The demon's body tensed.
The faint energy that destroyed the pillar began to leak out of his hands, oozing out like ink, before coalescing into something tendril-like, wrapping up and around his bandaged appendages. He crouched low, his muscles coiling like a predator's. And then he jumped.
He launched himself upward in a gravity-defying leap, soaring some twenty feet into the air and thrusting his hands into the cracked, groaning ceiling. With the red energy now wreathing his hands, he scythed them through the stone above, carving two perfect, massive circles as effortlessly as a child drawing in sand.
The two slabs of granite broke free and plummeted toward the floor. As they fell, the demon stabbed his fingers deep into the stone, his hands sinking into the granite as if it were soft clay. Using them like monstrous boxing gloves, he angled his descent, aiming to smash Oramus into a bloody paste between them.
The priest's soldier instincts screamed. He threw himself sideways, a desperate dodge-roll that carried him out of the way just as the two massive slabs of stone crashed into the floor where he had been standing, the impact shaking the entire West Wing.
Oramus scrambled, rolling away as the two massive granite slabs smashed into the slates covering the floor, the impact sending a tremor through the very bones of the cathedral. As he pushed himself back up, gasping for air amidst the swirling dust, he saw the demon with the red hair land lightly in the crater he'd created. Without hesitation, the intruder hurled one of the half-crushed slabs still in his grasp directly at Oramus, aiming to take his head off.
Even past his prime, Oramus's reflexes were honed by years of battle. He twisted his body, weaving out of the projectile's path at the last possible second. The slab of granite flew past, missing him by inches.
But it was a feint.
It was as if the world moved at an ant's crawl for Oramus. Off-balance, the granite still spinning in front of him, he caught a glimpse of it.
Cold. Dark. Red energy– attached to the rock. And so came the demon's voice, flat and chilly, as he uttered the grave command. "Detonate."
Oramus knew he was too late. He threw a hand forward, a half-formed incantation for a Holy Shield dying on his lips. A shimmering, translucent barrier flared into existence just as the slab exploded. The shield lasted for less than a heartbeat, shattering like spun glass against the concussive force. Shards of stone, propelled like shrapnel, tore through the holy light. Oramus cried out as they ripped through his robes and bit into his skin, a dozen gashes opening across his face, arms, and torso. The blast threw him backward, and he landed in a heap, his head cracking hard against the stone floor.
Dazed and bleeding, he propped himself up on one elbow. Through the settling dust, he could see the demon already tagging more of the hall's support pillars with that sickening red energy, preparing to bring the entire structure down. Rage, pure and absolute, momentarily eclipsed his pain. To dare desecrate this holy home…
"Demon!" he roared, his voice cracking with pain and fury as he forced himself onto one knee. Blood dripped from his chin, staining the white stone below. "This desecration will not stand! So long as I draw breath, you will not lay this holy place to ruin! You will have to tear the very heart from my chest to see it fall!"
Suddenly, the great oak doors at the entrance of the hall burst inward. A mountain of a man, dark, hale and handsome, stood silhouetted against the light– his form so broad it filled the entire doorway.
"Oramus!" a booming baritone echoed through the ruined hall. "Brother! What is this devilry?"
The newcomer, a priest with a bald head and a thick, ashen beard, strode into the hall. He was older than Oramus, but his arms were as thick as tree trunks, and his eyes burned with holy fire. This was Tiber, the cathedral's protector. He didn't need an answer. His eyes immediately found the red-haired demon, who was now scuttling up a wall like an insect, the crimson aura flowing behind him like a tattered cape.
"By the Eternal," Tiber growled. He slammed his fists together, the sound like stone striking stone, and his voice boomed through the ruined hall, a declaration of faith and fury, as a pair of massive, golden war hammers, wreathed in shimmering light, materialized in his hands.
"In Renovare's Name, May My Body Be Thy Judge."
Without a second's hesitation, he crouched and launched himself into the air, intercepting the intruder halfway up the wall.
The red-haired demon reacted late, twisting in mid-air to cross his arms in a defensive X-block just as Tiber brought both hammers down in a devastating blow. The impact was like a thunderclap; the demon was driven from the wall, smashing back down onto the slate floor with enough force to crater it, sending spiderwebs of cracks radiating outwards.
Tiber landed beside the crater, his holy hammers dematerializing, and rushed to Oramus's side, helping his wounded brother to his feet.
"Are you well, Brother?" Tiber asked, his eyes never leaving the plume of dust rising from the new crater.
"This… demon," Oramus gasped, clutching a gash on his arm. "He seeks to destroy this church. To bury us all."
"Then we shall not let him," Tiber said, his voice low, but strong and rumbling. "We must smite this foe."
He placed a steadying hand on Oramus's shoulder. "But we must be on guard; he is far stronger than his demonic appearance makes him appear already. We must call for aid."
