MTLNOVEL Chapter 8: Crescent Purge
Of course, as an Official Beyonder and a saint serving under the Eternal Blazing Sun, Sebastian was very used to dealing with such a mission.
The Churches, with their vast wealth, artifacts, and reach, had long mastered the art of extermination. And in this case...
Evacuating the citizens discreetly is key.
His thoughts were swift, his actions even swifter. With a subtle gesture, his subordinates instantly recognized their cue and dispersed into the cathedral's many compartments, vanishing into their assigned tasks.
With the situation assessed, Sebastian wasted no time signaling headquarters in Trier.
Right after recognizing the situation, Sebastian wasted no time in signaling the headquarters back in Trier, by using the honorific name of one of the three guardians of Trier, Saint Viéve. From there, "She" had taken the lead for this "extermination" by sending two valuable artifacts.
0-23, and 1-156… the codes of these artifacts briefly flashed in his mind as he recalled their general use.
0-23, was an artifact corresponding to a sequence 2 Duke of Entropy, with it existing in various states. From the description Sebastian had received, it currently existed in the state of Amplification. In this state, every single ability, action, intent, even at the level of an insect, could be amplified to terrifying degrees, reaching the standard level of an angel. Of course, it came with equally worrying drawbacks.
Thankfully, "Her" Excellency dealt with the negative effects. Sebastian reflected, as he briefly recalled the restrained majestic oppression 0-23 had exuded when it was sent over.
As for 1-156, it was an artifact corresponding to a sequence 3 Unaging, and could discreetly bring a street into the mirror dimension. Even the most spiritually sensitive demigods would have trouble realizing the change. The environment will be perfectly replicated in the corresponding region of the Mirror world, while their real world counterparts will be replaced by extremely realistic illusions. On top of this, the artifact could target non-beyonders exclusively, and leave out Beyonders. However, this change didn't include non-living material that weren't in direct contact with the people sent into the mirror world, which could be considered a massive flaw. But with the amplification of 0-23, not only will it include non-living materials such as buildings, it'll also easily encompass the entire city, excluding Beyonders.
With this, we can wipe out unofficial rats which have plagued the city for years, likely colluding with the spawn of the Abyss. Sebastian thought with unrestrained disgust as his determination to eliminate all those who stood in the way of the Sun, increased.
As a sequence 3 Justice Mentor, this determination will manifest into reality, and bring about positive effects to his endeavors!
His face contorted into a smile. Sebastian recognized that his subordinates had already acted and pulled most of the city into the mirror dimension. Due to how discreet it was, he couldn't feel it, but he instinctively knew "Justice" would descend upon his foe.
Of course, he knew his malice couldn't be detected by the Danger premonition of his enemies, as all saints under the Sun, working under "His" Lightseekers, were blessed with purifying aura, which vanquished the mental existence of the Abyss; a realm which resided in all living beings. It was through this that a Devil could perceive malice, while a Demon could establish a connection through this.
All enemies must be purified! Sebastian's determined gaze marred his face, as he exited the cathedral; leading a large number of purifiers.
With purposeful strides, Sebastian moved forward with his team toward the Gilded Lily, their objective clear. The tension in the air grew heavier with every step as the Club's looming structure came into view—a den of corruption and sin awaiting judgment.
As they neared their destination, the Black Moths struck first. Without warning, they unleashed a barrage of attacks, shadows coiling and projectiles raining down, aiming to cripple the group before they could act.
Sebastian responded with practiced precision, exuding a radiant, almost blinding light. The divine energy quickly coalesced into an Armor of Light that enveloped him, deflecting the initial bombardment with ease. His stance remained unyielding, the brilliance of his presence cutting through the chaos.
"Forward! Leave no opening for their tricks!" he commanded, his voice resolute.
The purifiers surged behind him, their formations tight and disciplined. The holy insignias on their armor glimmered as they advanced, undeterred by the onslaught. Sebastian led the charge, his radiance pushing back the encroaching shadows, his every step a testament to the might of the Eternal Blazing Sun.
The fight had begun.
…
The inner room of the Gilded Lily, once filled with calculated whispers and indulgent laughter, now pulsed with unease.
The Black Moths' elite stood gathered, their usual composure slipping beneath the weight of the night's events. Expressions of concern, frustration, and barely veiled desperation passed between them, each waiting for someone else to speak first.
They had lost contact with their people.
