Silence filled the room.
No chatter. No applause. Not a single sound.
Everyone stood still, eyes fixed on the figure before them.
Its gaze was cold and judging—like a god studying ants beneath its feet.
Then, in a split second, it waved its hand.
And Angelica was gone.
As Azarim turned, only a fading glimmer of mana shimmered in the air where she had stood—a lingering trace of the spell it had cast.
A deafening bang echoed through the chamber as debris rained down, and a thick cloud of dust rose to shroud the place where Angelica had fallen.
"Quite sturdy, she was," it murmured. "I wonder what race she belonged to. Hellean? Delmatarian?"
Azarim leapt backward, his gaze locked on the dust-veiled spot. He could barely see, but instinct screamed at him—movement.
The being flexed its fingers, cracked its knuckles, stretched its neck, and rubbed the bridge of its nose.
Leon and Walas sprang into action.
Leon dashed toward Angelica's location, panic in his stride.
Walas advanced slowly, each step deliberate and strategic.
His eyes scanned the room, every shadow a threat.
Then, with a flick of his hand, mana surged—and a straight, single-edged blade materialized in his grasp.
Leon clawed through the rubble that had fallen on her—and there she was.
A crack split across the shell of her face, and the horn on her left side had been broken clean in half.
As he touched her cheek, her face winced. Her breathing was shallow.
She tried to open her eyes. One remained shut. The other—her left—was blood-red, leaking a single crimson tear that slid down her cheek, joining the blood trailing from the fractured shell.
"You'll be alright, sis. Just wait a little longer," Leon whispered, pressing his palm gently against her. "Rehestra."
A soft green glow bloomed at her wound as his mana surged—mending tissue, repairing what it could.
But it wasn't enough.
The glow flickered. The spell faltered.
Leon poured more mana into her, pushing past his limit.
"Rehestra!" he cried again.
Still nothing.
No change. No healing.
Desperate, he cradled her head in his arms, planted his palm directly over her face, and screamed with all the power in his voice,
"Rehestra!"
His voice echoed like thunder across the chamber—
Only to be abruptly cut short.
A cold voice interrupted.
"Your efforts are riveting. But unfortunately, the healing magic you cast will not work. You might even say that she is beyond that."
Leon turned, eyes burning with fury.
He extended his palm toward the figure—and in a flash, a circular barrier snapped into existence around it, trapping the creature inside.
With clenched fingers, Leon slowly compressed his hand, and the barrier shrank inward, growing tighter and tighter.
But the being only watched, amused.
Then, it moved.
With a single step, it pressed against the barrier—and walked right through it.
Leon's face twisted in strain, teeth gritted as he tried to force his palm shut—
but nothing happened.
The barrier held no power over it. His magic… was useless.
The circular seal twisted, warping into an unrecognizable shape.
It kept walking, directly toward Azarim, as if the barrier had never existed at all.
Unaffected. Unstoppable.
Azarim looked at the creature, sensing the grin in its judging eyes—not a smile, but a presence. It radiated smugness, showcasing its power not to warn them, but to savor their despair, reeling it in like a fisherman relishing the struggle.
It wasn't just underestimating them.
It didn't even believe they could leave a scratch.
"What kind of being are you?" Azarim asked, unmoving as it advanced.
Its eyes twitched.
Without a word, it reached for the barrier Leon had conjured, tore it as if it were cloth, and hurled it past Azarim. It shot across the chamber and embedded into the wall behind him with a thunderous crack.
Azarim didn't flinch.
Instead, he walked forward.
The creature's eyes narrowed.
"Such arrogance," it hissed. "It has been so long since anyone dared face me head-on—let alone approach me willingly."
But Azarim didn't respond.
He simply passed it, walking toward Fortim—who lay sprawled on the floor, his head bloodied, brown hair soaked and streaked orange, his face nearly unrecognizable.
Azarim knelt and pressed two fingers to the side of Fortim's neck.
A pulse.
Weak.
Barely there.
But still alive.
He stood and turned to face the creature.
It hadn't moved.
Yet the air was different.
It had no mouth. No face.
Only eyes.
But Azarim could feel it.
It hated being ignored.
Fury burned behind its gaze—not the rage of a warrior defied, but the wrath of a god scorned.
Like an ant had bitten too deep—and left a scar on its pride.
"How dare you?" it growled, its calm façade splintering. "I gave you my time. I spoke to you. And this is how you repay my generosity?"
Azarim walked toward it, flexing his fingers, his eyes unblinking.
The being's voice trembled—not from fear, but from mounting rage.
"I should've known better than to expect a reason from an insect. Of course you'd do nothing but buzz and crawl, blind to the grace shown to you. This—this is on me."
Its tone deepened, trembling with fury.
"There were six vessels. Two now dangle between life and death. That leaves four."
A beat.
"Let's make that three. The old man, the two Helleans, and that Barrier fool."
It took a step forward, eyes burning.
"I want you to feel it. Every pain. Every agony. Every shred of despair—before your lights turn dark."
Now face to face, Azarim could still only make out its eyes—eyes brimming with pure rage.
"Leon!" Azarim barked, never breaking eye contact. "Take Angelica. Every servant. Everything that could get in the way. Get them out. Get them healed."
The servants immediately turned to Leon, who clutched Angelica in his arms. He bit his lip, lowered his gaze, then looked to Deckard—still poised, still staring down the creature. Deckard's fists were clenched, his stance ready to spring.
"Deckard!" Leon shouted, snapping him out of it. "Get Fortim out of here. Take him to the guild. Rally every capable adventurer you can."
"But Lord—"
"Follow my orders, Deckard!" Leon snapped, then turned to the others. "Open the manor. Make space. And prepare yourselves—we are not letting this bastard see another sunrise."
