"Damage Amplification!" Mateo roared, his voice thundering through the skies as he raised both arms high, palms wide open, his body trembling under the strain of the divine lightning inside him.
Below, the four lightning clones sat cross-legged, their flesh no longer flesh but pure current, arcs of electricity coursing violently through their bodies. Their mouths moved in unison, chanting the same words like a hymn to destruction, their voices overlapping into one unbearable shriek of thunder.
Their forms flickered once—then exploded.
Each body detonated into a blinding pillar of lightning, streams of divine blue tearing through the air as they surged toward Mateo, converging into him with the force of falling stars. His body spasmed as the power hit him, his chest arching back, his eyes burning white.
The halo of lightning behind him howled like a storm alive. What had been a circle barely large enough to encircle his body now expanded outward, wider and wider until it was thirty meters across, rotating with a noise like tearing reality apart. Sparks bled from its edges, ripping the air itself into fractured shards.
Ali stared from the crater below, every muscle tensed, his senses screaming.
'This is it', he thought, silver flames flickering across his cracked skin. The end of everything—one way or another.
Mateo's voice returned, hoarse but unrelenting, "Damage Amplification!"
Two radiant white magic circles materialised in the air, one around each of his arms, rotating like celestial wheels. Each symbol pulsed with destructive intent, amplifying the lightning roaring through his veins until his flesh itself flashed in and out of existence, as if his body could no longer decide whether to be human or lightning.
The halo spun faster. Three rotations in an instant. The sky screamed as streaks of lightning tore free, each one slicing through clouds and earth alike. The pressure shredded the atmosphere, a suffocating weight that pressed on Ali like the entire sky was trying to bury him alive.
Ali lowered his gaze, shut his eyes, and exhaled.
Inside his body, the rhythm of fire surged, each beat of his heart pumping a tidal wave of cosmic flame into his right arm. His veins turned black as rivers of fire coursed toward the limb, the cracks on his skin crawling upward like serpents, all of them converging on his arm. His flesh could no longer contain it. His right arm began to split apart, the outer layer fracturing and peeling like volcanic rock as something far brighter—far deadlier—tried to break free.
The pain was inhuman. It was the agony of being flayed alive, but Ali's dragon eyes opened with unwavering focus, silver light piercing through the smoke.
The ground beneath him collapsed. First the crater cracked, then split again, then a deeper crater tore open inside the first, the soil vaporising under the pressure of Ali's gathering flame. The shockwaves from his arm alone shook the battlefield, pulverising stones into dust…
Ali's right arm was no longer flesh. It had transformed into something else—an arm sculpted from pure silver fire, its shape still humanoid, but its texture liquid and alive, every inch of it blazing with raw destructive essence. The flames hissed and roared, shredding the air into burning fragments of ash, warping the very space around it.
Above him, Mateo's ascension reached its climax.
The lightning that had poured into the sky began to solidify. Slowly, majestically, horrifyingly, the storm twisted and condensed, forming the outline of a spear—a gigantic spear, its body forged of blinding blue lightning laced with streaks of burning white. The weapon spun lazily in the air, its point aligning downward, aimed directly at Mateo. No—not at Mateo. Through him. Through the divine halo behind him.
The giant spear hummed, its sound like the shriek of the cosmos, a vibration that rattled every bone in Ali's body. Sparks of white lightning fell like meteors, striking the ground and carving trenches.
Ali's dragon eyes narrowed, his silvery pupils cutting through the veil of light to see the spear.
Ali smirked, his body already close to collapse from the damage the concentrated flames were doing to his insides. 'And he's not even an Apostle…'
Every flame within him now roared in his right arm, contained only by his will, barely leashed from exploding outwards.
Mateo inhaled deeply, savouring the breath.
'This could be my last one…', he thought, his lungs burning, his chest trembling with the weight of power threatening to tear him apart. His eyes, pure lightning now—white-blue orbs without pupils—lifted to the sun above. For the briefest instant, he felt the sunlight pierce through the raging storm of his aura, soft and warm, like a farewell kiss. His lips twitched into a small, broken smile.
'If I had to choose the way out…'
He lowered his gaze. Across the battlefield, within the crater, stood Ali—his body a silhouette of fire, his right palm held forward, surrounded by a sphere of sizzling, compressed air that warped the space around him. A death field.
'Not a bad way to go', Mateo thought.
Then the pain came.
Veins bulged across his skin, pulsating with unrestrained lightning. His jaw unhinged and he screamed, a sound raw enough to shake the mountains.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!
The colossal spear of lightning above finally descended, its body splitting the sky. It did not strike the ground directly—it pierced through Mateo, through the opening in his halo, pouring divine destruction into his mortal shell.
The halo responded. No longer one, it split violently into four arcs, flying outward to align around him—north, south, east, and west—like the pillars of a world collapsing inward.
Mateo's scream grew ragged, blood tearing from his throat, but he did not stop. He raised his arms, and his flesh turned into pure light, blue brilliance streaming outward as the twin white magic circles around them swelled to the size of houses.
And then—release.
A singular beam of lightning exploded from his arms, a torrent of annihilation. The four arcs surrounding him flared at once, each releasing their own smaller beams that curved and merged into the main torrent, feeding it, multiplying it, until what roared out from Mateo's body was not just lightning—it was apocalypse.
The beam was so bright it turned the clouds translucent, so loud it silenced the world itself.
Below, Ali opened his eyes. The dragon fire within him burned so hot that the cracks on his body split open again, but he ignored the agony. He opened his right palm wide, and a small sphere floated out—a ball no larger than his hand, yet extremely dense. Inside churned silver cosmic fire, folding and collapsing upon itself like a dying star, each ripple of its surface radiating death.