Oramus nodded, his breath ragged but his eyes clear and focused. He placed his own hand over Tiber's, their shared faith feeling more and more tangible with every breath. Their voices rose together, a two-part chant that echoed through the ruined hall, a desperate prayer in the face of destruction.
Tiber's voice rang out, clear and strong, "Eternal, be our shield and our strength!"
Oramus's voice joined his, strained but resolute, "Let our faith be the hammer that breaks the unholy!"
As they spoke the final word in unison, a warm, golden light pulsed from their joined hands. The energy flowed over Oramus; t'was a revitalizing energy, halting the bleeding from his deepest cuts, slowing down to a stop as the raw edges shimmered faintly as the pain subsided into a dull, manageable ache. The light then spread over both of them, coating their skin and robes in a thin, translucent veneer that hardened with a faint chime, like cooling glass. It was not armor, but a fragile, holy ward—a single layer of protection against the coming storm.
Oramus's gasp of pain was replaced by a sharp, determined intake of breath. Re-energized, he stood taller. Tiber summoned his twin golden hammers, their light steady and constant, while Oramus's holy rope coiled in his grasp, ready. They faced their foe, two pillars of faith against a storm of chaos.
As if on their cue, a figure rose from the crater. The red-haired demon stood, his clothes torn but his body seemingly unharmed. More of the red energy now swirled around him, thicker and more potent than before, a visible aura of pure, destructive power. He looked at the two priests, and for the first time, a deep frown creased the red-haired demon's face. His swirling eyes darted back and forth between the massive form of Tiber and the wounded Oramus, a flicker of something almost like frustration in their chaotic depths. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, a cloud of condensation opaque amongst the air of the hall. For the first time, he spoke, his voice an enervated, tired monotone.
"...This is… Unlucky. I wasn't planning on getting anyone else involved."
He breathed out heavily, a weariness settling over him that seemed at odds with the immense power doling out from his self. Then, he crouched once more, his body coiling.
Across the room, Tiber and Oramus found their fighting stances. The two priests exchanged a look, a lifetime of brotherhood and shared faith passing between them in an instant. They knew what had to be done.
But in that split second of shared understanding, the red-haired demon uttered a single word.
"[Burst]."
And he was gone. Not gone from the room, but gone from his spot, reappearing in a blur of motion directly between the two priests. He spun, a back kick lashing out at Oramus, the weaker of the two.
Oramus reacted on pure instinct, pulling his holy rope taut to block, the golden light flaring as the bare heel of the intruder's foot slammed into it. The demon with the red hair pushed off that same rope, and immediately launched into another spinning kick, a relentless assault aimed again at Oramus.
But Tiber was already moving. He swung one of his massive hammers down in a crushing arc. The demon with the red hair weaved around the blow, the golden weapon smashing into the floor with a deafening crack. The missed strike threw Tiber off balance, and in that moment, the intruder wound up for a punch. Before the blow could land, Oramus's golden rope lashed out again, snaring the demon's arm and restricting his movement.
Seizing the opening, Tiber brought his other hammer around in a vicious, horizontal sweep. The holy weapon slammed into the red-haired demon's ribs, the impact echoing, ensuring there were broken bones, and launched him across the hall. He crashed into the long, clerical table, shattering the ancient wood into a thousand splinters.
He flipped and corrected himself mid-roll, landing on his feet amidst the wreckage. A red, shimmering energy formed around his heel– exposed by his ripped open boot– and with a silent word, the very air in that spot seemed to collapse in on itself before bursting outward in a silent, violent explosion. The force propelled him forward at a ridiculous speed, flying at them like a crimson blur. Tiber, a true combatant, met the charge head-on, swinging his remaining hammer to intercept. But just as the two were about to clash, the red-haired demon's voice cut through the air.
"[Destructive Blow]."
The red energy that had been coiling around his arms and fists suddenly inflated, a chaotic, unstable mass of power. Even before his fist made contact with the golden hammer, the energy burst forward. It struck the holy weapon, suffocating its ensuing impact with a deafening roar, and blowing right through the divine magic as if it were glass. The force of the impact sent Tiber spinning, his arm thrown back at an unnatural angle. The rest of the destructive energy continued its path, tearing through the air and blasting a gaping, five-foot hole clean through the thick stone wall of the cathedral behind him.
Seeing the disgusting, overwhelming force empowering their foe, the two priests exchanged a look. A direct assault was suicide. They needed to be smarter. As the demon charged again, this time with a feral, artless aggression, they were ready. Tiber met him head-on once more, blocking a wild punch. The instant the intruder was rebuffed, Oramus's rope lashed out with a striking intent, ensnaring his ankle.
With a powerful heave, Oramus pulled, slamming the demon face-first into the granite floor. But he didn't stop there. He whipped the rope upward, flinging the demon's body into the air, and then viciously pulled down again, sending him hurtling toward Tiber, who was already swinging his second hammer in a rising arc.
KRAK!
