Judgment
"I'll go down alone, so you all take care of the ones trying to flee from up here!"
"Stay put and hold the line. You can handle the runners, right?"
Levy and Liandel nodded in unison. Levy gripped her bow tightly, while Liandel raised his crystal staff. They both looked a little scared, but their eyes burned with resolve.
Gaster, the Haind count, still cradled the unconscious Edgar in his arms. Under the moonlight, his face was pale, tear tracks staining his cheeks. Worry for his son was plain as day.
Edgar's wounds showed that my healing pollen hadn't been enough. Oh right, I have recovery powers!
A golden arrow shot from my fingertips, striking Edgar's chest. His whole body began to glow faintly. I could see the wounds knitting closed, color returning to his face.
"What is this..." the count murmured, eyes wide with shock.
I fired the same arrows at Levy and Liandel. Their bodies flashed with light, fatigue washing away like mist. Levy's grip on her bow steadied, and Liandel's disheveled robe smoothed out.
Wonder if I can use it on myself? Time to try. I pressed my hand to my chest and loosed the arrow of light. My body was engulfed in radiance.
Whoa! A rush of euphoria surged through me—indescribable bliss. Fatigue, anxiety, fear—all gone in a flash. My body felt light as a feather, my heart brimming with faith in Lady Michael. Confidence swelled: I could save the world single-handed.
Now it's time for the real fight!
Miel and Cecilia buzzed around me. Tiny sparks fell from Cecilia's three pairs of wings, while Miel's icy wings glittered in the moonlight. Lote trailed me like a blue satellite.
Glessia! Dive me down!
"Glessia, if you would escort me."
Glessia flapped over, clamping her tiny feet—small for her size—onto my shoulders. She lifted me gently toward the collapsed plaza below. Way smoother than when she carried Edgar earlier.
No favoritism like this! One arm dangled relaxed; the other fiddled with Crimson Bind.
As we descended underground, my view widened. This was definitely the ritual site. The floor bore a Uroboros pattern—a serpent devouring its tail—with toppled black candelabras scattered everywhere.
And there it was: the demon.
Its form was indistinct, like a walking shadow. It flickered into human shape, then warped. A hazy mist swirled around it.
The demon watched me descend. Its status alone screamed powerhouse.
Glessia set me down softly. As my feet touched the floor, the blood-drawn pattern shimmered faintly.
"Ooh! Apostle of Abraksas!"
Black-robed cultists suddenly bowed to me, prostrating in prayer.
What... the hell? To me?
My mind reeled. Are they insane?!
The demon's reaction differed. It just stared, piercing. No face, but it felt mocking. Arrogant aura filled the air.
Then one cultist sprang up. His robe was flashier; he wielded a translucent dagger etched with strange runes.
For a human, that was seriously high-level. And he sensed Lady Michael's divine power? No ordinary cultist.
You're the boss of this crew, huh!
"Dzak Valter! What the hell are you doing?!"
Gaster's furious roar echoed from above. He stood at the plaza's edge, glaring down.
Dzak slowly looked up, a cold smirk curling his lips.
"Oh, Count Haind. Long time no see. Met your second son again, have we?"
Contempt and mockery dripped from his voice.
"You dare..." Gaster's face twisted in rage.
"We are the faithful servants of the great Abraksas," Dzak spread his arms. "Those vanished nobles? All taken for our sacred rites. Especially Duke Crosby... his blood was exquisite."
Dzak's eyes flicked to Edgar. "Sir Edgar and the duke were sniffing around. The duke's been offered to Abraksas, but Sir Edgar... slipped away. Pity."
My blood boiled. It all clicked. Kidnapping innocents for their blood—in the name of some fake evil god, not Lady Michael!
Unforgivable!
"You bastard!" Gaster bellowed.
Boom! He leaped from above.
Gasp! That height?! Four stories, easy. Insanely risky.
But Gaster landed fine. Blue light shimmered around his knees, absorbing the impact. His massive frame stood tall.
Another Haind secret technique...?
"Lady Ricoris, leave Dzak Valter to me."
Oh... sure...
"Very well."
Gaster's tone chilled me, but the noble trait responded curtly.