The last thing Ali saw was the beam of lightning racing toward him. And then his sphere shattered.
The sphere broke apart with a silent crack, like glass collapsing under infinite weight—and from its core erupted a matching beam, silver-white, blinking in and out of existence, a ray of raw destruction forced into a single stream.
The two beams met.
Time itself seemed to fracture. From far away, one could see the beams touch for the tiniest fraction of a second—the tips of their beams of light kissing—before the universe rejected their coexistence.
The result was annihilation.
KRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The forest around ceased to exist.
A dome of white engulfed the battlefield, expanding faster than the eye could track, swallowing earth, air, and sky alike. The ground disintegrated into molten fragments, entire rivers evaporated, and the forest was uprooted in a single breath, trees flung away like dust. The shockwave carved into the earth, pushing tsunamis of stone outward in all directions.
From above, it looked as if a second sun had bloomed on the surface of the world.
The blast stretched for kilometres, consuming everything without mercy. Mountains in the distance cracked. Lakes boiled. The skies were blinded by white, as if day had consumed night and remade it into nothing.
—
Far away, in the demi-human camp, life went on. A human man shouted instructions to two demi-human builders as they hammered foundation beams into the soil. Then their tools froze mid-swing. All eyes turned instinctively toward the deeper forest.
At first, only silence. Then came the light.
A blinding, unnatural white swallowed the horizon, forcing every living being to shield their eyes. Moments later, the roar followed—not sound, but a force that crawled through their bones. Then the wind.
WOOOOOOOOOOSH!
The blast wave hit. Tents ripped from the ground and flew like feathers, children shrieked as their small bodies were picked up by the gale, only to be caught mid-air by warriors who threw themselves into the winds. Dust and splinters of trees peppered the camp, a reminder of how fragile they were against the storm that was not even meant for them.
In Stork Village:
WARNING. REMAIN INDOORS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
Miles' cold, robotic tone echoed across the village, swallowed by the rushing storm.
—
Elsewhere, in Obidos, the city bustled as always. In the heart of its stone streets, Fiona walked, carrying the basket of a pregnant woman, her smile calm, her soldiers flanking her like a wall of steel. People watched her with reverence, their faith in her unshaken. Children pointed, women bowed their heads, men nodded in respect.
"Oh, my Lady, your kindness knows no bounds," the pregnant woman said warmly, her voice trembling with gratitude as she clutched her hands together. She leaned closer, whispering with a smile, "Everyone is so happy with their new lives. We finally have hope. They call you the angel of the true flame…"
Fiona's lips curved in the faintest smile, her brown hair catching the sunlight. Behind her, soldiers walked in disciplined silence, their armour gleaming, eyes scanning the crowd. The streets of Obidos, for once, felt light, alive.
That peace ended in an instant.
With a thunderous CRASH, something black and immense slammed into the cobblestone road ahead, tearing through it like paper. Dust exploded outward. The people screamed and stumbled back. Fiona's soldiers immediately formed a wall around her, hands snapping to hilts—until they saw the figure rise.
Fainter.
The massive knight in black steel surged forward, cape whipping like a banner in the storm. His great boots shattered stone beneath every stride, and his helmeted gaze locked on Fiona with urgency. Without hesitation, he spread his arms wide and loomed protectively over her.
"What is happening?" Fiona demanded, her voice sharp but calm, her violet eyes narrowing.
The knight did not answer immediately. Instead, his voice boomed across the street, rattling the shutters of homes:
"EVERYONE ON THE GROUND! BRACE FOR IMPACT!"
The crowd froze. For a heartbeat, confusion held them still—until Miles's metallic voice thundered from the high speaker metal beams above, echoing across every street and alley:
"WARNING. BRACE FOR IMPACT. SEEK SHELTER IMMEDIATELY."
Panic followed. Parents threw themselves over children. Merchants abandoned their stalls. Families scrambled into their homes, slamming doors and bolting them shut. Soldiers dropped to their knees, covering their helmets as the entire town shook.
Fiona, unmoving, looked up at Fainter again. This time her voice carried a commanding edge.
"What is happening?"
Fainter's jaw clenched, his expression grave beneath the black steel. At last, he lowered his head to her.
"Winds, my Lady. Winds from the forest. Lord Miles sent warning to the castle—I came straight here."
And then it struck.
The shockwave hit Obidos like the hand of a god. The great walls shuddered under the weight of the storm. Windows shattered. Roof tiles flew like daggers. Whole carts were overturned, scattering their goods into the air like confetti. Wooden homes creaked and groaned as debris slammed into them; weaker structures split apart, beams crashing to the streets.
People screamed. A child was nearly pulled from his mother's arms, only for a soldier to dive and shield them. The soldiers of Obidos fought against the gale with their shields pressed to the ground, boots anchoring themselves into the stone road.
Through it all, Fiona stood untouched.
Fainter's massive form shielded her from the storm, his armour ringing as debris clanged uselessly against it. He was an unmovable wall of black steel, his cape snapping violently but never yielding, his feet rooted as though the earth itself held him in place. Behind him, Fiona's eyes never wavered from the horizon.
A minute passed like an eternity. And then—it was gone.
The winds tapered, leaving behind only silence broken by the cries of the wounded and the groaning of broken wood. Dust hung in the air like mist.
Obidos had survived.
Other than minor injuries, scattered debris, and the collapse of a few older houses already marked for rebuilding, the city had weathered the storm. The walls had held. The people had been warned. They had been spared.
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