Triple Veil Ramp
The angels finally set foot on the ground atop the triple-veiled disguised ramp. Light and water, protection and the tremor of hymns filled the valley all at once. The sanctuary dome had solidified into a hemispherical shape, its inner air heavy as water. Inhaling brought the taste of water to the tongue. Exhaling scraped the hymn's vibration against the inside of the ribcage.
The lead angel with spear in hand stepped forward. Even though the spearhead was forged of light, it trembled faintly without a breath of wind. The angels behind. Thin films of water clung to their armor surfaces, overlaid with another layer of sanctuary light. Outermost: the sanctuary. The armor: water. And—their bodies were wrapped in thicker protection clinging tight.
Balrag drew a breath. "...It's starting now, Rak-sama." He lifted his foot and stamped the center of the ramp.
Thud— An invisible wave sliced through the space before the gate, sweeping across the ramp below and above, the gate's foundation and walls, even the ground inside the fortress all at once. Bones and metal chunks buried deep in the earth shuddered simultaneously. The ankles of the frontline demons sank deeper into the ground. Feet that had been slipping began to "grip" the surface.
Conversely, the angels descending—their toes, caught as if by invisible hands—lost just a fraction of their speed. That gap was torn open by spears of light. The first spear pierced a demon's chest, the second shattered a shoulder, the third severed a waist. Flesh and blood slid down the ramp.
Balrag pressed the ground harder. He drew enemy blood beneath allies' feet into stickiness, left it slicker under foes. Blood to trip. Blood to slip. Redirecting it all toward the "ground."
A low-rank angel who missed its landing timing twisted its posture. In that instant, a demon spear thrust diagonally through its side. Red blood sprayed. And amid that blood—fragments of light scattered like grains of sand.
The low-rank angel collapsed. Balrag muttered low. "We'll hold..."
But the lines of light descending from higher up the ramp didn't break. Dozens per line. Layers upon layers of those lines. The sanctuary itself was tilting the entire "battlefield" toward the heavens.
Inside the gate courtyard. Rak listened to the gate shuddering. The air inside his armor grew hot bit by bit. The dagger hilt dug deep into his palm. Behind him, mid- and low-rank demons breathed shallow but densely packed.
Those bodies couldn't keep up with Rak's speed. Without turning, Rak said, "Rear line."
All eyes locked on Rak's back. "Don't try to match my speed."
"Just fill the spots I leave empty."
Someone exhaled a swallowed breath. "Rak-sama, then what about us—?"
Rak cut them off. "Survive against the ones I can't kill. Buy time to fall back."
"As long as the whole line doesn't collapse at once."
He lowered his hand toward the gate. "Gate."
Gart opened the gate just wide enough for one person—Rak—to slip through. Sanctuary light and water, hymn tremors flooded in through the gap all at once. The air changed. Inhaling brought water to the tongue. Every movement layered invisible weight atop the joints.
Rak didn't spread reinforcement across his whole body. Just thin lines like scratches at wrists and ankles, waist and shoulders. Right now, minimal only.
He stepped out onto the ramp.
The first angel thrust its spear down. Rak didn't retreat. He twisted his foot half a step, pulled his shoulder half a handspan, vacating only the space for the blade to pass. The spear tip grazed his armor shoulder, spraying light and water droplets.
In that instant, Rak's wrist twisted. The dagger didn't soar upward. It thinly grazed the gap behind the angel's elbow joint. The joint snapped, twisting the spear. The dagger plunged straight into the throat.
As the neck severed, light grains mingled in the red blood and fell. Low-rank.
Rak confirmed the "toughness" with his fingertip sensation. Not slicing cleanly, but scraping off one layer first. The sanctuary outer veil. Water veil. Protection veil. All three rebounded as "resistance."
Rak switched tactics immediately. Don't smash head-on. Don't grind away the whole exterior. Weak spots only.
Rak's gaze swept the angel's armor. Lines where the water film thinned and flowed. Joint connections. Wrist gaps when raising a shield. Sections where body protection thinned on the side as it surged forward during a spear thrust.
Strike only those points. Minimal force. In one go.
The second angel raised its shield and charged. Water film flowed over the shield, sanctuary light layered atop. Rak didn't hit the shield center. The edge by the wrist, where the water film thinned most.