Their safehouses—burned or raided.
Their informants—silent.
Their exits—cut off.
Something was wrong.
"Vesper," Orin, one of the captains, finally broke the tension, voice clipped, "the Church is moving. They've cut us off from the outside. Purifiers are mobilizing en masse. If we don't act now—"
Vesper sat, unmoved, fingers idly trailing the stem of his goblet. He had already pieced together the situation. This wasn't just a raid. It was a calculated purge.
The Church had pulled its strings behind the scenes, dismantling his network piece by piece while ensuring he remained boxed in, unaware, surrounded.
His subordinates believed the city was still their playground.
Yet, despite no visible signs, a creeping dread gnawed at him.
A faint echo of a warning from his Ancestor lingered in his mind, the words brushing against his thoughts like a blade at his throat.
He exhaled slowly, pensive.
They were missing something.
"What now?" someone pressed, anxious.
Vesper finally lifted his gaze, sweeping it over his gathered captains.
A slow, deliberate smirk curled at his lips.
"Now?" He swirled the wine in his glass, its deep crimson catching the low light. Then, in a rough, measured tone, he muttered:
"Now, we figure out who's got the spine to bleed for this crew and who's just dead weight."
…
Inside the four-person carriage, Jack sat with calm detachment, his marionette at his side as the vehicle rolled steadily through the city. The hum of the city's bustle pressed against the walls, a constant backdrop of life—until it wasn't.
A moment of wrongness slipped through reality like a razor through silk.
It was subtle. Too subtle.
The rhythm of the streets—the shuffle of footsteps, the distant clang of machinery, the murmur of idle conversation—all remained, yet something about them felt off. A misplaced resonance. A faint echo, as though the world had been perfectly copied and pasted, but the ink hadn't dried quite right.
Jack blinked once, his mind sharpening.
"A large-scale concealment… No, a replacement."
Then—the abrupt halt.
The carriage lurched to a stop.
Jack's brow furrowed slightly as he glanced out the window. The streets, though seemingly normal, carried the same unnatural undertone he had sensed earlier. Without hesitation, he opened the carriage door and stepped out, his marionette following silently in his wake.
The air outside was still, too still. Jack scanned his surroundings, his sharp gaze dissecting every detail. The buildings stood just as they had moments before, the people moving as expected, yet an intangible wrongness clung to everything like a shadow slightly out of sync with its source.
He muttered under his breath, "The city's been altered... but the execution is flawless. Almost flawless."
His eyes flickered with faint amusement, taking a moment to steady his thoughts. The illusion, though masterful, wasn't enough to deceive him entirely. His marionette remained at his side, mirroring his movements, as Jack began walking forward, blending seamlessly into the fabricated flow of the city.
"The moment they brought the city under…" He narrowed his eyes slightly, watching as the carriage driver vanished, ushered away alongside fleeing citizens. To them, everything was real. The buildings, the cobbled roads, the oil lamps flickering in the evening haze—all replicated with flawless deception.
Jack adjusted his sleeves, stepping into the shifting throng of evacuees, his movements measured, invisible within the motion of the crowd. Yet, while the civilians were unaware of their displacement, he was not.
His presence remained untouched by the illusion.
Thus, he created his own.
A seamless veil of deception cloaked him, preserving his presence in the mirrored illusion. He walked as they walked, breathed as they breathed—yet he was not truly there.
Reaching a quieter area, he vanished from sight in an instant.
In the next breath, he and his marionette stood within a shadowed alley, far from the exodus.
"They'll converge at the Gilded Lily, but I'll keep an eye on the others. Every base. Every asset. Any loose ends that slip through the cracks."
Reaching into the void, Jack retrieved a silver-gray charm, its surface shimmering faintly before he tucked it into his pocket. A second charm followed—black, translucent, inscribed with strange eye-like markings.
With his preparations secured, he turned his gaze toward the heart of the city, where the Gilded Lily awaited.
…
The doors of the Gilded Lily erupted inward with a deafening crash, splinters scattering through the air as a squad of armed Beyonders stormed into the opulent club. Once a haven of sin and secrecy, the lavish den was plunged into chaos as the clergy-led strike team advanced, their golden insignias gleaming under the dim glow of the chandelier.