They scattered at once.
Deckard dashed toward Fortim and hoisted him up. He tried—just once—to glance back at the entity. But it was blinding. Staring at it felt like looking into the heart of the sun.
Meanwhile, Azarim stepped forward, translucent mana wrapping around him like a second skin. Deckard hesitated for a breath—then ran, bolting down the stairs and out the door, unsure if anyone behind him would survive.
Leon lingered a moment, cradling Angelica, staring at Azarim.
"You better not die, you bastard," he muttered.
He turned away, his gaze briefly catching Walas—now slowly approaching the creature, eyes glinting with something like fascination, his grip tightening around his blade.
Then a deafening boom shook the manor. The door slammed shut.
And inside, only Azarim, Walas, and the still-slumped Revel remained.
"How foolish. So wasteful with your lives. Honestly—I'm impressed by your stupidity."
"Are you done?" Azarim cut in coldly. "If you are, I promise you this: you will feel everything. Every pain. Every agony. Every shred of despair your kind can endure before the light fades from your eyes."
"The audacity of an insect," it scoffed—and with a flick of its hand, a golden ray shot forth, forming a radiant fist that slammed into Azarim and hurled him against the wall.
His body hit with a sickening crunch, molding into the stone. Blood trickled from his temple, dripping into his eyes.
The figure approached, grabbed Azarim by the hair, and yanked his head up to meet its gaze.
"For someone so weak," it sneered, "you hold yourself awfully high." Its eyes curled into a smirk. With a sick joy, it slammed Azarim face-first into the ground—once, twice, again. The thuds echoed, wet and brutal, until Azarim's face was a mask of blood, barely human.
But still—no scream. No grunt. Nothing.
It paused. Unsatisfied.
Lifting Azarim's battered face, it leaned in, whispering, "You're quite sturdy also, jjust like that woman,"
Azarim's lips moved—silent.
Curious, it leaned closer.
Then the ring on Azarim's hand flared. Mana surged. Flame burst from his palm and he slammed it into the creature's face.
"Ignian."
The flare detonated at point-blank range. The entity howled, reeling back and releasing him. Azarim staggered, then leapt back, panting.
"You insect!" it screamed, clutching its scorched face.
Then, in a blink, it was in front of him. Its hand shot forward, reaching for his face.
Azarim tried to sidestep—but too slow.
It seized his skull and drove him into the floor with monstrous force. Blood splattered from his mouth. Before he could breathe, it grabbed him again and flung him across the room.
He struck the door hard—nailed into it like a man about to be crucified.
The entity leaped down into the ground floor, and then halted. Walas was in his stance, his blade forward, with his figure entirely level.
"He suffered quite enough beating, don't you think?" He smirked at it, he placed his foot forward, ready for anything. "What do you mean Vessels earlier? I'm curious about that."
The being rolled its eyes and kept moving forward, focused solely on Azarim. But when it blinked, Walas vanished from its sight—only to reappear at its side, his blade slicing toward its neck.
A burst of mana flared in the being's hand. Just before the blade could land, it swatted Walas away like a fly, sending him crashing into the table where Revel lay slumped. Revel's large frame absorbed the hit with a dull thud.
"Wait your turn," it said, shifting its gaze back to Azarim.
Revel squinted, trying to make out what had just slammed into him. Walas met his eyes and, without warning, struck him in the face with the hilt of his blade. Revel grabbed his nose, groaning.
"Get up, you drunken oaf. All that noise, and you're still clinging to your booze. You are hopeless," Walas muttered as he turned back toward the being. "Help me take it down, and this mess will blow away like the wind. The family won't suffer a thing."
Revel slowly got to his feet, shook his head, and blew blood from his nose, letting it splatter at his feet. He took a deep breath and stared at the creature.
"That'll be easy," he grinned. "So I'm guessing we'll leave that bastard to die?"
"If he dies, that's his fate," Walas replied. "But if he lives… he'll useful."
With those words, the two lunged forward, leaving cracks in the tiles behind them. In an instant, they were in front of the being—Revel above, fists clenched and ready to slam down, while Walas came from below, head lowered, blade aimed to pierce upward through its chin.
But the being erupted with mana and glared at Revel. The force launched him into the ceiling—but he only grinned wider and launched himself again.
Walas, untouched by the burst, flickered as if phasing through the mana. He pressed forward, blade aimed true. The being tilted its head just enough for the strike to miss, Walas's blade now pointed at Revel instead.
Without hesitation, Walas halted the thrust, twisted his wrist, and slashed at the being's feet. It staggered, then leapt back to gain distance.
Its eyes twitched—and that only made them smile.
It reached up, inspecting its chin, then locked eyes with them.
"Helleans revel in battle. But this? This is no battle—just a scuffle born of random chaos. And even if you tried, you would never lay a finger on me. Why reject my mercy of a quick death? Is it the scars you want? Or the fame of claiming to have faced a being like me?"
"A being like you?" Walas said, slowly advancing. "Tell me—what exactly are you? I know you're not one of those simple-minded spirits that roam these lands."
It laughed—loud and maniacal—rubbing the bridge of its nose. "You really want to know?"
Walas tightened his grip on his blade. Revel's fists clenched, his body tensing, ready to strike.
"Suppose you've wasted enough of my time… I'll humor you. You're worthy enough to see what I am."
It raised its hand.
Behind it, five pairs of white wings burst forth. Its eyes glared at them—so fiercely their vision blurred the longer they stared.
The being now shone even brighter, revealing a face of otherworldly beauty: white hair, pale skin, a chiseled jawline, and glowing blue eyes outlined by a nine-edged star.
Walas grinned. "Shit."