The Light of the Beginning (1)
Rumble, rumble…!
The hall shook as if an earthquake had struck, causing small pieces of stone to crumble and rise into the air. The celestial sphere was thrown into chaos, and the stars that adorned it flickered uncertainly.
A demon, noticing the blood trickling from a wound on his forehead, muttered in disbelief.
“The power to reverse the concept of up and down… How, or rather, why would anyone harbor such a useless notion in their domain?”
The once-majestic voice now resembled the squawk of a bird. Dalen chuckled dryly. “Useless or not, who are you to judge?”
“Yes, I suppose that’s what it means to be the subject of prophecy. I understand now why Enaxagus placed me here.”
“What?”
“To stop you and ensure nothing stands in his way! For that, I would gladly lay down my life!”
The demon raised his staff, and dozens of magic circles formed in the air, interlocking like gears and emitting a harsh metallic sound as they spun, casting a gloomy light.
Dalen’s ascent was abruptly halted, as if something had grabbed his ankle. The demon cackled.
“Did you think I’d let you go? I am Raklatus, the eagle that sees through time, a great demon among demons, and a servant of the mighty god…!”
His proclamation was cut short as something burst from his chest, tearing through from behind. The demon coughed up black blood. A beam of light had pierced his heart, shattering his staff and boomeranging back.
“What happened? Did it miss?”
“No, it hit perfectly. Does that birdbrain have multiple hearts?”
Voices came from behind. The demon turned his head, clenching his beak. Approaching him were two figures: a blonde paladin and a dark-haired mage.
“The War God’s Sword and the Witch of Feathers.”
“Looks like they’ve got one of each kind.”
“Three left, then?”
“Right. You take the hearts. Burn them or whatever. I’ll use the feathers.”
The demon’s beak opened slightly in disbelief at their casual conversation, even as their sharp gazes never left his limbs, wings, and tail. Even without the holy sword that had just cleaved his heart, the combined assault of the witch and the paladin was a significant threat to a great demon like him.
“Tch…”
The demon hesitated for a moment.
“Step.”
And that moment was more than enough for Dalen.
Boom!
With a deafening roar, his body shot upward, escaping the celestial sphere and soaring into the sky.
“Prophecy…!”
The demon’s scream mingled with the howling wind, but Dalen ignored it, kicking off the air. He knew exactly what Lucia and Sienna intended.
While the two distracted the demon, he had one task.
Crash!
The space beneath him tore apart, the displaced air breaking the sound barrier and sending shockwaves in all directions. His form pierced the red vortex in the city’s center from below.
Blood-red energy surged around him, snaking like serpents to block his path.
Hiss…!
The sharp tendrils wrapped around his limbs, twisted magic trying to pin him down. Dalen shook his arms and pushed off again, shattering the red energy that blocked him.
Crack!
He accelerated, reversing the very concept of direction and stepping on nonexistent footholds. His body soared like a lightning bolt, as if flipping in midair to dive toward the ground.
Before long, he leaped over the crimson sky, colliding with the violet barrier above.
Flash!
And then silence.
His body, having pierced the clouds, descended in a parabolic arc. His vision plunged through the misty clouds.
Thud.
Something solid caught his feet, supporting him firmly.
A soft yet solid ground. He had arrived.
“This is it. The foundation upon which the labyrinth city stands.”
A voice murmured softly beyond the realm of thought.
Dalen dusted off his clothes and stood up. Though surrounded by thin clouds, seeing ahead wasn’t difficult.
The core of the barrier, isolated high in the sky.
Throughout hundreds of cycles, he had never once seen the seventh sector. Even having been on both the defending and attacking sides of the city, the core of the barrier had never revealed itself until the city was completely overrun.
If it had been hidden in an independent space extending from the twenty-sixth hall, high above the ground, it made sense.
A space existing in reality but not fixed to it. A place that was the city’s foundation yet not on the same land.
“Foundation? Master, aren’t foundations supposed to be on the ground?”
”…”
“It’s a metaphor, old tree.”
“Oh.”
Shaking his head at the demon’s belated realization, Dalen moved into the thickening clouds.
Unlike the chaotic battles and commotion below, the world above the clouds was utterly serene.
The clouds soon parted, revealing a wide clearing. It felt like an ancient ruin, with columns bearing the marks of time encircling the area. The altar, the core of the barrier, stood alone in the center.
And before it…
“You’ve arrived.”
