterns resembling skulls.
Then, all at once, everyone shouted a single word in the tongue of Hermes, "Shriek!"
"Whoosh, whoosh!"
Over a dozen talismans, brimming with spiritual energy, were flung into the midst of the fanatics and detonated at once.
"AAAAH!!"
It was a shockwave that struck straight at soul and spirit, an ear-splitting shriek honed to its very extreme.
In that instant, the sound wave seemed to take on physical form, spreading and echoing endlessly through the space.
Even Soest and the others, standing some distance away, were affected by the piercing scream, feeling a stabbing pain in their eardrums.
And what of the Aurora Order members at the center of the blast?
"AAAAAH!"
As beings whose hearing was specialized to an extreme degree of sensitivity, the damage they suffered was magnified many times over.
From the lowly "Listeners" up to the "Rose Bishops," all of them howled in agony, some collapsing where they stood, others revealed from the shadows, clutching their heads and thrashing helplessly.
"It's working!"
Soest's eyes lit up. "Lord Ishmael Ishmael truly understands the weaknesses of Secrets Suppliant Beyonders!"
According to Deacon Ishmael's guidance, the weakness of the Secrets Suppliant pathway lay in acute hearing and extreme mental instability.
A powerful body might withstand physical harm, but a shriek aimed at the soul was more than enough to inflict devastating damage on their very spirits.
"Third group, third group!"
He hastily continued issuing orders.
The third group moved into position at once, they were there to finish things off.
While the cultists were still trapped in agony and unable to defend themselves, they unleashed their most powerful weapons.
Some fired high-power enchanted rounds from high-pressure steam rifles, others unleashed the searing flames born of the Hunter pathway... Any Aurora Order member who managed to regain their senses and resist was subdued immediately.
And so, striking precisely at their weakness, the Red Gloves wiped out the remnants of the Aurora Order with brutal efficiency.
"Everyone, clean up the battlefield, then leave this area."
Soest addressed the group. "This is what Lord Ishmael has asked of us."
In the distance, the battle between the two demigods still raged on. According to Deacon Ishmael, if the Red Gloves remained on the scene, he would be forced to hold back out of concern for them, unable to fight the Aurora Order's saint with everything he had.
So, to avoid causing him trouble, once the fighting was over, Soest immediately called everyone to withdraw, leaving only the two demigods within that pale, otherworldly realm.
"Finally, they're gone..."
Silas glanced off into the distance, and once he saw the last of the Red Gloves vanish beyond the edges of the world, he finally allowed himself to relax. He casually tucked the disguised pocket watch into his pocket, then straightened up.
Now that he'd sent them off, he could finally act without any further restraint.
Before him, thick, vivid masses of flesh and blood had already sprouted across the ground.
From within that mass of flesh, a twisted black shadow was slowly rising, swaying as it went. It had only a pitch-black outline, save for a pair of blood-red eyes.
That was a soul that the "Saint Tenebrous," Kisma, kept as a shepherd keeps his flock.
It hailed from the Forsaken Land of the Gods, its true form a formidable vampire, one that corresponded to the "Shaman King" of the Moon pathway!
"Heh..."
Kisma stood amid the vast expanse of flesh and blood, clad in a towering suit of black armor, standing side by side with that twisted figure. His cold laughter echoed low and steady.
There was no doubt, the balance of the battlefield had begun tipping in his favor.
Through the course of their fight, he had already discovered his opponent was likewise a demigod.
Demigod against demigod, such a battle could easily turn into a stalemate. But now, counting the "Shaman King" lamb he had sent out, he had two demigods on his side!
Two against one, how could he possibly lose?
"Splat!"
The twisted, swaying "Shaman King" reached up and gouged out its own eye with its bare hand.
That eye shimmered with a clear, crimson radiance, and in an instant it illuminated the entire pale world.
The blood-red pupil reflected Silas's figure, dressed in a red shirt and black formal attire, his expression indifferent.
"Crack!"
The "Shaman King" crushed its own eyeball viciously in its grip, letting the crimson moon be swallowed whole by darkness.
Deep darkness surged up around Silas at once, that darkness seemed to solidify, locking his figure firmly in place.
He couldn't move!
At the very same moment, the "Saint Tenebrous" Kisma raised high the Cull of Spiritual Flesh in his hand.
The great sword, black and unfathomably deep, cast not a single glint of reflected light. He charged forward at once, swinging the massive blade straight down at Silas's head, meaning to cleave him clean in two!
Silas watched him calmly.
"Shff!"
The shadow beneath him suddenly spread outward, until it stretched wide like a vast open plaza. Within that shadow, something enormous was rising to the surface, as though a colossal warship were emerging.
You think sending out a lamb is something only you can do?