Sebastian Halloway led the charge, his coat billowing behind him as he raised his hand. Divine energy radiated from his fingertips, casting a golden light that seemed to bend the very air around him. With a swift motion, he unleashed a wave of holy power, its radiance searing through the first wave of enemies. Two guards fell instantly, their bodies convulsing as light-consuming tendrils disintegrated into ash—clear signs of their corruption burned away.
"Spread out! Seal the exits!" Sebastian commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade of authority.
Inside the Gilded Lily, a mix of criminals, informants, and Beyonders scrambled to resist. Smoke bombs erupted, releasing a thick crimson mist meant to disorient and delay.
Sebastian did not falter. With a single gesture, he activated his Unshadowed Domain, flooding the area with divine energy. A pulse of holy light surged outward, dispersing the smoke like fragile shadows before the dawn. Those caught in the wave screamed as their corruption-fed bodies withered under its purity, collapsing lifeless to the ground.
Wherever Sebastian's light reached, his enemies crumbled, unable to withstand the sheer might of his cleansing power. His presence alone was a force of devastation, carving a path of holy reckoning through the resistance.
The priests and strike teams pressed forward, methodically clearing rooms, overturning gambling tables, shattering hidden safes, and forcing traitors into submission. But as they neared the club's grand hall, the air grew heavy. An eerie silence fell, and the tension became palpable.
Then, the doors swung open.
Vesper.
Clad in an immaculate crimson suit, the leader of the Black Moth strode forward like a king among thieves. His every step exuded confidence, and behind him, the remaining elite members of the Black Moth stood in perfect formation—Gareth and Orin among them. But it was the suffocating pressure in the air that set Sebastian on edge.
Vesper wasn't just a criminal overlord; he was a powerful beyonder.
Sebastian's eyes narrowed, his body instinctively tensing in response to the force that radiated from Vesper. The air seemed to pulse with an almost palpable aura—one that threatened to draw him into its intoxicating depths, clouding his thoughts.
Vesper smiled.
"You're quite the troublesome one, Deacon," he said smoothly, his voice carrying a sultry, unearthly weight. "Coming into my home, slaughtering my people... Tell me, does your righteousness taste as sweet as their blood?"
Sebastian's posture remained firm, unyielding. "You're cornered, Vesper."
Vesper chuckled, rolling his neck, his grin turning razor-sharp. "Oh, dear deacon... I think you misunderstand who the prey is."
Suddenly, the lights flickered within Sebastian's Unshadowed Domain—a barely perceptible lapse in the radiant field's integrity. But this lapse wasn't natural.
At Vesper's side, the Glove of Profaned truth glimmered faintly. The twisted power of theft seeped into the radiant domain, a subtle manipulation that bent its inherent purity. The artifact's influence unraveled a fragment of the domain, allowing Vesper's power to reach in.
With a sly grin, Vesper stretched his hand toward the gap. The domain shuddered as his fingers closed around its core.
"I see," Vesper murmured mockingly, tilting his head as the light tried to burn him. "Your God's domain, huh? Let's see how well it fares in my hands."
Sebastian's eyes sharpened. "You won't get far with that."
"Oh, I don't need it for long," Vesper sneered, his hand corroding as he forcibly tore the radiant core of the domain from its place. The purifying energy burned against his demonic essence, but with the glove amplifying his control, he managed to wrest it free, his grin widening through the pain.
With a mocking flourish, Vesper raised the glowing fragment of divine radiance high. "A little too bright for my tastes," he quipped, before turning and hurling it far into the distance, his movements fluid and disdainful.
It arced away from the battlefield, a brilliant streak of light that illuminated everything in its path. As it reached the edge of the bloc, it appeared to dissolve, its glow dimming until it vanished into nothingness, as if it had been swallowed by the void.
As the purifying light of the domain began to dissipate, Vesper raised his hand again, murmuring a low, guttural incantation. His body shimmered, a dark energy spilling outward before sinking into the forms of Gareth, Orin, and the other Black Moth elites.
Sebastian's gaze sharpened as he felt the malice in the air shift unnaturally.
"Let's even the playing field a little," Vesper drawled, his grin predatory.
Unbeknownst to Sebastian, Vesper had enacted a sinister spell before the battle. Through a fragment of his essence, he had imbued each of his subordinates with a part of himself. This malicious connection ensured that any attack or malice directed at them would redirect to him, allowing him to channel and manipulate it to his advantage.
