The strange blade continued to cut through the heavy stone doors protecting the central chamber, gliding through them with minimal resistance.
It seemed like the Sigillum was infective after all.
Mathew recalled Aesop saying that many years ago, it had stopped working correctly, but Mathias had told them not to worry much about it, and that it should still function at a part of its capacity.
However, this orange glowing sword seemed not to care about the magical seal, nor the supports, nor the heavy stone doors.
One way or another, Argus and Ophelia would make it into the sealed chamber. It seemed inevitable.
Worse was the fact that they had made it to the inner chamber doors at all.
That could only mean that everyone outside the chamber, the remaining acolytes that had survived the cataclysm and stayed behind to buy time for Mathew and the others, were all dead.
Mathew gripped his robes tightly.
Even though his skull had turned to metal and he was stuck in a body that wasn't his, with mystical powers beyond his comprehension, a human heart still beat within him.
A heart that still hurt for those around him. A heart that still beat to the rhythm of sorrow, regret, and rage.
So what if he might die here in this chamber? He had already saved the world after all. What did it matter whether or not he was skewered by his enemy's blade?
He looked to an acolyte near him, an older man who held one of the few swords possessed by the followers of Dread.
They seemed to favor spears and other polearms over most other weapons. Few of them were actually trained for battle. Mathew felt that he alone possessed any real combat training or experience… Well, not him, but the body of Mathias.
"Acolyte." He said, his voice echoing in his metal skull, his tone calm but stern: "Hand me your sword. I will lead the charge."
The man gave him a strange look, but complied. Mathew took the sword from him. It was a strange weapon; curved and wider at the tip, something Mathew could picture a pirate in a cartoon wielding. Perhaps it was called a cutlass?
Sword names were not his strong suit.
His attention was drawn back to the doors as a large, person-sized square shape was cut out of the stone.
The acolytes readied their weapons, and Mathew moved to stand in front of them, forming a loose spearhead formation between the doors and the statue of the Lady.
The sound of stone grinding against stone echoed through the circular chamber as the cut-out chunks were pushed with inhuman force, a loud crash sounding as each one fell into the room. This continued until there was an opening large enough for a person to get through.
Ophelia stood on the other side, Argus beside her, holding the white blade shining with orange light.
She was most likely the one who had pushed the slabs into the room, and he had most likely been the one to cut them.
Mathew hesitated for a moment before giving his best war cry and running forward. It was a strange sound as he had never raised his voice like that before. But he needed to put in the effort to protect those behind him, and he knew that he could not reason with his enemies any longer.
They had already shown their cruelty and ability to go to any lengths to get what they wanted.
Argus stepped forward to meet Mathew's charge, raising the white blade before him. Mathew swung his own sword, but it felt awkward and unnatural in his hands.
Had Mathias never held a sword?
He had assumed Mathias's muscle memory would kick in again, and he would discover himself a master of swordplay.
However, it seemed he had been mistaken.
Argus didn't even try to block or deflect Mathews poorly thrown strike; in fact, he just held his own weapon before him, allowing Mathews blade to follow it's current trajectory into the sword.
When their blades met, Mathew felt no resistance as his own sword cleaved itself in two against his opponent's, and the top half of the blade was sent flying a few meters away. The momentum of the strike carried Mathew's own arm into the blade, and severed his hand at the wrist.
Mathew didn't even have time to scream in pain or mourn his lost appendage, however, because the very next instant, Argus twisted and struck him in the side of his metal head with the force of a freight train.
Mathew was sent into the air across the chamber and crashed into the wall to his right, as the bones inside him creaked and cracked.
At the very least, he was lucky that the strike had hit the invulnerable Iron Mind, instead of his neck.
Argus, not even considering that his target could have survived, immediately moved on to kill the rest of the acolytes, at Ophelia's command, of course.
"Remove them from my sight, Argus!" She had shouted, "I am tired of these crazed zealots getting in my way!"
"No…" Mathew wheezed, trying to get air into his lungs, "Don't… Don't kill them… I… I saved them… I need to…" He pushed himself to a sitting position, clutching the stump of his left wrist with his right hand.
Argus swung. The head of the old man who had given up his sword fell to the ground. Another acolyte fell soon after, then another.
Mathew got shakily to his feet, his back pressing against the cold stone of the wall behind him.
As he stood, his eyes fell upon Ophelia, still throwing out orders as her companion killed the remaining followers of dread. Only three remained. Aesop was one of them.
A cold calm began to brew within Mathew. It was a steely hatred he had never felt before. It was the desire to kill someone.
He found his second wind and rushed toward Ophelia. As he ran, a strange anomaly happened: A new hand sprouted from the stump of his left wrist. It all happened so quickly that Mathew almost didn't notice, and though the back of his mind acknowledged the peculiarity of his hand regrowing itself, it didn't slow his murderous charge.
Along the way, he ran across the spear of one of his fallen followers, and without breaking stride, he kicked it up with his foot and caught it with one smooth motion. Unlike the curved sword he had held before, his body was familiar with a spear.
It felt as though he had held a spear hundreds of thousands of times: It just felt right in his hands.
Ophelia turned her head to the sudden movement in her peripheral vision, but it was too late, as Mathew had found a blind spot in her vision.
Her expression was one of shock, perhaps even fear, as she reflexively attempted to dodge the thrust of Mathew's spear. It grazed her cheek, creating a line of red on the right side of her face.
Ophelia tried to grab at the spear with a gloved hand, but Mathew had already pulled it out of her reach.
Then he released a series of repeated thrusts at her face, which was the least armored part of her body.
Something within him knew that this strategy would throw her mind into panic, as the visual information would confuse all but the most experienced veteran… And Mathew got the sense he wasn't dealing with an expert.
Ophelia turned her head and bobbed as best as she could, constantly trying to guard her face, while attempting to swat away or even grab the spear tip.
Each time, however, the spear was pulled quickly out of her reach.
Because of this, she could never utilize her impressive strength, and though she was slightly faster than a normal human being, Mathias was as well, and it seemed Mathias had left his body well trained for combat with a spear.
It seemed that for a while Mathew might actually win, or at the very least end the contest by taking out one of Ophelia's eyes. But it was not to be.
"ARGUS!" Ophelia screamed, "Save me!" Her voice was desperate and was punctuated by the ragged breathing brought on by her efforts to stay alive.
It was then that Mathew heard the thunderous footsteps of the giant behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see Argus charging him, with Aesop in hot pursuit, though he was being outrun.
Argus made a massive swing with his glowing blade, planting his feet for a moment to wind up for the attack.
This pause allowed Aesop to catch up.
The acolyte threw himself at the giant in a crazy attempt to save his master, but of course, Argus barely budged at all. Aesop was but an annoyance to him.
Argus hit Aesop in the jaw with his elbow, causing him to stagger back a step, then changed the trajectory of his blade, swinging it directly at the vulnerable acolyte.
Mathew watched as the first person he had spoken to upon entering this world was cleaved in two.
For a moment, he was stunned. Then the cold anger in him transformed. The coals that were sitting underneath that anger caught fire and became a broiling rage. Then that rage began to resonate with something else inside Mathew, something that was neither him nor Mathias.
It was a third presence which added its rage to Mathew's, causing the flames within him to manifest into reality.
An explosion of deep blue flames surged out from Mathew, intent on destroying everything around him.