Rate withdrew toward the shattered entrance, saber still gripped tightly in his right hand. Every step sent fresh jolts of pain through his cracked ribs, a grinding reminder of Agatha's earlier lance that had nearly caved in his chest. Dark energy flickered around his frame like living smoke, unstable now, hungry for more power he wasn't sure he could safely feed it. The taste of his own blood lingered on his tongue, metallic and warm. He allowed himself three full breaths, deep, drawing in air thick with ozone, scorched stone, and the faint, acrid tang of molten rock still bubbling in scattered craters. For those few seconds, the violence paused, and the ruined pavilion seemed almost peaceful in its devastation.
Thirty percent of the once-majestic floor was now a nightmarish scarfield. Vast craters pockmarked the ancient stone like wounds from some divine wrath. Glassy sheets of vitrified rock gleamed where Camilla's superheated greaves had turned solid stone into temporary lakes of magma. Deep fissures spider-webbed outward, some still glowing with residual magic. Shattered pillars leaned like drunken sentinels, and chunks of ceiling debris lay scattered like fallen stars. Dust motes danced lazily in the few shafts of dim candlelight that survived, lending the entire scene an eerie, almost sacred quality, like a cathedral desecrated mid-prayer.
Before Rate could push forward again, a strained voice cut through the uneasy silence.
"Captain."
Bulk knelt on his left knee just inside the ruined archway, his massive frame trembling under an invisible weight far heavier than any wound. Sweat carved pale rivers through the dust and blood on his face. His projectile weapon lay beside him, its haft scarred and cracked from earlier clashes. The big man's eyes were wide, haunted.
"Do you not think our best option at this moment is to retreat?" Bulk's voice cracked with desperation. "If even we returned back empty-handed we will only get punished. Dying here won't solve anything."
Rate didn't turn fully. His dark gaze remained locked across the chamber on the pulsing violet barrier and the elegant figure behind it. "That's not the issue," he said, voice low and steady despite the fire in his ribs. "I presumed you would have thought this through."
Bulk swallowed hard, shoulders slumping further. "I can't think of anything else at the moment, sir."
Rate's tone sharpened, edged with command. "Your mentality is burdened, Bulk. Your body can't keep up with the pressure. I need you to calm down, or you'll die from the strain before she even needs to lift a finger."
The larger man's pale expression twisted with continuous nervousness. His hands shook as they gripped the haft of his weapon. "I'm trying… but think about this, Captain. If we return to base and share the detailed location of the witch, that should be enough to impress the higher-ups. The info will spread and we might come back for her later—with reinforcements, proper preparations—"
"Might?" Rate finally turned slightly toward him, dark energy flaring in visible irritation around his shoulders. "Now I know you're not thinking straight."
Bulk's breathing grew ragged. He gestured weakly with a trembling hand toward the entrance behind them, voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "The way out of this misery is right there." His shaking fingers pointed at the seemingly open archway, hope flickering like a dying candle in his eyes.
Rate's voice turned cold, final, carrying the weight of hard-won certainty. "No, Bulk. That path is sealed off. There's no going back from this point. Combat for survival is the governing law of this domain." He turned forward again, eyes narrowing. "Even if we do miraculously escape from here and tell the higher-ups everything… you think this witch will foolishly sit down and wait? Do you think the witch will let us go out of generosity?"
Bulk rose unsteadily, like a man condemned to the gallows. His projectile dragged behind him, scraping loudly against the broken stone floor and leaving a faint trail in the dust. Right arm stretched forward, fingers trembling with desperate anticipation, he shuffled toward the exit like a deprived, sickly shadow of the warrior who had charged into this fight beside them. Each step seemed heavier than the last, his broad back hunched, breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
The rest of the team watched in heavy silence as Bulk reached the threshold. He extended his hand fully.
He touched it.
An invisible, impenetrable field seal shimmered into visibility under the contact, violet energy rippling outward like disturbed water. The open pathway, the promised escape from this nightmare, was nothing more than a cruel illusion conjured by the domain itself. The barrier thrummed with ancient, malicious power, locking them inside the ruined pavilion as effectively as any iron portcullis or dungeon chain. No force they possessed could break it from within. They were rats in a beautifully decorated cage, and the cat still had claws to spare.
Bulk's knees buckled completely. He collapsed forward, forehead nearly touching the cold, debris-strewn stone. "Oh no…" The words escaped as a broken whisper. Tears gathered in his eyes and spilled over, carving wet tracks down his dust-caked cheeks. His broad shoulders heaved with silent, wracking sobs. The despair was total, crushing, the kind that hollowed a man out from the inside. All the fight, all the bravado he had carried into this mission, drained away in that single devastating moment of realization.