As one of Sebastian's subordinates struck down a Black Moth member, an unseen force lashed out in retaliation, sending the Purifier stumbling back with a cry as they lost control. The attack carried the mark of Vesper's Abyssal influence, an echo of malice rebounding onto its source.
From the shadows, Vesper's chuckle echoed unnaturally, his voice laced with cruel amusement. "You and your little Sun cult are all connected, aren't you?" he said, his tone dripping with mockery.
The artifact on Vesper's glove began to glow faintly, amplifying the twisted logic that fueled his scheme. He gestured smoothly, and a deceptive resonance rippled through his words, carrying his spell further.
This insidious nature extended beyond simple malice. By planting the idea of shared corruption, Vesper aimed to sow chaos within Sebastian's forces. Through the interconnected bond of the Purifiers under the light of the Sun, he sought to manipulate them into believing that corrupting one of their own could unravel the entire group.
Sebastian's eyes flashed with realization—and divine resolve.
"No."
Raising his hand, he invoked the words of an ancient Sun Pathway ability, his voice ringing with authority:
"God Says It's Ineffective!"
A golden light erupted outward, surging through his forces. The Purifiers struck by Vesper's spell let out sighs of relief as the corruption fled their bodies, replaced by a searing purity. The light washed over Sebastian's subordinates, strengthening their resolve and knitting their wounds.
For the first time, Vesper's confident grin slightly faltered.
Sebastian took a step forward, the renewed radiance of his forces blazing behind him. "Your lies will not hold here, Demon. Your Abyss cannot overpower the light of truth."
Vesper's smile remained, though his eyes gleamed with a sharp cunning. He moved with deliberate intent, his presence expanding as the air grew heavy with oppressive energy. "Truth, Deacon?" he drawled. "Truth is as fragile as glass, and just as easy to shatter."
His hand rose, fingers curling like a puppeteer grasping unseen strings. Darkness coiled around him, pooling at his feet before rippling outward in a tide of corruption. The blackened wave sought to tip the balance, forcing the battlefield into chaos.
The atmosphere shifted unnaturally as an overwhelming tide of corruption radiated outward from Vesper, seeking to consume the entire block. The walls darkened, shadows writhed, and a sickly, intoxicating miasma bled into the surroundings. His intent was clear—turn the civilians into leverage, twist them into puppets of the Abyss.
But nothing changed.
There was no screaming, no terrified cries, no flesh twisting into grotesque abominations. No panic, no desperation. The corruption spread… and found nothing.
The civilians weren't there.
Vesper's eyes narrowed, his sharp gaze sweeping the area. He could feel his power stretching outward, seeping into every crevice of reality, but there was no reaction. His corruption had latched onto emptiness. A trick. An illusion.
His mind worked quickly. No… not an illusion. Something else.
Realization dawned.
His eyes flicked toward the window. The street outside was the same. Not a single soul moved beyond the battle unfolding between his people and the clergy. The subtle inconsistencies, the unnatural stillness—this entire section of the city was a fabrication.
A mirrored illusion.
Vesper's grin twisted into something darker. "Clever bastards."
But before he could react further—
A spear of blinding, pure light ripped through the air.
Sebastian had already moved. With divine precision, he hurled an Unshadowed Spear, a radiant projectile that carved through the dimly lit club like a meteor. The sheer force behind it warped the air, the light so absolute it erased every ounce of darkness in its wake.
Vesper's instincts screamed. He twisted his body at the last second, the spear barely missing him—but even that was enough.
The raw impact shattered the marble floor behind him, sending cracks spiderwebbing across the entire hall. Holy energy burned through the air, searing the lingering Abyssal taint Vesper had just unleashed.
Landing on his feet, Vesper rolled his shoulders, his smirk returning, though slightly tighter than before. His gaze flicked toward Sebastian.
Then, Vesper raised his hand, conjuring a massive volley of fireballs wreathed in sulfur, and launched them toward his opponents.
Sebastian, not missing a beat, raised his hands, summoning a radiant golden glow, one after the other, as they coalesced into a shimmering Sword of Light. He slashed the air horizontally through the fireballs with precise force, quenching the flames as they met his blade.
Without pausing, he advanced quickly toward Vesper and shouted to one of his captains.
The battle raged on, but Vesper could feel it slipping from his grasp.
His forces, the elite of the Black Moth, were dwindling. The clergy-led strike team had cut through them with ruthless efficiency, their divine prowess overwhelming even his most seasoned assassins. The Gilded Lily, his domain, was crumbling before his eyes.
