Power of Runes

Orien swung his sword in a wide horizontal arc, a crazed smile spreading across his face as he shouted.

"Die!!!"

Nichole, Maelis, and the others felt pure horror grip them. Their eyes widened as they did everything they could to retreat, pushing their bodies far beyond their limits. But their mana refused to budge, their wills screamed in protest, yet none of it was enough.

The attack was overwhelming. It felt as though the strike carried the combined power of dozens of Saints, crushing everything in its path without mercy.

The crescent slash engulfed them completely.

-BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Everyone froze on the spot. A chill ran straight down their spines, and their bodies trembled uncontrollably as they stared at the aftermath of the attack.

There was no one present there. No Saint. Not even a single body part remained. The floor was filled with nothing but blood, splattered and soaked into the shattered ground as silent proof of what had just occurred.

And just like that, six more Saints died.

The remaining six wore different expressions, but one thing was common among them all. Fear and despair had settled deep within their hearts, refusing to fade no matter how hard they tried to suppress it.

Only Mark, Alice, Lucan, Lydia, Elowen (Serena's aunt) and the Elven Council Head remained on the battlefield.

The surroundings fell into deathly silence as Orien slowly turned his head toward them and smiled.

That smile was the most sinister thing they had ever seen in their lives. Their hearts thumped violently, as if there was no tomorrow, and their bodies trembled despite their efforts to stay composed.

The only person who could possibly stay alive in this situation was Lucan, thanks to his phoenix bloodline and Eternal Flames.

From the very beginning, every attack he made was either dodged by Orien or had Lucan's mana blocked by Orien so that he could never land an attack properly. Orien didn't kill him knowing that he won't die easily.

Although Lucan knew he could revive, he also knew there were limits. His bloodline was not as pure as his daughter's, and he could not revive endlessly without paying a severe price.

Soon, all Saints gave up.

Not because they lacked the will to fight, but because their mana simply refused to respond to their call.

It was frozen, suppressed by some unknown authority that ignored their struggle completely.

Those who were still flying fell heavily to the ground, and Orien let out a light laugh as he watched them crash down.

"The so-called mighty Saints falling like weeds from the sky, how pathetic…."

Anger was clear on the faces of the Saints, but what could they even do? They were entirely at the mercy of the demon they had been determined to destroy.

A single thought appeared in the minds of both humans and elves alike.

Why did Mother send us here? Does it really mattered if we came or not? At least my breathen could have lived for a few more days…

Mark had similar thoughts, much like the Council Head, the old man who had still chosen to come here and fight.

Why did Master send us here? Did he not see the deaths of his disciples through his fate powers, or are we some kind of necessary sacrifice for the greater good?

He had no answers. Yet a faint resentment formed in his heart toward the man he viewed as a father.

Before Orien could say anything more, before anyone could think anything further, a loud shattering sound filled the entire surroundings.

Everyone's attention shifted toward the source of the sound.

There, they saw the black sphere, now around the size of a large hot air balloon, crack apart and dissolve into countless black spots that merged seamlessly with the surroundings.

In its place stood a large pitch-black door. Ghosts and twisted souls clung to its surface, clearly visible for everyone to see. An aura of dread, death, and decay spread endlessly, pressing down on the area and making it hard to breathe.

The door was massive, with runes flowing across its surface without pause. The moment the Saints looked at it, they felt as if they were gazing at the gates of hell itself. Their minds trembled, slowly slipping toward madness and corruption.

They had no idea what was happening, but they could feel that it was deeply wrong.

Orien laughed when he saw the door.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

His laughter was filled with unimaginable joy. He had finally succeeded in connecting the mortal realm with the Abyssal realm, even though restrictions placed by the Heavenly Realm still pressed down upon it.

He had done something no one had ever been able to do.

For a brief moment, he was happy. But happiness never lasted longer than a moment.

-SHRUMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A deafening sound, like a barrier shattering, echoed across thousands of miles, instantly catching the attention of everyone. Orien, who had been laughing just moments ago, stopped abruptly. His expression twisted, laughter dying as anger, hatred, and a deep frown overtook his face.

