The hill roared like a wounded beast. Rocks split, dust rose, and chunks of flesh still smoldered from the explosion. What remained of the priests was nothing but shredded meat painting the altar red.
Elian was no longer nailed to the cross. Her hands were free, her fingers buried deep in a man's throat.
"Three," Adrian rasped, choking, his voice like glass dragging against stone.
"Three thousand… Illusory Wind-Lightning Movement… you actually cultivated a skill equal to SSS rank!" Adrian's eyes widened, disbelief spilling into fear.
Even with Elian's hand crushing his throat, he could not stop the envy clawing at him. A skill of that level could crush mountains, split oceans, and he was staring at it in the hands of his enemy.
Thunder cracked around Elian's body. Lightning burst out, not once but again and again, wrapping her in a storm. Gusts of wind carried her upward until she seemed to float, untouchable, as if the world itself bent to her rage.
"How…?" Adrian struggled to speak. His voice rasped, broken under her grip. Each word tore his lungs. Another syllable would have been enough to end him.
"You fools," Elian said, her tone steady, almost calm, though her eyes burned with a fury older than the battle. "You will never understand what it means to hate. I hate you to my core. I would give half my life just to see yours end."
Her grip tightened. Fingers pressed into his flesh. Blood ran from his neck, sliding down her hand like red rain. Adrian gasped, choked, but his pride fought to live even as his body failed.
"You think hatred makes you strong?" Adrian coughed, blood spattering his lips. With sudden desperation, his palm lit up with a fiery flare, striking Elian's chest.
She staggered but didn't let
Elian's smile didn't fade. Lightning coiled tighter around her like a serpent. "Weak," she whispered.
She raised her arm, lightning exploding outward. Bolts rained down like judgment into Adrian's body . Adrian screamed as one tore across his shoulder, burning through flesh and bone .
Elian's lips curved into a savage smile. "One moment you bragged about killing me. And now?" She squeezed. His cartilage cracked under her fingers, his trachea collapsing with a wet crunch. "Now you dangle like prey in my hands. Tell me, Adrian the Weak—how does it feel?"
Her eyes burned red, the veins spiderwebbing as if hell itself had claimed her gaze. She looked less human than a demon wearing skin.
Adrian tried to laugh. "Aha—" Blood sprayed from his mouth, bubbling down his chin. The sound was half-choke, half-cackle.
"Pathetic." Elian yanked him higher, until his feet kicked uselessly above the ground. Then she hurled him like discarded trash.
His body slammed into the cross. The sharpened tip tore through his abdomen, punching a gaping hole through his torso. A geyser of blood erupted, splattering across the altar, dripping down like crimson rain. His scream broke halfway into a gargle as his organs twisted around the wooden spike.
Elian descended slowly, her toes brushing the ruined earth. She did not look at him immediately. Instead, she walked to where the cardinal had once stood.
There, she knelt in the blood-soaked soil. Three times, she bowed her head.
"Even though I never loved you," she whispered, voice trembling, "you still gave your life for me. Even in my darkest nightmare, I will honor your sacrifice."
Only then did she turn her gaze back to Adrian.
The Pope writhed against the cross. His blood sprayed with every twitch. His once flawless robes were ripped open, soaked black with gore. His lips frothed red as he tried to form words.
"How's the view up there?" Elian sneered. "Do you like the sky as your last sight?"
"Y-you… still… not satisfied…" he wheezed, each word bubbling with blood.
"I'll never be satisfied." Elian's voice was jagged steel. "Not until I erase you, and burn your Glorious Church of Light down to its foundations."
She stooped and picked up his fallen staff. Its weight settled into her hand like it belonged to her. The crescent and crucifix gleamed faintly in the gore-stained light.
"The staff has chosen," she said, coldly amused. "And the dying… don't matter."
Adrian's eyes glimmered with defiance, though fear twitched beneath. "You… can't kill me. I am indestructible. I am eternal. I am—"
"You're nothing."
Her words lashed harder than blades.
His false youth shattered. Wrinkles carved themselves across his face in seconds, gray hair spilling from his scalp. His flesh sagged, skin rotting and splitting like parchment. His teeth, once polished white, crumbled into jagged stubs dripping blood.
He was no longer a god. He was an old man nailed like a rat to a spear.
Elian sat on the ground, the staff across her lap. Tears streaked her blood-soaked cheeks.
"Tell me, Adrian. Did you feel powerful when you burned my parents alive? Did you feel like a god while they screamed? Did you think this day would never come?" She laughed bitterly. "A true god sees the future. You… you saw nothing."
She raised her face to the sky. The light above was dim, filtered through the barrier. Still, the sun tried to burn through.
"Even the sun shines on the dying," she said. "Look at it, Adrian. Let it guide you to death."
She glanced back. His eyes were wide, glassy. He was nailed to the cross like a grotesque icon, his blood soaking the wood, his organs hanging from the wound that skewered him.
Elian lowered her head, whispering, "Mom… Dad… I'm sorry it took this long."
The earth shook with laughter. Deep. Mocking. Not Adrian's voice.
"Hahahaha! I didn't expect you'd go this far!"
Elian didn't flinch. She didn't even look at Adrian's ruined corpse.
On the horizon, four silhouettes advanced. Their red robes trailed like rivers of blood. Each wore a crown with a unique symbol that glowed faintly in the gloom. Their steps were steady, their presence crushing.
The voice boomed once more.
"Won't you welcome… the Four Saints?"