Sebastian Halloway remained a blinding force amid the chaos, his movements precise, each strike imbued with the radiance of the Justice Mentor. Every counter Vesper attempted, every trick of the Abyss he deployed, was met with relentless opposition.
And it was working.
For the first time in a long while, Vesper felt something gnaw at the edges of his mind.
Not fear.
But unease.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He had contingencies. He had plans. He had power.
Yet the enemy pressed forward, inexorable, the light eroding every sliver of darkness he cast; this was the prowess of a Justice Mentor. Against all adversity, their believed Justice would prevail.
A growl rumbled deep in Vesper's throat. His breath came heavier, his grip tightening as his gaze darted across the battlefield. His subordinates faltered. His domain wavered. His carefully constructed reality was being torn apart.
His lips curled, frustration boiling into rage. And at that moment, he made a decision.
If the Abyss itself must rise to meet them, then so be it.
Vesper lifted his head, his eyes burning with an abyssal glow, and in a moment, he exclaimed.
"The Scarlet Warden,The Sovereign of the Wailing Deep, The Crimson Hand of the Abyss"
A heartbeat of silence.
Then the world ruptured.
The air turned thick, suffocating. A pressure beyond mortal comprehension descended upon the battlefield. The lights in the Gilded Lily flickered violently, then shattered. The walls bled darkness, the very concept of illumination failing in the presence of what had come.
From the depths of the Abyss, a figure emerged.
A towering, blood-drenched silhouette tore through reality, stepping onto the battlefield with a presence so overwhelming that even the strongest willed felt their knees tremble. "His" form was clad in ebony armor, jagged and eldritch, the plates shifting as though made of congealed shadows. A long, scarlet cloak dripped with something far too thick to be fabric.
Where "His" gaze fell, the world withheld its breath.
The Bloody Archduke had arrived.
Vesper exhaled sharply, relief washing over him as his Ancestor loomed before him, an unfathomable force of darkness ready to turn the tide.
Until the second presence descended.
Blinding.
A radiance unlike anything ever felt before.
Where the Abyss had bled into the world, another force answered.
The weight of divine wrath, the absolute purity of the Sun's judgment—an Angel of the Sun Pathway had arrived.
From the heavens, a golden figure descended, "Her" very being illuminating the battlefield with a searing, unbearable glow. Saint Viève.
"She" landed with divine grace, "Her" piercing gaze locking onto the Bloody Archduke. Sun and Abyss stood opposed, and the world trembled at their presence.
But it was what "She" held that froze the battlefield.
In "Her" grasp, wrapped in cloth, was an artifact of immeasurable power.
0-09; The Edict of Severance.
Vesper's mind reeled, his stomach twisting. No. No, no, this wasn't supposed to happen.
His hands clenched into fists, his breath uneven. The Archduke remained silent, unreadable, but even "He' did not make a move.
The air was thick with expectation, with something irreversible.
And then—
Saint Viève unleashed the artifact.
THOOM.
A deep tremor surged through the entire city. An invisible force rippled outward, and the ground groaned under the pressure of something vast and unrelenting.
On the brass surface of the Sealed Artifact, words ignited—not as mere inscriptions, but as living symbols, shifting and reforming as though carved by an unseen hand:
"Order shall be established, and the battlefield divided!"
A strange phenomenon overtook the city. Everyone was suddenly displaced, thrown into separate battles as allies and enemies vanished from view. Across the surface of the staff, symbols began to appear—cracked mirrors reflecting each new battlefield, now segmented from one another.
Even Vesper was caught off guard. His gaze locked on Sebastian, who stood resolutely, his focus unwavering despite the chaos. The massive staff remained unmoving at the center of the city's plaza.
Once more, words ignited on the surface of the artifact:
"The Radiance and the Abyss Shall Find Balance!"
Sebastian smiled, his voice calm but firm. "As I said before, you are cornered."
Vesper, unnerved but not defeated, acted swiftly. His crimson-gloved hand glimmered ominously, the Glove of Profaned Truth coming alive with a sinister energy. With a sharp motion, he activated its power, sending tendrils of deceitful force rippling into the battlefield. The artifact twisted the very nature of the domain around him, subtly dulling the brilliance of Sebastian's radiance while amplifying the encroaching shadows; after all it followed the Edict's verdict perfectly. It had stated that Radiance and Abyss shall find balance, but Sebastian, as a sequence 3 Justice Mentor, was at an advantage when facing the Vesper, a sequence 4 Demon. Even though the latter was aided by a sequence 3 Mentor of Deceit sealed artifact. However, with the Gloved of the Profaned Truth's Deceit of rules, the balance that should have gradually come was instantly brought forward, aiding Vesper.
