The man's épée sang through the smoke as he leaped forward, drawing the blade in one fluid motion that split the air.
"You look like you've been having fun without me," he said, voice steady and deep.
"Gul...?" Rainier eyes widened.
The five cultists charging forward didn't even have time to scream.
His blade didn't just cut—it unleashed internal shockwaves, invisible vibrations that tore through muscle, bone, and mana veins in an instant.
Gul Mason didn't stop. "Echo Cascade," he whispered, the words low and lethal.
A flurry of four rapid thrusts flashed toward the next wave.
One cultist raised a shield of swirling dark energy—Gul's épée passed through it as if it were paper.
Vibrations exploded inside the man's chest; his heart burst before the shield even cracked.
Each strike left a lingering echo in the air, stacking like invisible tuning forks until the final jab triggered them all at once.
A shockwave column erupted from the ground, blasting the cultists off their feet in a chain-reaction avalanche of force.
In seconds the ground around the marquee was littered with dismembered, twitching bodies.
Gul flicked the blood from his épée, the blade still humming with restrained power.
He glanced over his shoulder at Rainier without breaking stance, silver hair fluttering in the hot wind.
"Get your stepsister to a safer place, Rai. The Association's setting up an evacuation point three blocks east, under the bridge. I'll hold the line here."
Rainier hesitated, chest still heaving, dark mana flickering around his fists like restless shadows. "Gul… you don't have to—"
"I do," Gul cut in, calm eyes already tracking the next portals ripping open across the wedding grounds.
"Upper-S Rank orders. You're mid-S and carrying precious cargo. Move. I'll make sure these flies don't follow."
Another explosion rocked the marquee, sending charred petals swirling. More cultists surged forward, chanting louder, their numbers swelling like a black tide.
Gul smiled faintly—the small, confident smile of a man who had already decided the outcome of the war.
He raised his épée once more, the air around him beginning to vibrate with building power, the ground trembling beneath his boots like a drumroll before the final act. "Go."
Rainier held his stepsister back into his arms and broke into a sprint towards the east, dark mana cloak flaring protectively around them both.
Then a large portal tore open directly in front of Gul—wider, blacker, edged with crimson runes that pulsed like a heartbeat.
A monstrous figure stepped out, 6'5 of pure, sculpted menace—dark skin completely bald, every muscle carved like living obsidian. No weapon.
His fists were already clenched, knuckles were scarred. A thick white bandage wrapped around both of his eyes.
Across his broad back stretched a massive, jagged scar that ran from shoulder to hip.
The cultists who had been charging forward faltered.
He tilted his head, blindfolded face turning straight toward Gul as though he could see every vibration in the older man's stance.
"Hmph…" His voice deep and mocking. "Upper-S Rank. Gul Mason..."
He cracked his neck once. "Name's Kael. You… smell like the biggest one here."
Gul's grip tightened on the hilt of his épée. The humming blade answered with a higher pitch, vibrations sharpening.
Kael took one step forward, the ground cracked beneath his bare foot.
Gul replied, smirk tugging at his lips even as his eyes narrowed. "Let's see if that body can keep up against my blade."
Kael laughed—a low, rumbling sound "Keep up? Don't make me laugh."
He lunged, sending a raw destructive power within his fist and closing the distance in a single second.
Gul's blade met the fist sending a visible shockwave exploding outward that sent the guests table being propelled.
Across the burning streets of Paris, a little girl stood crying in the middle of a ruined street near the Pont Neuf.
Tears streamed down her dirt-streaked cheeks as she clutched a torn teddy bear to her chest. The pink dress her mother had dressed her in that morning was now smeared with ash and soot.
Her tiny voice cracked with terror. "M-Mama… where are you…? Mama…!"
Her mother was nowhere to be seen—lost somewhere in the stampede of panicked civilians when the first portals tore open.
She stood alone, small and trembling, surrounded by market stalls and flickering flames.
Behind her, a black-robed cultist emerged from the fire.
His curved sword rose high, black mana dripping from the edge like venom
A cruel grin split his face beneath the hood. "Little lamb," he hissed, voice thick with holy madness, "the Lord of Flies demands tribute, your fear will feed Him well."
Just a second away right when she was about to get hit by the blade.
"Guardian's Edge!" a sharp fragment of condensed light thin as a razor shot forward faster than eye could follow.
It struck the cultist's sword arm with surge, severing it clean.
The man didn't even have time to scream before the same fragment curved mid-air and buried itself in his chest, exploding outward in a radiant shockwave that reduced his body to shimmering dust on the wind.
The little girl's sobs hitched as she looked up.
A figure in a flowing white-and-gold coat landed lightly between her—Lucien Faure "Hey, little one… it's okay now, you're safe."
A soft golden glow fluttered beside him. Ivy Redgrace, the blond fairy spirit descended gracefully on Lucien's shoulder.
She crossed her arms, voice light and protective. "Tch..these cultists never learn, picking on a child? How pathetic."
Ivy's glowing eyes flicked to the girl, her expression melting into a gentle smile. "Don't worry, kiddo. Big brother Lucien and I are here, we'll find your mama together, okay?"
The little girl stared up at them, teddy bear still clutched tight between her arms, tears still falling but now mixed with a tiny spark of hope.
In the distance, explosions continued to boom across Paris, but for this one small corner of hell, a pocket of light had arrived.
Lucien stood slowly, offering the child his hand while his other palm began weaving a soft protective barrier of golden light around her.
"Stay close," he murmured, as he scanned the smoke-filled street for more threats. "The city's on fire… but we're not letting it take anyone else today."
A dozen black-robed cultists erupted from the surrounding alleys and rooftops came out in a coordinated swarm.
Black mana spears and cursed blades rained down from every angle.
Lucien's eyes widened. "Ivy—barrier!"
A soft golden glow fluttered beside him. Ivy tried to weave a shield—but the sheer number was overwhelming.
Cultists crashed into them.
"It can't hold on for any longer!" Ivy shouted.
Lucien spun his staff, light fragments exploding from his palms in rapid, each one slicing through robes and flesh.
He cut down three in a single breath, golden mana flaring like a sunburst.
But more kept coming ten, fifteen swarming him from all sides, their blades grazing his coat.
"Get… away from her!" he roared, voice cracking with desperation as he blasted another cultist into glowing particles.
"Ah—!" She screamed, backing away teddy bear slipping from her fingers.
One cultist slipped past the chaos—hooded eyes gleaming with triumph, his sword already raised above the child's frame.
The blade whistled horizontally.
Lucien's heart stopped. "I let my guard down..shit—!"
He shoved through the swarm, light mana burning white-hot around him, but the cultists latched on like leeches, dragging him back.
A spear grazed his side, as another blade nicked his shoulder—blood sprayed.
"NO!" he cried, one arm outstretched reaching out for the girl.
Ivy slowly turned her head towards the girl, her eyes widen as it was already too late...