Three minutes prior.
Seraph stood surveying his surroundings, finding the remains of over a hundred Raffblooms charred and contorted into ash. The embers upon their husks continued to flicker and dance, as if refusing to be extinguished so easily.
Even the earth surrounding the young magis for hundreds of metres had turned a fractured black, resembling a web of scorched fissures. The soil had been seared by extreme heat; ripples of thermal haze shimmered incessantly through the air, the lingering ghost of the massive flamus mageia detonation that had just occurred. The stench of singed flesh wafted into the distance.
If these Raffbloom carcasses could be transported back to Sanctus for research, humanity might finally discern the true nature of this newly discovered species. Furthermore, he might learn what value or utility these demonic remains held.
However, the Raffbloom swarms were far too numerous to be dealt with through any means other than total annihilation. At this moment, they permitted no soul to escape the Darkwood; to contemplate the spoils of war from these flora demons was a fool's errand amidst such slaughter.
Even at the forest's edge, Raffblooms prowled, relentlessly pursuing those demon hunters who intended to abandon the Bloody Hunting.
At this hour, merely struggling to survive each passing second was an arduous feat; reaching the distant periphery of the woods was a prospect beyond reach. Consequently, the notion of hauling these carcasses back to the outside world was a delusion—utterly unrealistic unless they could first annihilate the entire swarm to complete the initial rank of the mission.
As Seraph cast his gaze outward, he noted a fresh pack of Raffblooms advancing with sluggish intent. He acted as though they were invisible; the young magis's boots struck the earth, and he surged into the treeline, vanishing from the scorched clearing with blistering speed.
The Flora Demons hoisted their thorny vines and shrieked with high-pitched malice, as if hurling insults at his back, they could not compel the human to return.
The young magis did not spare them a single glance. Perilous and vast as the Raffbloom swarms were, their sheer scale dictated that he must choose the most efficient path to exterminate them all in the shortest interval possible.
The figures upon the Bloody Hunting scroll now stated clearly: after the passage of a solitary day, Seraph had slain approximately four thousand Raffblooms.
From this, he calculated that the total Raffbloom population within the Darkwood likely numbered around a hundred thousand. Formidable as they were, he remained confident in his ability to purge them entirely, provided he possessed sufficient time.
The grievance lay in his awareness that he did not have the luxury of time he desired. The only reason he could currently harvest Raffblooms as effortlessly as one might select vegetables for a basket was the continued presence of numerous other demon hunter parties scattered throughout the forest.
A contingent of nearly ten thousand warriors had unwittingly diverted the swarm's gaze, acting as a massive lure in his stead. Their presence afforded him the luxury to strike at the flora demons with meticulous precision.
Since the Raffblooms perceived a multitude of humans within the Darkwood, they did not fixate their pursuit upon any solitary soul. However, should the human population dwindle to a perilous threshold, tens of thousands of these flora demons would undoubtedly converge to hunt him, and him alone!
That was a catastrophe Seraph refused to permit. Furthermore, he needed to locate sectors where the Raffblooms congregated in vast numbers to expedite his cull. The young magis was currently locked in a race against time; he was compelled to see every rank of the Bloody Hunting mission to completion and return to Arkflame with haste.
Though the Bloody Hunting stood as Arkflame's pre-eminent demon-slaying operation, the season of hunting and the ebbs of the demon invasions followed no rigid schedule.
In some years, the Demon Legion unleashed a total war, dispatching tens of millions of minions to besiege the human realms relentlessly for the duration of the year. In others, the tempest subsided in a mere three days. Nothing was fixed.
Seraph desired to conclude his mission with all speed and return home, harbouring a sliver of hope that he might yet arrive in time to bolster Balyon's defences against the year's final demonic incursion. Such an act might alleviate the guilt he bore regarding Lenora, however slightly.
As the young magis surged across the arboreal canopy, a new point of interest caught his attention. The winds carried the unmistakable cacophony of a struggle between humans and Raffblooms; the clangour of steel was exceptionally violent and ferocious. The ripples of mageia power emanating from the site suggested a substantial number of survivors were currently embattled in that sector.
"Hmph... a decent-sized contingent over there," Seraph murmured, banking mid-air to shift his course. "No, wait... just a few hundred. Right then..."
"Ventus Aura!"
"Flamus Aura!"
"Ventus Windwalker!"
The young magis snapped his white cloak with violence, veering and gliding above the arboreal canopy like a pale wraith against the indigo-violet firmament. Veins of mageia luminescence pulsed from his form as he traversed the sky.
Seraph surged across the forest roof with blistering velocity, soon arriving at the rear of the floral tide.
Below him, the encirclement was twofold. The outer ring consisted of thousands of Raffblooms, hemmed in so tightly their prey had no avenue for retreat. The inner ring held approximately three hundred challengers, struggling with every shred of their resolve to endure.
Mageia-infused steel clashed incessantly; sparks flew and the cacophony of the struggle reached its zenith.
"A company of hunters... besieged, with no way out," Seraph observed coldly. "If this lot perishes, the loss to Arkflame—and to my own goals—would be severe."
The young magis leveled his Rubyflame Sceptre toward the forest floor and began his incantation.
"Atramentum!"
Seraph banked in a wide arc, spiralling around the outer perimeter of the Raffbloom swarm with such celerity that not a single soul—human or demon—detected his presence.
The Raffblooms possessed no eyes! Though they perceived their quarry through their innate demonic fel, visual acuity was never their forte.
The young magis doused the heads of the outermost flora demons in black ink-oil, tracing a dark, combustible ring that circumscribed the entire horde.
The Raffblooms perceived something treading upon their crowns, drenching their forms in a strange fluid, yet they paid it scant heed. To these Flora Demons, wallowing in toxic mires was a natural state; the viscous liquid felt familiar, almost welcoming to their primal instincts. For a demon, such noxious substances are the closest of kin.
The young man distributed the black ink-oil around the swarm in a horseshoe formation, purposefully leaving a breach before the embattled demon hunters to afford them a desperate avenue of escape.
The young magis recoiled toward the arboreal heights, surging his mageia until his aura blazed with brilliance.
"Flamus Sphera!"
The incantation was unleashed with absolute potency. A massive orb of fire descended gradually toward the oil-slicked earth. This Sphera had burgeoned since his earlier days, now measuring nearly a metre in diameter. Yet, it drifted with the same agonizing lethality as before, as if the sheer density of the compressed energy within forced it to crawl through the firmament.