A surge of dark energy erupted from Vesper as he spread a field of corruption. The air thickened, becoming suffocatingly heavy as malice radiated outward. His eyes glowed with ominous light, and the corruption twisted the environment, seeking to chip away at Sebastian's mental clarity. The shadows writhed and gathered, pressing against the edges of Sebastian's presence, trying to drown his light.
Sebastian responded instantly, summoning a Sun Halo above his head. A surge of radiance burst from him, the Light of Purification encircling him in a protective shield of golden energy that dissolved the dark miasma Vesper had conjured. Yet, Vesper's assault was relentless. His gloved hand pulsed with power, the glove subtly influencing the battlefield by sowing distortion in Sebastian's perception of the surrounding shadows.
Unshaken, Sebastian unleashed a Flaring Sun—a blazing sphere of pure holy light aimed directly at Vesper. The ball of light seared through the air, but Vesper moved with uncanny speed, twisting his body into a flowing mass of black liquid. His transformed state writhed and coiled, evading the devastating attack with unsettling agility.
Sebastian's eyes narrowed. The battle was more than physical; it was a contest of wills. Due to the Edict of Severance's verdict, he felt his Unshadowed Domain ability, which had been stolen, returned much earlier than it should have. Hence, he promptly deployed it, his radiant power pushing against the forces of the Abyss. The ground beneath them quaked as brilliant light flooded the battlefield, illuminating every corner and revealing Vesper's shifting form.
The Edict of Severance continued to influence the battlefield, dividing the forces of light and darkness into separate domains. For a brief moment, the conflict paused as the balance between radiance and shadow manifested. Yet, the Sun Pathway's light persisted, pushing back against the encroaching Abyss.
Vesper grinned, fully aware that the balance would not hold forever. His gloved hand flexed, the artifact flaring with energy. Its power reached toward the radiant Sun Halo above Sebastian's head, threads of deceptive force extending like ghostly fingers, seeking to seize the divine light for itself.
The air tensed, the connection forming between the glove and the Halo. For a moment, the golden light dimmed slightly as the threads latched on, pulling, trying to rip the divine radiance from Sebastian's grasp.
But Sebastian's resolve did not waver. His eyes burned with holy fire, and he invoked the words of power, his voice ringing with authority:
"God Says It's Ineffective!"
A brilliant flash erupted from the Sun Halo, severing the glove's connection. The tendrils of dark energy recoiled violently, disintegrating under the purifying force. Vesper staggered back slightly, his grin faltering for the briefest moment as the glove hissed, its attempt thwarted.
"Clever," Vesper muttered, his tone laced with venom. "But even divine light can't shine forever, Deacon."
Sebastian took advantage of the reprieve, gathering his strength. He called upon the Unshadowed Spear, manifesting a radiant lance of pure sunlight in his hand. He hurled it toward Vesper with unerring precision, the spear streaking through the air like a meteor.
Vesper twisted and spun with unnatural agility, the black liquid form of his body narrowly evading the spear's deadly tip. His gloved hand, still brimming with power, conjured another wave of deception and corruption, further distorting the edges of the battlefield at critical moments to save his life.
The battle raged on, neither side yielding an inch. The Edict of Severance's rule continued to enforce equilibrium, keeping the darkness and light in constant, precarious balance. Neither could fully overwhelm the other, forcing both combatants to push their abilities to their absolute limits.
…
In another battlefield stood Caius, one of the captains employed by the Deacon.
The moment he arrived, his gaze immediately fell upon the unmoving artifact at the battlefield's center. New inscriptions burned across its surface:
"Strife shall be equal here!"
With this newfound rule, all attacks had seemingly grown more potent, while previous immunities and resistances had been nullified. Both sides fought on an even playing field, forcing each combatant to rely solely on skill and tactics.
