Yet, to their surprise, Mikael didn't attack them. He simply passed by, heading straight for Amelia and Lyra.
"Why—"
He didn't have time to finish his sentence before Amelia leaped into his arms, tears still streaming down her cheeks, yet a relieved smile graced her face.
"OWW!" Mikael groaned as her embrace pressed against his broken arms.
Hearing his pained cry, Amelia instantly jumped back, guilt flashing across her face. She looked down. "Sorry… I didn't think…"
Lyra approached next, her expression mirroring Amelia's—relief mixed with concern. Unlike Amelia, she didn't jump into his arms. Instead, she stayed close, but without touching him, having seen the previous result.
She gave him a small smile. "You worried me! But I'm happy to see you in good shape." Her eyes flickered to his arms, and she corrected herself. "As good as you can be…"
Amelia stepped forward again but refrained from touching him, not wanting to cause him more pain.
Mikael ignored the throbbing agony in his arms—especially after Amelia's little 'stunt'—and took in their words, their tears, their relieved smiles. Finally, he asked, "Why did you think I wouldn't be okay? I'm perfectly fine!"
The girls looked at him in disbelief. His current condition was anything but 'fine.' But before they could voice their thoughts, their eyes widened, and they shouted.
"Careful!"
"Behind you!"
Even before the words left their mouths, Mikael had already sensed the threat approaching from behind. Without hesitation, he activated Weightless Wind – Explosive Style, vanishing from his original position.
The next moment, a sword slashed through the air, striking the space where his neck had been just seconds ago.
"Fuck, he dodged!" cursed the warrior who had launched the surprise attack. The three of them had been terrified of Mikael after witnessing him defeat Terenei, but they had also noticed the extent of his injuries. Seizing the opportunity while he was distracted, focused solely on talking with the girls and completely ignoring them, they had attempted a sneak attack to finish him off before he could react.
Unfortunately for them, even with broken arms and internal injuries, Mikael was still something they could never hope to match.
The instant he dodged, Mikael counterattacked with a powerful kick. The strike landed with enough force to bend steel, slamming into the warrior who had tried to kill him. He barely had time to react before he was sent hurtling through the air at a speed that shattered the sound barrier.
His body crashed into a nearby tree, but his momentum didn't stop. He smashed through it, then through several more before finally slamming into a final tree that he failed to break through. His body slid down the trunk before collapsing onto the ground—a mangled mess of blood and gore, unrecognizable.
One hit. One kill.
The remaining two warriors felt an icy chill crawl up their spines. They began to tremble.
At that moment, they realized the terrifying truth. Even injured, they were no match for Mikael.
Exchanging a quick glance, they turned on their heels and ran.
Or at least, they tried.
They barely made it a few meters before each was struck by a brutal kick. Their fates were no different from the first.
The five remaining cultists trembled in terror, feeling the shadow of death creeping ever closer. Mikael's gaze, which had held a gentle glint when he looked at the girls, was now devoid of warmth. Only cold, merciless intent remained as his eyes locked onto them, freezing them in place.
Then, Mikael took a step forward.
Just as he was about to charge at them, a soft, dainty hand appeared before him, stopping him in his tracks.
He looked at Lyra, the owner of the hand, with an inquisitive gaze.
"Leave them to us. You're injured—it's better if you don't exert yourself further," declared Lyra, her tone resolute.
Mikael was about to refuse, but as he saw the unwavering determination in her eyes, he hesitated. His gaze shifted to Amelia, who stood beside Lyra. She remained silent, yet her resolute expression made it clear that she shared the same opinion.
When his eyes locked onto Amelia's, he found no anger, no hatred like before. No, what he saw was something far more beautiful—an unshakable resolve to protect those she cared about.
Seeing their determination, he sighed. "Okay."
At his acceptance, both girls smiled.
Mikael continued, "But keep your distance. We don't know what they're capable of, and if the situation looks dire, I'll intervene regardless of my injuries."
"No problem," said Lyra.
"Leave it to us. This time, it's our turn to protect you!" declared Amelia, the fire of determination burning in her eyes.
Mikael took a step back as the girls assumed combat-ready stances. Without any further hesitation, they launched their assault on the five cultists.
The cultists were caught off guard by the sudden attack, but with their superior numbers, the mages managed to defend themselves. Their magical barriers blocked the arrows, earth, and water spells before they could reach them.
Logically, this would have been the moment for them to counterattack—but they didn't dare! The shadow of Mikael loomed over them, his mere presence exuding immense pressure. Even as he stood there, injured and bloodied, he was terrifying. They feared that if they harmed or, worse, killed the girls, he would retaliate.
And considering how effortlessly he had annihilated the three warriors despite his injuries, they had little hope of surviving his wrath. Their only option was to stall for time, knowing they had no chance of victory.
At that moment, the warrior among the four mages, protected by the magical barriers under constant assault, exhaled heavily, his grip tightening around his weapon. "If this keeps up… we're finished."
The mages didn't respond, their focus entirely on reinforcing their failing defenses, but the weight of his words hung over them. They all knew it—this battle was already lost.
