Saruel, whose physical form had been shattered into fragments of light and scattered across the firmament, returned in a surge of blinding majesty. The very air surrounding him vibrated with a raw, terrifying frequency.
Beside him stood twelve gargantuan entities of light, their presence stretching from horizon to horizon. These were the Sovereigns, the ancient gods of the Twelve Tribes of Light. The radiance bleeding from their forms ignited the sky and the earth, washing away the shadows. Behind them, Kaduel hovered ten meters above the ground, commanding an armada of thousands clad in golden panoply, their wings rhythmic engines of war.
Daruel looked upon the descending host, unimpressed by their numbers. He glanced at the hovering army, then shouldered his massive greatsword and began a slow, rhythmic march toward the elite lords of the light.
The armor worn by the twelve sovereigns appeared to be forged from pure diamond, refracting light with blinding intensity. Their collective divinity was a physical force, a tidal wave of holiness that forced Daruel's encroaching darkness to retreat into the corners of the world.
Yet, Daruel did not flinch. Instead, a twisted grin of anticipation spread across his face, as if their arrival was a long-awaited feast. He closed the distance between himself and the twelve gods.
Brushing a mixture of mud and ash from his shoulder with casual indifference, Daruel spoke. "Welcome home, brothers." His voice was a cocktail of bitterness and primordial strength. "Saruel... you returned with the Twelve? It seems the prophecy reaches its final verse here. How marvelous. The stage is set for a true tragedy." He slid the massive blade from his shoulder.
Before he could finish his sentence, the Sovereign of Light on Saruel's right lunged forward, moving like a streak of concentrated solar radiation. His speed defied the sound barrier. Simultaneously, the Sovereign of the Air Tribe unleashed a localized cyclone, spiraling through the wind to strike.
The two gods attacked without mercy. The Sovereign of Light manipulated the very photons around them, creating a whip-like blade of solid radiance. As he lashed out, the Sovereign of Air wove seven atmospheric threads, binding Daruel's limbs to prevent any movement. Seeing the opening, the Sovereign of Light aimed his massive blade directly at Daruel's heart.
In the sky above, Daruel's legions clashed with Kaduel's army. The heavens and the earth were consumed by a chaotic dance where shadows were burned away by divine fire.
Inside the cathedral, Dr. Toram wished for nothing more than to wake from this fever dream. But the carnage was all too real. "No... no! This suit has trapped me in a hallucination!" she cried, slapping her face in a desperate attempt to snap out of the nightmare.
The two sovereigns unleashed a relentless barrage upon Daruel. But Daruel remained unnervingly calm. His perception surpassed their god-like speed; his eyes tracked their every movement as he rotated his massive black blade in a defensive arc that shattered the air. The Sovereign of Light struck from all four cardinal directions like a lightning bolt, yet Daruel, even while tethered by the atmospheric threads, stood as an immovable fortress of obsidian.
The collision of steel against steel sent shockwaves that threatened to rupture eardrums. The Sovereign of Light found an opening and thrust his blade toward Daruel's chest, but the steel only produced a shower of sparks against Daruel's skin. It was as if he were striking the core of a star.
The other ten sovereigns and Saruel stood watching, realizing with a sinking dread that Daruel's readiness surpassed the ancient prophecies. They knew he had to be brought to justice, but the cost was becoming unthinkable.
Suddenly, Daruel unfurled his wings. From the leathery membranes, jagged anchors of volcanic stone erupted like lashes, snaring the two attacking sovereigns with the speed of a hawk seizing prey. He pulled them inward, trapping them within the folds of his wings. In that instant, Daruel's skin cracked like parched desert earth.
From these fissures, a brilliant, boiling magma began to flow. His entire body transformed into a mountain of molten metal. As his internal temperature skyrocketed by thousands of degrees, the air around him ignited into a sapphire-blue flare. It was as if a sun had descended to the earth.
Trapped within his wings, the two sovereigns could not withstand the solar heat. Their luminous bodies began to liquefy like wax. Despite their struggles, Daruel's infernal energy consumed them like a tidal wave. They began to melt, their essences compressing into tiny, star-like spheres before shooting into the sky like falling stars.
Daruel no longer bore a human resemblance. He was a gargantuan, moving volcano—a mountain of shifting magma. The ground he tread upon turned into boiling sludge. The torrential rain hissed and vaporized before it could touch him. His breath was no longer just fire; it was a lethal plume of helium-fused solar gas.
Standing to Saruel's left, Ratuel, the Sovereign of the Fire Tribe, cried out in horror. "A Solar Storm? This is impossible!"
Daruel was a cataclysm beyond their worst calculations. "This is a death trap!" Ratuel shouted. "Saruel! Go to Toram! Get her out of here! we will hold him as long as we can!"
Saruel looked at Ratuel with uncertainty. Daruel, now a sentient solar flare, was advancing. Every step liquefied the earth. The very oxygen was burning away, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
The remaining ten sovereigns and Saruel acted as a single mind, lunging at Daruel from every angle. One called down a cataclysm of lightning from above while another tore the earth from beneath his feet. They rained their absolute power upon him.
Finally, Saruel roared to Murael, the Sovereign of Time: "Murael! Freeze the flow! Hold Daruel in stasis while we strike!"
Murael extended his hand, and the world went still. The battlefield frozen in a silent, monochromatic portrait. Yet, they had underestimated Daruel's reach. Daruel existed as a master of his own timeline. Murael and Daruel faced off in a duel of seconds that existed outside of reality. Murael's attempt to entomb Daruel in time failed as Daruel utilized an ancient, relative temporal-magnetic force.
The nine sovereigns and Saruel remained suspended in the air like statues, victims of a temporal distortion. This gave Daruel the ultimate opening. Murael could not contain him alone. As Murael tried to blink through time to hide, Daruel tracked his footsteps and struck him down.
Minutes later, the temporal stasis shattered. The gods stumbled, their balance stolen. In that moment of disorientation, the sovereigns launched a desperate, unified assault.
But Daruel was like a reef in a storm. He calculated their trajectories with the cold precision of a mathematical formula. The moment he understood their path, he reached out his hands. From his palms, molten whips of fire lashed out like serpents, coiling around the wings and limbs of all eleven sovereigns. They were left dangling in the air, struggling against the heat of the abyss.
In this moment of absolute despair, Ratuel showed a grim, terrifying resolve. He took his own blade and severed his own right wing with a savage stroke. Despite his face turning pale from the agony, he freed himself from Daruel's trap. He lunged toward Saruel, shoving his friend out of the strike zone with all his remaining strength.
Saruel tumbled across the mud and rain, his body scorched, his face a mask of fury and grief. He spread his wings to return to the fight, to save his brothers, but Ratuel raised a hand stained with glowing celestial blood.
"Don't you dare!" Ratuel bellowed, his voice commanding even in its desperation. "Don't look back! Run to Toram! Saving her is the only goal left! We have no time... GO!"
To be continued…