Caius, unfazed by the rule, calmly retrieved a cigar case—one tainted with the aura of death. Opening it, he pulled out a small, tarnished coin, an unsettling relic that exuded an almost sentient energy. Its surface was marred with intricate, worn symbols—ancient markings that shifted when not directly observed, making it appear both old and mysteriously timeless. One side bore an engraving of dice suspended in mid-air, while the other depicted a blindfolded figure holding scales, suggesting fate and chance in perpetual balance. Though the coin appeared as dull, dark bronze, faint glimmers of gold flickered beneath its surface when held.
Clutching the coin between his fingers, Caius raised it toward the sky and declared,
"The Edict's rule within this region shall favor the Church. Heads."
The moment his words fell, an eerie stillness gripped the battlefield. The staff at the center pulsed with a deep, resonant hum, as if reacting to an unseen force. Then, without warning, the previous inscription on its surface wavered and distorted, shifting into new, burning words:
"Strife shall be unequal here; the righteous shall rise, and their enemies shall falter."
A ripple of power surged outward. The battlefield itself seemed to tilt—an unseen force weighing down on one side, while lifting the other. The balance, once perfectly maintained, was shattered.
The coin—1-178 was a sealed artifact corresponding to a ChaosWalker, often used in tandem with the Edict of Severance.
Suddenly, the Black Moths' attacks faltered, their once-empowered strikes now lacking their previous potency. Their movements, once sharp and decisive, grew sluggish. Resistance against divine forces had always been their strength, yet now, they found their defenses inexplicably weaker, their bodies failing them in ways they could not comprehend.
Conversely, the clergy of the Church were invigorated. Their divine radiance burned even brighter, their strikes landing with newfound ferocity. Blessings and protective spells surged with increased potency, making them seem unstoppable. The battlefield was no longer one of equals; it was now a massacre.
Orin, witnessing the devastating shift in power, felt a sinking dread settle in his chest. His grip on his weapon tightened as his mind raced for a countermeasure.
"Fuck! With this arrangement, it's impossible to gain Lord Vesper's assistance!"
He barely managed to evade another incoming strike, the attack whistling past him at a hair's breadth. His every step was hounded by the relentless assault of the clergy, their confidence bolstered by the shift in fate.
Caius, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips, slipped the coin and the cigar case into his coat.
Now fully prepared to take advantage of the chaos, Caius strode forward. His sword flared with a divine golden radiance, the light coiling around the blade like living flame.
"Be purified by the Sun's might, heathens!" he bellowed, slashing through his enemies with righteous fervor.
With the battlefield now twisted in the Church's favor, the slaughter began in earnest.
…
Kaelen fought fiercely alongside his men, both sides bound by the law inscribed upon the Edict's surface:
"No weapon shall fall!"
It was a formidable rule. Any who lost their grip on their weapon suffered instant punishment—bones cracked, flesh bruised, beyonder powers broken and internal injuries; mental, physical, and spiritual tore through them as if the artifact itself condemned their failure. Despite the deadly consequence, warriors on both sides pressed forward, gripping their arms with iron resolve, unwilling to be undone by the artifact's decree.
Kaelen wielded an enormous Axe of Dawn, its blade a radiant extension of divine will, cleaving through anyone unfortunate enough to be in its path. Opposing him stood Gareth, captain of the Black Moths, dodging with swift, near-ghostly movements.
What a troublesome fella, Gareth thought, narrowly avoiding a downward slash.
Realizing he needed to shift the tide, he unleashed a Wraith's Shriek, a spectral howl that reverberated through the battlefield, rattling the minds of all who heard it. The air distorted, space itself trembling under the weight of the cursed wail.
Kaelen reacted instantly. Without hesitation, he transfigured his axe into a Sword of Dawn, a seamless transformation that spoke of his mastery over his weapon. He stabbed it into the ground, summoning a bastion of golden light that enveloped his allies, shielding them from the spectral onslaught.
Within the same breath, Kaelen raised his sword high, its glow intensifying until it splintered into countless fragments of light. These shards coalesced into a Hurricane of Light, a divine tempest surging toward the enemy ranks.
Gareth's eyes widened in alarm. The sheer speed and intensity of the attack left him with only one option—he shifted his state to that of a Zombie, hardening his flesh into a near-dead, rot-infested state in a desperate bid to endure the incoming storm. Even if he were struck by it, the damage will be better managed by the regeneration of a Zombie, compared to what he would incur in his Wraith form.
The hurricane soon struck.
