Klaus let the shotgun dissolve back into his Mindforger with a lazy flick, the weapon breaking into pale fragments of light before vanishing entirely. Smoke still clung to the air, mingling with the sharp, wet scent of ruptured demon flesh and churned earth.
Around them, the crater crawled—rabbits bursting apart under claws, heels and beams, only to stitch themselves back together and rush again, heedless, relentless.
"Well," Klaus said, voice light despite the chaos, "time for the priestess to play with a bigger toy."
Metal unfolded from nothing.
A Vickers heavy machine gun slammed into existence, its sheer mass undeniable. The tripod struck the ground with a heavy thud, cracking stone and sinking slightly as if the earth itself acknowledged its presence. A thick ammunition box followed, clattering beside it, the belt of rounds coiled neatly, each casing etched with faint trap runes.
Shane's eyes flicked from the demon to the weapon, then back to Klaus. For half a second—barely noticeable—his expression shifted. Curiosity slipped through his usual discipline.
"I never thought you'd hide something like that in your head," Shane said evenly. "How many shots does that thing have?"
Klaus knelt with deliberate calm, robes settling around his knees. He placed a hand atop the ammo box, fingers resting there as though on an altar. "Five hundred."
Shane let out a low whistle, eyes tracing the feed belt, the barrel, the careful balance of brutality and craftsmanship. Then to Klaus' exposed leg, "What a beauty."
Klaus didn't look at him. His gaze was fixed forward, on the towering demon struggling amidst fur and vines. "Are you talking about the gun? Yes, it was really a beauty."
Ahead of them, the demon roared.
The demon's massive claw came down in a wide arc, swatting through a dense cluster of rabbits. Bodies burst, blood sprayed, ears and limbs flew—only for the gore to shudder, crawl, and pull itself back together. In seconds, the rabbits were whole again, multiplying as if mocking him.
The demon snarled and stomped, the ground buckling under his weight. He grabbed one rabbit, crushed it between his fingers, and hurled the remains against a rock wall. It splattered—then slid down, twitched, and reformed, sprinting back toward him with glassy determination.
The demon's wings snapped open, claws gouging furrows into the crater floor as frustration tipped into fury.
Klaus adjusted the Vickers with unhurried precision, aligning the barrel, anchoring the tripod. "Keep him busy," he said. "I need time to prepare."
Shane rolled his shoulders once and stepped forward, eyes locked on the demon. "Sure," he replied. "Just tell me when you're ready."
Klaus nodded.
Then he began to chant.
His voice dropped into something else entirely—serene, steady, every syllable shaped with reverence. It cut through the noise without raising volume, a calm thread woven through chaos. The frantic battle seemed to slide off him, as though he were kneeling in a quiet cathedral instead of a shattered crater.
The posture. The cadence. The gentle authority in his tone.
Anyone watching would have sworn Priestess Illumi herself had returned.
Shane moved forward while Klaus chanted.
He advanced without haste, boots crunching over broken stone and rabbit remains. His eyes never left the demon. "All right," he murmured, reaching into his ring. "Let's dance."
Three small vials appeared between his fingers, each filled with glowing green liquid that pulsed faintly. Without hesitation, he hurled them—not at the demon, but at the ground beneath its feet.
They shattered on impact.
"Bionic Flora Carnis."
The earth groaned.
At first it was subtle—a tremor, like the ground drawing breath. Then cracks spiderwebbed outward, racing beneath the demon's feet. The demon looked down just in time to see thorny green vines erupt from below, spearing through stone and soil alike.
They wrapped around his ankles.
Zul'got roared and stomped, tearing free with brute force. The vines snapped, spraying green sap—
—and immediately regrew.
More burst from the cracks, thicker this time, barbed and writhing. They coiled around his calves, his knees, climbing fast. The demon slashed downward, claws ripping through them in savage arcs. It even fired multiple mana beam. The vines shredded under his strikes, falling away in twitching pieces.
The ground answered.
Fresh growth surged up where the old had fallen, faster, stronger, as if angered. The vines braided themselves together, tightening, climbing higher. One looped around demon's wrist. He snarled and tore it free—
—and three more replaced it, crawling over his forearm, sinking thorns into black flesh.
"Enough!" Zul'got bellowed, wrenching his arm back.
The vines clamped down harder.
They wrapped his other arm, his wings, his torso, spreading like a living net. He flexed, muscles bulging, and ripped several apart at once—but every torn strand triggered more growth. The ground split wider, vomiting greenery.
Three massive buds burst from the soil in front of him.
They rose quickly, stalks thick as tree trunks, petals tightly closed and slick with viscous fluid. The demon reared back, sensing danger, and slammed a claw down on the nearest bud, crushing it flat—
The bud convulsed.
Then reopened.
Its petals peeled back wetly, revealing not pollen but a gaping maw lined with uneven, glistening teeth. Acidic saliva dripped from within, sizzling as it struck stone.
The other two buds followed suit.
They lunged.
One snapped shut around the demon's arm, teeth biting deep. Another clamped onto his side, tearing into flesh. The third surged upward and latched onto his throat, forcing his head back.
The demon screamed.
"You insolent human!" he thundered, voice shaking the crater walls. Above his head, the six black orbs finished merging together, fusing into a single massive sphere of condensed mana. "How dare you insult me!"
He thrashed, ripping one plant free, then another—but the vines anchored him, regrowing even as he tore. Acid burned across his hide, steam hissing where it touched.
"I am Zul'got the Harbinger," he roared, eyes blazing as he glared at Shane, "one of the Twelve Great Magi of the Forsaken One!"
The orb above him swelled, crackling violently.
"To be humiliated by pests and twigs—!"
The pressure in the air spiked, crushing, unbearable.
"I will return the favor," Zul'got snarled, voice dripping with malice, "and grant you the future you deserve."
"Death."
The pressure in the air spiked. Shane felt it instantly—the moment the spell crossed from threat to certainty.
His instincts screamed.
"Yeah," Shane muttered. "That's bad."
The orb collapsed inward.
The beam descended.
Shane didn't hesitate. He spun and leapt backward toward Klaus, boots skidding as he landed beside the chanting priestess.
"Vine Wall."
The ground between them and the demon erupted upward. Thick, interwoven vines surged from the earth, braiding themselves into a towering barrier. Leaves hardened like scales; thorned tendrils locked together, forming a living rampart just as the beam slammed into it.
The impact was deafening.
Light consumed the wall, mana grinding against plant matter. Vines vaporized by the dozens, reduced to nothing—but more surged up from behind, feeding into the structure, reinforcing it. The wall groaned, buckled, held—long enough.
Klaus's chant did not falter.
The beam finally punched through, obliterating the remaining vines and carving a massive trench through the crater beyond them. Dirt collapsed inward. Stone vanished.
When the light faded, silence fell.
A yawning, perfectly scorched hole dominated the battlefield.
At its center, a single pillar of earth remained.
Zul'got stood atop it, wings spread, smoke rising from his body as he laughed, low and triumphant.
"Is that all you could offer," the demon sneered, voice echoing through the devastation, "you vermins?"
Behind the Vickers, Klaus stopped chanting.
He exhaled softly.
Then smiled.