The holy hammer connected squarely with the intruder's back, the impact sounding like a tree trunk snapping in two. The demon was launched like a cannonball, smashing into another of the hall's massive support pillars, which groaned and cracked under the force.
For a moment, the intruder lay in a heap at the base of the pillar. The two priests stood ready, their chests heaving. It was in that brief lull that a strange thought occurred to them both. Clearly, this foe was immensely powerful, fast, and dangerous. Yet, his fighting style was… artless. There was no knowledge in his movements, no refined technique. It was all raw, feral instinct, a series of explosive reactions with no discernible strategy. For all his power, there was an impression of weakness, of a mind not in full command of the weapon it wielded.
Their window of analysis slammed shut in an instant, though. The red-haired demon pushed himself to his feet, the tattered remnants of the holy rope still clinging to his leg. He let out a frustrated mumble, and the crimson energy around him flared violently. The golden light of Oramus's holy rope sputtered and died, the magical construct shattering as the destructive aura overwhelmed it.
Freed, the demon crouched as if to charge them again. But this time, he stopped. The feral, animalistic posture eased. The raw aggression in his swirling eyes faded, replaced by something else entirely—frustration and a profound, bone-deep weariness. Another heavy sigh escaped his lips, condensating. His gaze, once locked onto the two priests, began to dart around the ruined hall, no longer feral but now analytical, his lips moving in a barely audible count that Oramus, with his keen hearing, just managed to catch.
"...twelve… fourteen… fifteen… eighteen… twenty… twenty-one… twenty-three…"
Tiber, his eyes sharp, followed the intruder's erratic gaze. He saw what the demon was counting. On the cracked pillar from the first explosion, a small red light pulsed faintly. Across the shattered remains of the clerical table where he'd been thrown, another flickered. High above, clinging to a damaged beam in the ceiling, a third. On a cracked spot in the far wall… another. Every point of impact, every place their foe had been slammed or had touched, was marked.
"Oramus," Tiber said, his voice low and worried. "What are those red spots clinging to everything?"
The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity. The dawning horror washed over Oramus. The impacts. The collisions. The ping-ponging across the hall. They hadn't been fighting a wild unintelligent being; they had been goaded into setting traps against themselves. His blood felt frozen upon this discernment. He understood now. They both let their gazes follow the line of focus of the demon, all the way at…
Right at the patron god statue.
The demon with the red hair stood before the marble figure of Renovare. He stood straight, his posture finally relaxed, casual. He looked from the serene stone face to the two priests.
"Tell me," he asked, his voice laced with a detached curiosity that was more chilling than any threat. "What material is this statue made of?" He paused, his swirling eyes fixing on them with an unnerving intensity.
"And… How, 'resilient,' is it?"
A shared look of absolute outrage passed between them. It was a blasphemy so profound it transcended mere insult. This was not a challenge to them, but to the Eternal itself. They would not allow it. Their fatigue, their wounds, their fear—it all burned away, consumed by a singular, unifying purpose.
They recited the ancient words of their holy text in perfect tandem, their voices harmonizing into a single, thundering chorus of power and hymn. An exorcist's incantation, imbued with all their faith and fury, was unleashed upon the chamber as they launched themselves at the intruder. A blinding, golden radiance erupted from them, their bodies becoming conduits for the very holy light they served as the launched at the despicable being threatening not only their lives, but more importantly– their Belief.
"By the Eternal Light, we banish thee hence!"
"Thou who treadest in shadow, reckon thy doom!"
"We be the Shepherds of this hallowed ground!"
"We be the Swords of Renovare's divine decree!"
"Let the sacred flame purge this profane blight!"
"Face the judgment of the Light and be scattered to naught!"
Their voices rose to a crescendo, the golden light flaring with each syllable, becoming akin to a miniature sun in the ruined hall. Its purity was so intense it seemed to warp the air and drown out all shadows. They drew in a final, unified breath to deliver the smiting words, the very pinnacle of their combined faith, a judgment that should have scoured any lesser evil from existence.
"In the name of the Eternal, let thy corruption become un—"
The final word was never finished.
As they moved, he acted. As they chanted, he reached. As they built their holy power to its zenith, He pushed out with his half-bandaged hand, the tattered cloth barely clinging to his skin where the destructive energy had decayed it, and pressed his palm flat against the statue's marble robes.
He whispered a single word, to doom them all.
"[Minefield]."
It was not a shout to counter their roar.
No.
It was an absolute command that sliced through their holy incantation.
In that instant, the golden sun they had created was violently extinguished, devoured from all sides at once. The incantation was more than merely interrupted; it was strangled at its source. The holy words were blasted back down their throats by a cacophony of hellish, crimson light as every single mark of destructive energy detonated in perfect unison. The West Wing was torn apart not by dozens of explosions, a chain reaction of violence that ripped through the stone, marble, and faith that filled the hall previously, as every crimson globule, every mark of destructive energy scattered throughout the hall, detonating in perfect, hellish unison.