Tula gritted his old teeth, desperately trying to avert his gaze from the abyssal stare. He could feel his soul being ripped away, consumed by those haunting black eyes. In a final, frantic attempt to save himself, he commanded his only remaining minion to grab Hilda from behind.
But Hilda wouldn't let go. Blood dripped from her lips, and with a grimace, she spat directly at the old man, linking their pain together. Tula's scream echoed through the air, a primal howl of agony as every fiber of his being was torn apart.
In the chaos of it all, John noticed something. Tula's eyes were deliberately avoiding a specific spot. John followed the old man's gaze and saw something that made his blood run cold—a figure slowly rising from the ground. It was the bowman Hilda had killed with her knives.
It seemed the body hadn't quite died. Now, it shifted into position, drawing an arrow, aiming directly at Hilda. With its angle, it had a perfect shot.
John didn't hesitate. He knew the stakes. If Hilda let go of the old man, the red monster would easily throw her aside. But that also meant the soul-draining effect would cease. He couldn't afford to let that happen.
He had two choices: block the arrow and risk losing the effect, or let it go and protect Hilda.
Without thinking, John chose the latter. He threw himself sideways, positioning himself in the path of the arrow.
"Master!" Hilda cried out in horror.
"Kill him! Kill Tula!" John gasped, his voice weak but urgent.
The arrow struck the back of John's shoulder, sending him tumbling to the ground. His body felt like it was on fire, but he managed to get the words out. His breath was shallow, his body failing him. Tula snapped out of his trance, but he was too disoriented to react in time. The realization hit him too late.
"You fucking— agh!" Tula's scream was cut short.
Before he could recover, a knife was driven through his throat, silencing him. Blood poured from his wound, choking him as he gasped for air. His mystic powers failed him; they couldn't heal him, not in the face of such a fatal wound.
Tula felt his grip on the monster's body slipping. Another knife was driven into his neck, and the life drained from him in a matter of seconds. There was no fighting it—he had no choice but to surrender his life.
"Master!" Hilda's voice cracked as she called out to John, her eyes filled with panic.
With Tula dead, Hilda rushed over to John's side, but he didn't respond. His breath was shallow, and his body was growing colder with each passing second. Hilda could hear footsteps approaching in the distance. They were running out of time.
Her heart clenched, and with a hard bite of her lip, she made a painful decision. She couldn't afford to stay. The Sun Church would never forgive her master or Theia, and they'd be hunted down. She scooped both John and Theia into her arms, her heart heavy as she sprinted into the night, disappearing into the shadows before anyone could catch up.
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After covering her tracks, Hilda finally let out a quiet sigh of relief as she entered the room they had rented. It wasn't every day she fought a mystic, especially one of Tula's caliber.
She gently lowered her master onto the bed, her eyes softening as she gazed at him—an expression so unlike the cold, calculating maid she usually was. If John hadn't blocked that arrow, she would have surely died. Even if their survival was mutual, not everyone would take such a risk for someone else.
Her bloody hand brushed against his arm as she thought about how he had sacrificed himself. Her power, which allowed her to transfer pain, had always seemed like a useless ability when she first reached the 3rd circle. But now, as she touched her master's wound, she realized it had its uses.
With a grimace, she allowed the pain to flood her own body. It was an excruciating wave, but it was bearable. The blood dripped down her lips as she wiped it away, determined to focus. Slowly, she began to pull the arrow from John's back, carefully removing the weapon with a steady hand.
Once the arrow was out, she set to work bandaging his wound, her movements precise despite the discomfort coursing through her own body. Every twist of the bandage felt like a small sacrifice, but it was one she was willing to make. Her master had done the same for her, after all.
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"We have completed the subjugation of the monster, Father," one of the priests said, his voice calm but tired. The other priest, standing beside him, surveyed the bloody carcass of the monster they had just slain.
"What do you think happened?" the first priest asked.
The older priest took a moment to examine the scene before responding. His gaze fell sorrowfully on the lifeless bodies scattered around the room. "From our divination, it's likely that a group of heretics fought each other. Truly a pitiful sight."
He sighed, his face heavy with a mixture of sorrow and resolve. Slowly, he moved toward the fallen bodies, his hands folding together in a prayer-like gesture. As his palms pressed against each other, his complexion softened, and a faint glow began to emanate from his hands.
"Under the golden embrace of the eternal Sun, we remember both the living light and our departed loved ones. Oh, mighty Sun God, a radiant beacon of life, we offer our greatest respect. Your warmth nourishes our lands, your light guides our steps, and your power sustains all creation.
As we bask in your divine radiance, we honor those who have passed. May your brilliance illuminate their journey and offer them solace in the vast beyond. We remember them, and their legacies live on in our hearts.
Bless us, Sun God, as we commemorate their lives and continue their spirits. May your light guide us forward, honoring both the living and the departed. In your eternal glow, all are seen, loved, and remembered."
"Praise the sun!" the gathered priests chanted in unison.
"Praise the sun!" they echoed, their voices ringing in reverence.
The light in the elder priest's hands faded into the air, leaving nothing behind but the echo of their chant.
"Please, cremate them where the sun's rays may reach them," the elder priest instructed, his voice soft but earnest.
"Praise the sun," they responded together, and the white-robed priests began to carry the bodies away, one by one.
However, they left one body behind. A divination priest stepped forward, his expression troubled as he stood before the final corpse.
"It's time you complete your duty," the older priest said, his voice calm but firm.
The divination priest nodded. "Thank you for this opportunity, Father."
"Don't thank me," the elder priest replied, "instead, praise the Sun God for leading you to this moment."
"Praise the sun!" the younger priest responded, his voice steady with conviction.
The elder priest nodded. "You may begin when you're ready."
The divination priest adjusted his robe, kneeling down before the bulging, red muscle of the corpse. His hand touched the grotesque flesh, and a bright, yellow light spread from his fingertips. The area around them began to smolder as the fire ignited, and the priest's eyes started to burn with the intensity of the divine flame.
"AHGGHGGG!" he screamed, the agony of the ritual consuming him. No amount of faith could prepare a priest for the searing pain of the Sun God's fire. But the priest bore it with unwavering devotion, knowing this was the price of his sacred duty.
The fire raged for several long minutes before finally dying down. When it was over, the bloody corpse was reduced to nothing but ash, leaving no trace of its monstrous form.
The priest, still reeling from the intense heat, took a moment to collect himself, his vision blurred and his eyes burned from the divine light.
"Father," he finally said, his voice strained but respectful, "it seems that four people survived this incident."