Blades of light tore through his undead form, piercing his hardened skin, exposing putrid flesh and rotting marrow beneath. He gritted his teeth, standing his ground despite the searing agony coursing through him. All around him, his men fared worse—some were instantly reduced to ash, others fell writhing in agony, while many more lost hold of their weapons in the chaos, their punishment from the Edict arriving without mercy.
As the tempest subsided, Kaelen reforged his Sword of Dawn in his hands. With renewed fervor, he bellowed:
"Move forward! Attack with all your might! In the name of the brilliant Eternal Sun!"
His men roared in response, their morale soaring. The weakened Black Moths were ripe for slaughter, and the final charge began—their overwhelming advance set to end the battle in the Church's favor.
…
Beyond the battlefield, outside the sealed territory, a lone brass staff stood upright within an abandoned structure. Cracks riddled its surface, each fracture a testament to the battles raging within. Slowly, its shape began to distort and stretch, branching outward—its transformation into a pillar already underway.
Jack stood before it.
Behind him, his Victor Hale marionette loomed in eerie silence, its presence a shadow of his will. His gaze rested on the artifact, sharp and calculating.
Then, he felt it.
The air around the artifact pulsed—not with raw power, but with something deeper, something laced with the vestiges of divine authority. The presence was faint, mere echoes of those who had once wielded this relic, but it was unmistakable. The lingering weight of an Angel's will.
Jack's expression remained neutral, but within, something coiled tight. The sensation was not unfamiliar—after all, he was an Angel himself. Yet, it was an unwelcome reminder.
Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift. Beneath his closed lids, his eyes flickered, darting as he invoked divination, probing for the artifact's origins.
Moments passed. Then, he opened them, revelation gleaming in his expression.
The Edict of Severance...
A Grade 0 Sealed Artifact. A creation of the Justicar Pathway, birthed from the characteristics of a sequence 1 Hand of Order. A truly terrifying relic.
The knowledge of its function settled into his mind:
Upon activation, all within its immediate vicinity are pulled into its domain, trapped within its sealed territory. Multiple battlefields form inside, each governed by a random decree. The artifact does not discriminate; its laws are absolute.
Every crack upon its surface represents an active battlefield. If an outsider touches it while it remains cracked, they will be dragged into the chaos—thrown into a random battlefield, bound by its rules.
As time passes, it evolves into a pillar, its influence spreading uncontrollably. Escape becomes nigh impossible.
Only when all battles conclude—when the cracks vanish—can it be safely retrieved, covered, and re-sealed.
They aren't pulling any punches, are they?
He stepped closer, scrutinizing the faint glow emanating from its fractures. Within, warriors battled for their lives, unaware of the artifact's true nature.
His fingers twitched slightly, tempted to test its limits.
A very interesting artifact, indeed. Might come in handy.
His gaze drifted to the marionette at his side. It stood motionless, awaiting his command.
Lost in thought, Jack contemplated his next move.
I'll lose connection to my marionettes the moment I enter, rendering them static until I return.
Jack concluded this with certainty, his mind running through contingency plans. If his marionettes were to remain lifeless, he would need alternatives—something more insidious.
He commanded his marionette to relinquish Death Knell and Creeping Hunger to him. The moment it complied, the artificial Victor Hale collapsed, its body disintegrating into the form of a rat—a meaningless, discarded husk.
Jack barely spared it a glance. Instead, he morphed himself into Victor Hale, his features shifting like liquid shadow until he was an exact replica.
His revolver found its place in the holster at his waist. His left hand slipped into the familiar, well-worn glove, a detail that solidified his disguise.
Then, he reached out toward the empty air beside him—fingers grasping nothingness itself.
From the void, a projection of himself emerged, forming an indistinct copy that flickered with an eerie half-presence. He directed it into the shadows of an inconspicuous corner, its form melting into the background.
In a way, I will be in a concealed state, he mused. Should anything happen—or if some intriguing fellas exit before me—they'll encounter a nice surprise.
A quiet chuckle left his lips.
His attention returned to the Edict of Severance, its cracked brass surface humming with restrained power. A faint, almost imperceptible pull whispered against his skin, as if the artifact itself hungered for more.
Jack lifted his hand, brushing his fingers against the cold exterior.
A force seized him instantly.
The world around him twisted—his vision warping, his sense of self unraveling into threads. A violent yank dragged him forward, pulling him into the depths of the artifact's domain.
He disappeared, leaving only silence in his wake.