Gaster clenched his fists and charged Dzak, who raised his dagger. Energies clashed in sparks.
I had no time for them. A stronger foe loomed before me.
The demon still watched. Cultists panicked at Dzak's words, scattering.
Hya!
"Hmph!"
Dozens of black roots erupted from the floor, snaking up like serpents to impale the fleeing cultists. Screams echoed.
No escaping! Your blood belongs to Lady Michael! Become offerings nicely!
But the demon dodged effortlessly. Space rippled; roots passed through harmlessly.
What?! How?!
Again! I charged, recalling a power from Lady Michael: judgment on the wicked. Name? Whatever—go by feel.
Sanct something power!
Warmth flooded me, like her power coursed through my veins. Air cleared. Golden auras wrapped my roots and Crimson Bind. Pollen glowed holy.
Holy attribute boost!
Cecilia unleashed red flame arrows; sparks flew from her wings, slicing air. Glessia dove, stinger ready—lazy no more, majestic in battle.
But... space around the demon warped. Attacks sucked into the distortion like a whirlpool.
"Kekekekeke!"
Its laugh drilled into my ears—chilling.
Crazy! Nothing's landing!
I closed in, swinging Crimson Bind, sprouting more roots. But space bent; every strike missed.
This sword's useless anyway... I suck at swordplay!
Glancing aside, Gaster fought barehanded. Blue light on his fists pierced Dzak's guard, but black aura from the dagger blocked.
Wait, aren't you swordmasters? No sword?
Use this!
"Take it!"
Gaster snatched Crimson Bind midair with insane reflexes.
"You sure?"
I suck at swords anyway!
"Swordplay is but a fraction of my talents. Unneeded."
What the hell, soul?! If you knew swordplay, I'd have felt it earlier!
Then the demon struck first. Energy condensed in its hand-like appendage. Space warped inward—a black hole?!
It blasted at me. Lote zipped forward to block, but it phased through.
And hit me.
"Kyaaak!"
Unimaginable agony tore through—soul-shredding pain. Polymorph shattered; I reverted to flower form.
About 10k HP down. Oww... barely scratched, but hurts like hell. Oh, without the backup battery, it'd be three deaths.
"Kekekeke!"
No time to think. This thing's way stronger than expected. HP fine, but no more of that pain.
Polymorph!
Nothing. Blocked inside—like a clogged channel. Its power?
Another ability: purge curses and filth.
Lux something power!
Golden light spread from me, washing inner grime. Channels reopened.
As I prepped Polymorph again, flower-form domain radar scanned it. Its body had voids—not holes, absent space. Surrounding space twisted like a mirror maze.
That's why attacks miss! Now I see true paths.
Flower form better—see distortions, know how to strike.
Demon attacked: shadow blades hurled. Lote blocked; they phased through, slicing two petals.
"Aak!" Hurt less. Massive battery regenerated instantly.
My turn. Hya! Hya!
Pollen and roots from all angles, aimed via radar. Roots probed likely spots; pollen blanketed air.
Roots missed direct, but pollen stuck. It warped, slowed.
Paralysis and status bomb!
Miel above flapped wildly, tracing patterns—signaling.
Cecilia veered, fireballing empty space—direct hit! Glessia charged signaled spot, stabbing true.
Ooh! Miel cracked the distortion secret? No radar—smarter than me?
Kid-like usually, but boss butterfly!
"Kekekegh!"
Its screech—metal scrape, music to me.
Momentum shifted. Gaster pressed Dzak with Crimson Bind.
Awesome! Die quick!
More hits landed. Pollen and bugs overwhelmed.
Demon gestured; space swirled like a vortex.
Escaping?! Offer yourself to Lady Michael's blood!
Death Mark!
This one I remembered. No escape!
Red pattern bloomed above its head—spreading light symbol dripping blood. Michael's sigil blood-soaked.
Whoa, so cool! Pure Michael!
Pattern complete. World spun. Scenery blurred—new place.
Circular arena, walled white marble temple—like Roman Colosseum.
Just me and demon. No Cecilia, Glessia, Lote, Miel.
Our duel space.
No escape means forced duel?!