The warrior continued, his voice laced with grim resolve. "That's why… I should sacrifice myself to open a portal to the Nexoria dimension from here."
One of the female mages flinched as if struck. "No!" she cried, her voice shaking. "We won't do that! We won't sacrifice you, Galen—there has to be another way!"
"She's right," another mage added, his tone pleading rather than firm. The others nodded, desperation clear in their faces.
Galen let out a slow, weary sigh before speaking again. "You think I want this?" His voice cracked slightly, betraying emotion beneath his hardened exterior. "Do you think I"m not fucking terrified?" His gaze swept over his comrades, seeing the silent grief in their eyes.
"This isn't about what I want. It's about what must be done," he said, steeling himself. "The summoning ritual was interrupted before we could finish it. The heretics ruined everything before our Lords could descend. But there's still a way… If I offer myself as a live sacrifice, I can complete the ritual."
A heavy silence followed, broken only by the constant barrage against their magical barriers. One of the mages swallowed hard before hesitantly whispering, "...It might work, but your fate—"
"I know," Galen interrupted, his voice unwavering. "I know exactly what it means."
His comrades said nothing, but their expressions spoke volumes. Beneath their fanaticism, beneath their faith, there was grief. They had always known death was a real possibility in their cause, but this… this was different.
A normal death would have meant the possibility of joining Nexoria in the afterlife, a chance to stand beside their Lords. Even being slain by a Nexorian—while disgraceful—left some sliver of hope for redemption.
But to be offered as a sacrifice? That was a fate worse than death itself. There would be no afterlife, no ascension—only endless torment. An eternity of suffering, stripped of identity, a mere tool to fuel Nexoria growth.
The four mages looked at Galen, their eyes burning with unshed tears. They wanted to protest, to demand another solution, but they knew there was none. So instead, they did the only thing they could.
One by one, they fell to their knees, their voices shaking as they chanted, "All hail the true follower of Nexoria."
Galen closed his eyes for a brief moment before taking a sacrificial dagger from his belt. He gripped it tightly, then opened his eyes, determination etched into every fiber of his being.
"All hail Nexoria," he whispered, his voice reverent.
Then, without hesitation, he plunged the dagger into his heart.
A violent shudder coursed through his body before his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been severed, hitting the ground with a lifeless thud.
Amelia and Lyra halted their attacks as they witnessed the scene, their movements frozen. Their attention lingered on the kneeling cultists, especially after hearing them chant, "All hail the true follower of Nexoria," right before one of them took his own life.
Given the circumstances, the girls stopped their attacks on the magical barriers and watched cautiously. Mikael cautiously watched, his body tense, ready to 'grab them' and flee the moment something happened.
A few seconds passed after the warrior's sacrifice before—
"CRACK!"
A deafening sound rang out as space at the point of the ritual site began to tremble and fracture. Jagged fissures spread through the air, and from within, a dark red glow pulsed ominously.
The Obsidian Covenant members remained kneeling, their heads bowed toward the ground in absolute silence, unmoving even as the phenomenon unfolded before them.
Meanwhile, the crack in space continued to expand until it grew large enough for a human to pass through.
At that moment, Mikael spoke urgently, "We should get out of here!"
Amelia and Lyra immediately agreed, their instincts screaming at them to leave. The very sight of space itself breaking apart sent chills down their spines, and neither of them wished to see what lurked beyond.
Wasting no time, the trio turned and began retreating. However, it wasn't long before Amelia and Lyra noticed Mikael struggling. His breathing was deep and labored, each step a visible effort. It was clear that simply placing one foot in front of the other had become an immense challenge for him.
Slowing their pace, the girls moved to his side. Without hesitation, they positioned themselves to support him, ensuring he could lean on them without worsening the pain in his broken arms.
"No… no need," Mikael started before reconsidering. He exhaled sharply, then muttered, "Thanks for the help."
With that, they continued moving, though their pace remained slow.
As they glanced over their shoulders, their eyes widened in horror. From the widening crack, a monstrous being emerged—its skin a dark shade of red, its head resembling that of a bear, and its chest protected by a turtle-like carapace. Instead of human arms, two massive, razor-sharp blades extended from its shoulders.
The female mage, still kneeling, raised her head, her expression lighting up with fanatical devotion. "You grace us with your presence, my lord!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with reverence. She took a deep breath to compose herself before turning toward Mikael, Amelia, and Lyra, who were attempting to escape. She pointed at them with unwavering zeal.
"These three are heretics who tried to prevent your arrival in this world—"
Her words were abruptly cut short.
The Nexorian, having finished observing its surroundings, moved without a sound. In one swift motion, its bladed arm sliced through the air.
A sickening sound echoed as the woman's head was severed from her body.
Her lifeless eyes widened in disbelief as her head tumbled through the air, confusion and betrayal frozen onto her face. Even in her final moment, she failed to understand why she had been struck down—why one of their revered lords from Nexoria had slain her.
The three remaining cultists stiffened in shock, their bodies momentarily frozen. Then, as the reality of the situation dawned on them, they prostrated themselves, pressing their foreheads to the ground, trembling.
Author Note:
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