Rate took five deliberate steps forward. Dark energy flared brighter around his frame, coiling and writhing like living smoke fed by cold, unrelenting resolve. The pain in his ribs became background noise, pushed down by necessity. Behind him, the sounds of recovery rose above the low crackle of residual magic.
Quinn shoved a fallen chunk of masonry aside with a deep grunt. Golden aura flickered, then surged back to life around his massive shoulders and empowered gauntlets. Blood still streaked his chest and arms from the triple-lance impact, but the big man rose with stubborn, bull-headed fury. He rolled his thick neck, cracked his knuckles, and walked forward. Each heavy step sent fresh cracks racing through the already ruined floor. His eyes burned with defiance, the golden light around him steadying as raw power rekindled.
Camilla pushed herself up from the frosted patch of ground where Agatha's gravity-and-calamity spell had finally thrown her. Ice cracked and melted instantly under the rising heat radiating from her molten greaves, sending angry plumes of steam hissing upward. Icy fragments slid off her dented armor and evaporated in mid-air. She shook her head vigorously, wild hair matted with dust, blood, and frost, then flashed a feral, if slightly pained, grin. The white-hot glow of her greaves intensified as she tested her stance, leaving glowing footprints in the stone.
"That was cold as hell," she muttered, voice rough but laced with familiar battle-lust. She rolled her shoulders, molten energy flaring brighter. "Won't catch me slipping like that again."
On the far side of the devastated chamber, Agatha's deadly symphony continued without pause.
Dozens of multi-elemental magic circles hovered in perfect, orbiting formation around her pulsing second barrier. They spun lazily at first, then accelerated into blurring rings of power. Crimson flames roared within some, icy blues swirled in others, crackling yellow lightning arced violently, and howling emerald winds screamed for release. The shimmering magic construct Lances, more than a dozen now, pulsed with lethal violet density, each one humming with condensed, predatory intent. They rotated in synchronized patterns, awaiting the slightest gesture from their mistress.
Above them, the jagged dread portals torn open in the air widened further. High-pitched chittering shrieks and the frantic flapping of leathery wings filled the chamber. Imps began pouring forth in a chaotic, overwhelming swarm. These lesser demons were darkened, twisted little horrors with razor claws, jagged teeth, and membranous wings. Their red eyes gleamed with pure malevolent glee as they sought chaos and bloodshed. Dozens became hundreds within moments, scrambling across broken pillars, clinging to shattered ceilings, and filling the air with their deafening, glass-shattering shrieks. They were cannon fodder, yes–but countless and vicious.
And before Agatha's barrier, the true abomination completed its emergence from the pulsating slime portal.
The nightmarish maw that had nearly taken Rate's torso now rose in its full, grotesque glory. A colossal Abysskith from the void dimension. A Voragnathe.
It towered fifteen feet tall at the shoulder, yet its sheer scale defied reason: a body length of roughly 79.8 meters and nearly 30 meters wide, a living siege engine of blackened carapace and malice. The massive, flat, fan-shaped cranial crest crowned its head like a grotesque organic crown, reflecting dim light with an oily, sickly sheen. Its face was retractable, the segmented mouth lined with outer-layered drill teeth that rotated slowly at first, then faster with wet, grinding clicks that set teeth on edge. It possessed no eyes, only smooth, faceless voids that somehow radiated bottomless, alien hunger. 4 Reverse-jointed legs supported its immense bulk with horrifying stability on the broken floor, each step sending tremors through the chamber. A segmented spearhead bone tail, thirty meters long and fused directly to its spine, lashed lazily behind it, cracking stone and scattering debris with casual flicks.
The creature reared up slightly, hovering protectively near Agatha, and released a hollow roar that rattled the entire floor and vibrated deep within every bone in the pavilion. The sound was low, resonant, and utterly wrong, like reality itself screaming.
"What the hell is that supposed to be?" Quinn growled, shock cutting through his bravado. His golden aura flared brighter in instinctive challenge, gauntlets clenching.
Camilla tilted her head, bringing her hands together in mock delight even as her molten greaves hissed against the stone. A wild, reckless grin split her face. "Aww, it's adorable. That's your one's truly pet, huh!" Her voice dripped with battle-lust, but her eyes remained sharp, calculating the monstrous thing's reach, speed, and vulnerabilities.
Rate stared deep into the faceless horror, dark energy coiling tighter around his body like a second skin. The realization settled over him like ice water in his veins.
She not only summoned imps… but an Abysskith from the void dimension. A Voragnathe!