A violent gust of wind swept across the battlefield. The madness that had been invading the minds of the Saints was forcefully blown away, and in its place, a gentle and soothing light enveloped them.

The wind was so intense that everyone was forced to shut their eyes, their bodies struggling to remain steady.

Only Orien kept his eyes open.

He ignored everyone else and stared directly at the space before the Abyssal Gates, where the being had stopped.

And seeing him, Orien heart started to beat loudly.

At the same time, Saints also regained their bearings and they opened their eyes to see the person who had just appeared.

The figure was shrouded in golden brilliance, a light so pure that it illuminated everything around it. It stood in sharp contrast to the dread and decay radiating from the Abyssal doors. Where the gates brought fear and corruption, this presence brought calm, purity, and an overwhelming sense of virtue.

As the gentle light washed over the Saints, the remaining traces of madness within their minds vanished completely, leaving behind clarity and trembling awe.

The being stood around four meters tall, its form tall and refined, yet not muscular in any exaggerated way. Its pale, healthy skin radiated a soft golden glow. Long robes draped over its body elegantly, woven in white and gold, making the being appear unmistakably otherworldly.

Its eyes shone with pure golden brilliance, without iris or pupil, as if molten light itself resided within them.

Behind its head floated a white halo with four pointed edges, perfectly symmetrical. From its back extended four massive wings, white and gold, each one larger than the being itself. They were spread open, giving the figure an unmistakably angelic presence.

The shadow of the angel loomed over Orien and the Saints alike.

The Saints felt as though they were dreaming. Just moments ago, they had been drowning in despair and fear, and now an actual Angel stood before them pushing their fear, despair away.

Without anyone saying a word, every Saint fell to their knees.

It was not a conscious decision. Their bodies moved on instinct alone, compelled by a pressure they could not resist. Only after kneeling did they realize what they had done.

W-What is this feeling..?

The same thought passed through their minds, before their eyes widened and realization struck them all at once.

The Angelic being is in the Demi God realm…

**

Meanwhile, kilometers away from the doors of Abyss, the Whisperer sat upon a deserted hill. His aged eyes were fixed in the direction where the Abyssal gates had opened, as if they could pierce through mountains and distance alike.

"The Angel finally descended …."

Sleeping quietly on his lap was Amelia. Bringing her here had been dangerous, but leaving her behind alone was something the old man could not bring himself to do. Even if he could not interfere in the matters of the world, then at the very least, he could still protect his granddaughter.

He was already bound by countless restrictions, unable to act no matter what he saw. Watching was all he was allowed to do. Protecting Amelia was the only exception he still had due to her unnatural fate affinity, even fate wanted her alive.

Gently patting her head, the Whisperer let out a tired sigh.

He had seen everything. The deaths of Myra, Nichole, Maelis, all of it had unfolded before his eyes, clear and merciless. His heart twisted painfully with each loss, yet there was nothing he could do. No hand he could extend. No word he could speak to change the outcome.

This is the destiny of one tasked with overseeing the fate of the world, having vision yet feeling blind, having power yet feeling powerless, having freedom yet feeling caged, having everything yet still ending up with nothing…

He sighed once more and lifted his gaze toward the Angel that had descended, already knowing that fate had shifted once again.

"A high ranking Angel appearing here, when only a lower rank was supposed to come. What the hell did that child Ash do….. or rather, what the hell did that demon do…."

His brows furrowed slightly as countless thoughts flashed through his mind.

"To open the gates of the Abyss in this way was also possible… sigh, I do not even know what I will tell that lad when he asks where Elysia is…."

Nothing stayed hidden from his sight. He had long since witnessed everything through his power, and he knew all too well that a soul that had dissipated completely could never be brought back.

The Whisperer slowly looked up at the sky, now riddled with faint, spreading cracks, as if reality itself had been wounded.

"The world is damaged, and who knows what will happen in the future. The fate that was always reliable now feels unreliable to me…."

With these dawning him, he turned his gaze back toward the Angel. At that very moment, as if sensing his gaze, the Angel turned its head and looked directly in his direction.

***