The heavens were now the absolute domain of this igneous chakram; the trajectory it carved became a wheel of fire-bound destiny. Among the various liturgies in Seraph's arsenal, the Discus tier stood as the most lethal, yet remained the most difficult to control.
[ZIG-ZAG-SHREEEEEE!]
The solar blade surged forward before banking in a self-directed arc, its movements divorced from the young man's immediate command. It wove a jagged, zigzagging path through the demonic ranks without a linear pattern, spared from disaster only because it did not recoil toward its caster.
[KRA-KRA-ZING-SPARK!]
Every square inch of air it crossed was rent by an ear-splitting shriek, as incandescent sparks erupted from its serrated edges. Hundreds of demon beasts caught in its wake were instantly reduced to an unrecognisable slurry of meat and bone, the intense heat of the blade incinerating the remains into a fine, grey ash before they could even hit the unforgiving stones.
[VROOO-HA-HA-HA—!!!]
The roar of the solar furnace erupted from the Blaszdiscus as if the spell itself were mocking the futility of the demon beasts. Both Crawlers and Devilbats tried to interpose their natural armaments, yet even the reinforced talons of the Crawlers were reduced to calcined splinters when the chakram tore through them.
The liturgy functioned less as a spell and more as a high-velocity engine of slaughter; within mere seconds, dozens of the creatures were ground into a rain of cinders, their viscera painting the masonry of the fortress like a macabre sculpture.
The Blaszdiscus drained the young magis's mana reserves with gluttonous ferocity, manifesting for only a few heartbeats before collapsing into the ether. Yet, the hundreds of mangled carcasses carpeting the ground served as a visceral testament to its absolute power.
Seraph's eyes flared with incandescent brilliance upon witnessing the devastation.
"Flamus Blaszdiscus!"
"Flamus Thermospatus!"
[VREEEEE—SHING-FWOOOM!]
The young man loosed the liturgies in a frantic, doubling cadence. He unshackled the solar disc once more, allowing it to commence a second hunt; the spell roared with a sentient thrill, seemingly ecstatic to be liberated from its master's governance.
Though the chakram remained an erratic and ungovernable force, there were no allies left within the perimeter for Seraph to safeguard. He could permit his mageia armaments to run rampant with total, lethal autonomy.
Meanwhile, he vaulted toward the opposite flank, his frame bolstered by a surfeit of reinforcement liturgies that granted him a speed surpassing any mundane warrior. Gripping the greatsword of solar energy, the young man no longer resembled a traditional magis; in this moment, he possessed the manic ferocity of a berserker.
"Whiplash!"
[FWA-FWA-FWA-FWAASH!]
Seraph snapped the flame blade, commanding the energy to elongate and lash out across the entire theatre of war. The massive brand of fire was wielded like a whip of liquid sun, carving through the air in a lethal, 360-degree arc.
Crawlers and Devilbats lunged from the flanks, from the firmament, and from the flagstones below, their dozens of whip-tongues lancing toward the solitary mortal at the eye of the storm.
As the serrated talons of the demon beasts encroached upon his frame, the young magis executed a spectral evasion, his boots treading on hollow air as if he had undergone a phantom metamorphosis. A silhouette of incandescent mist, he banked behind their flank, the solar greatsword igniting with a blinding, flickering brilliance.
The demon beasts lacked the speed required to parry the strike; they perceived only a peripheral glint of the massive igneous blade surging toward their eyes amidst a wave of searing heat. They, who had long served as the executioners of the human race, were now the recipients of a clinical and absolute justice dealt by a single young man.
The solar brand sheared through the Crawler throats with aggressive finality, each sweep of the steel birthing a resonant howl of displaced air and a surge of fire. He used a falling carcass as a transient foothold, propelling himself forward to decapitate a Devilbat in a seamless, fluid motion. Every demon beast among the hundred that barred his path found their defences insufficient against the mageia weapon; they were but sequential marks for his blade.
The defensive threshold of the Lickcrawlers remained formidable, while the Devilbats boasted a suffocating numerical superiority. The power within the solar blade began to stutter, the radiance along the edge receding with alarming haste. The young man funnelled a torrent of mana into the Rubyflame Sceptre to sustain the Thermospatus spell, his entire frame erupting in a crimson-gold aura that illuminated the entire sector.
The young magis vaulted onto the vertical masonry of the sentry tower, sprinting across the stone with the same predatory agility as the Crawlers. He dragged the igneous blade along the tower's surface, carving a scorched furrow that spat a spray of sparks. Abruptly, he unleashed a violent, visceral assault on those clinging to the masonry. Thermal shockwaves radiated from each sweep of the enchanted brand, the roar of flames licking across the tower's height.
The igneous arcs bifurcated every creature in his path, the kinetic impact triggering localised detonations of heat. The mangled remains of Crawlers and Devilbats tumbled into the abyss, their charred husks dissolving into a shimmering rain of cinders that flickered against the midnight sky.
The percussion of erupting embers and the crackle of igneous sparks saturated the air.
The dissonant wailing and the guttural shrieks of the demon beasts echoed through the stone.
The heavy tread of boots and the visceral violence of martial movement resonated across the fortress.
All these sounds converged in a singular, chaotic symphony amidst the main square of Ragguard.
The struggle within the heart of the fortress had reached a fever pitch of brutality. Those sentry forces and archers still hidden within the high towers bore witness to the close-quarters slaughter; some caught mere glimpses of a solar blade and leather boots flashing past their narrow windows.
The hearts of the Ragguard soldiers hammered against their ribs in sheer disbelief. Though they beheld the cascading sparks and the mangled frames of the demon beasts being hurled across the city by various liturgies, they could scarcely track the form of the young magis for even a single second.
The young man's speed had ascended beyond the threshold of mortal sight. Had they not witnessed this sustained devastation with their own eyes, they would have dismissed any account of such power as mere fabrication.
Seraph vaulted from a masonry ledge, hewing through a dozen Crawlers and Devilbats upon a tower's summit. Yet, in that same pulse, a score of Lickcrawlers lashed their whip-tongues and serrated talons toward his position.
The young man executed a backflip to evade the strike—
In that heartbeat, the Blaszdiscus surged from behind the demonic flank. It spiralled in a horizontal arc, its kinetic ferocity birthing a wave of thermal blades that carved through the atmosphere.
In a fraction of a second, the enchanted chakram bifurcated every demon beast that had dared to lunge at its master, their frames severed mid-strike.
Beholding the opening, Seraph propelled himself into the open firmament, intoning a fresh spell—
"Flamus Gustblasz!" He unleashed the liturgy of aerial purgatory once more.
[VROOOOOM—WHIZ-WHIZ-WHIZ-WHIZ—!]
A phalanx of igneous brands plummeted from the cyclonic storm like a conscripted army of pure mageia. The resonant shriek of the fire-blades carving through the firmament echoed the discharge of a thousand heavy ballistae; they surged downward, scouring the demon beasts from the perimeter of the fortress grounds in a single, sweeping tide.