The dagger sank in like a stamp. Water film tore first, sanctuary light shattered quietly like glass. The body-clinging protection reacted a beat late. Protection adhered differently. Not to armor, but tight to flesh.
Rak didn't miss that "lag." He twisted the dagger upward, drawing a line across the throat before protection could reattach. Blood sprayed. More light fragments. Mid-rank.
Another angel raised its spear tip. A water stream shot out. Water pressurized thin as a blade. A line finer than the spearhead etched through the air.
Rak layered one coat of reinforcement just on chest and ribs. He took it deliberately. Needed the data. The water slashed armor and flesh simultaneously. Plate split, flesh tore deep. Burning pain spread across his chest. Blood surged into his mouth.
Rak swallowed it. Inside sanctuary. Water pressure limit.
Taking this would cleave a mid-rank demon clean.
Carrying the pain, he pressed forward. The dagger parted the water stream, slicing diagonally through the spear shaft. As the broken spear and body twisted—Rak added no extra force, just upward along the jawline, where protection lagged most.
—Slash.
The neck flew half off. Blood erupted. What burst amid it wasn't grains, but glass-shard light fragments. High-rank.
Rak nailed the conclusion. All tougher.
And the next. No need to ramp up reinforcement stronger.
Thinner. More precise.
A fight not of brute force, but finding weak gaps first. On this battlefield, that lasted longer.
Places Rak couldn't reach. Along the ramp sides, from gaps where sanctuary light slanted down, low-rank demons crumbled first. Screams didn't drag on. Hymn vibrations pressed the air, severing throat-rising sounds midway.
Two low-rank angels stabbed from different angles simultaneously. One clutched its chest and froze, the next twisted and slipped, knee slamming the ground. Light descended once atop it.
"Ah, aaah—!"
—Crunch! Short, crushed scream. Armor scraping on ground squealed as it slid, spilled blood erasing ramp boundaries.
Low-ranks pushing from behind stepped there. "Move! Move—!"
Ankles tangled, shoulders collided, someone fell dragging the side line. Sanctuary weight pressed atop. Arms trying to rise were pinned before they could. Another light spear plunged.
As the spear yanked free, flesh chunks tore and sprayed everywhere. "Help—!" Before words finished, a light stream crushed the head. Unrecognizable form.
Breath choked. Opening the mouth filled with damp air first. No shouts emerged, only gasps leaked.
One low-rank rolled sideways trying to flee the ramp. But inside sanctuary, "sideways" wasn't escape. A light stream curved in, sweeping the spot. Skin burned on contact. Blood and flesh unable to withstand pressure mixed with surrounding demons' and vanished.
Friction scraping ground, dull armor clashes. What remained was one demon's suddenly silenced breath.
Blood flowed down the ramp. Light fragments fell atop like snow. Slipping on step, dragging side line on slip, side line collapse pulling the rear all at once.
Balrag's ground swallowed some blood. But spilling outpaced absorption. Ground saved only through "balance." Survival boiled to luck and line thickness.
Farther from the gate, more wretched. Gaps Rak left unfilled, spots where feet caught trying to plug them—low-ranks there didn't fight; they just fed into the battlefield flow and vanished.
Some wept baring teeth, some clenched jaws. Some gaped mouths, swallowing breath without sound. Over them, angels' spears and blades erased lines faster, quieter.
Atop the wall. Zan looked up at the sky. Several light streams from inside the sanctuary curved toward the wall.
Zan clenched and released his hand. The red curtain thickened. One light stream hit the curtain, trajectory bending. It exploded below on the ramp.
Another veered toward Nova but grazed the curtain, bending frontal. The last forced aside but grazed the wall edge. A shield-bearing demon's leg blew off below the thigh.
The scream rolled into the fortress. Blood scattered, sanctuary light fragments piling modestly atop.
Zan gritted his teeth. "......Too thin."
He raised the curtain's density a notch. His head grew stuffy. Beside him, El said, "Throw the falling ones my way."
"Just the ones dropping in my radius—for now, I'll try saving them."
Zan nodded curtly. "This time..."
"Not who to sacrifice, but who to spare first."
The red curtain clung deeper to the sky. Below, Rak cleaved angels at the vanguard, and in spots he couldn't reach, low-ranks quietly, swiftly dwindled in number.
That they—the hands drawing the line now Zan and El's—both knew.