The evil god stood with his back turned.
Enaxagus.
The god of fate and defiance, ruler of the Celestial Throne.
A twisted creator, grasping the threads of destiny with pale hands, concocting the metamorphosis of species in a cauldron.
Perhaps because he had long taken an interest in the continent and nurtured his followers, he had more titles than any other evil god.
Among the countless infamous names and titles, Dalen remembered dozens. Yet, despite his notoriety, Enaxagus rarely appeared in person.
“Even as a hero, I’ve only seen his true form a handful of times.”
The evil god Dalen had fought most as a hero and served most as a dark mage.
Yet, he had seen Enaxagus’s form fewer than five times. It resembled a giant caterpillar, like a larva about to encase itself in a cocoon.
A thick, wrinkled gray body, with hundreds of thin, pale arms extending like dry branches.
Holes all over its body emitted a constant stream of violet magic, and black chains loosely wrapped around it dripped with blood.
The evil god slowly turned. Its amorphous body bore a grotesquely twisted face.
“I’ve been waiting for you, the protagonist of prophecy.”
Where eyes and nose should have been were empty voids.
The face, with its exaggeratedly large mouth, reminded Dalen of the masks worn by cultists he had faced long ago.
Hundreds of hands waved in the air, each one dancing with violet magic.
Dalen placed a hand on his waist. At that moment…
“No, you mustn’t.”
The creature moved.
One step.
Ripples spread.
Two steps.
Sunlight shattered.
Three steps.
Dalen leaned back.
In the rapidly shifting view, hook-like fingers snatched at the spot where his neck had been moments before.
A flash of light erupted from Dalen’s waist. The evil god’s hand, having missed its mark, floated briefly before falling to the ground.
“Impressive.”
Three more steps. The massive body vanished like a phantom, reappearing before the altar.
Dalen flicked his axe, blue blood splattering in a thick line on the ground.
“An axe made from the bones of a great dragon. A rare item.”
“Do you want it?”
“Of course.”
Three more steps. The massive form moved as if possessed.
Dalen pivoted on his right foot, spinning half a turn forward. The evil god, appearing behind him, grasped the spot where he had just stood.
The hand that would have pierced his back. This time, instead of cutting it off, he grabbed the wrist.
“Interesting.”
Ignoring the surprised exclamation, he tightened his grip, glancing at the remaining hands and the altar in the center of the clearing.
Thousands of pale fingers were connected to the altar by thread-like violet energy.
It seemed the evil god hadn’t fully seized control of the barrier yet. Just as he thought that, the resistance in the hand he held vanished.
“Sharp eyes.”
The evil god, once held by him, stood again before the altar.
Dalen looked at his left hand. The severed pale arm hung limply.
[Just as I expected. It was worth planning ahead.]
From the severed stump, an arm and hand regrew, pulsating with a violet energy that shot out like a beam.
───────
Dalen was no longer there. He appeared as if conjured before the dark god, reaching out with his hand.
Crunch!
He grabbed the mask-like face with his bare hand.
Whoosh—
With a swift motion, he slammed the massive body into the ground of the clearing.
Boom!
The colossal form crashed down, unleashing a thunderous roar.
The shockwave swept through the pillars of the clearing, scattering the thick clouds beyond.
“Hold still, and you won’t be able to escape.”
[Kik! Kihi…!]
“Cutting off your arms won’t stop me from taking your head, will it?”
[Kehik! I figured you’d face me eventually. You’re worthy of ascending to the skies with me!]
The enormous body squirmed, chuckling, as cracks began to spiderweb across the altar and ground.
Dalen didn’t budge. He tightened his grip and spoke.
“Shut up. The sky’s not your place.”
[Keh…!]
“Fall to hell.”
「Thunderstrike」
Crack━━━━┻┳!
Lightning pierced the sky.
It forced its way into the isolated space, engulfing both man and dark god.
It shattered the ancient ground, tearing through the clouds below, and struck the city.
With a flash, the two figures were flung from the seventh sector, tossed into the sky above the city.
Spells clashed between them. Violet beams and blue electric nets. Blood-red lava and freezing white air.
As they plummeted, their separate paths converged. The shockwave exploded. Severed hands and red and blue droplets scattered.
The two entangled forms separated once more. The bloodied mask face shouted.
“Falling into the city wouldn’t be so bad! Watch as those you swore to protect perish before your eyes!”
The words echoed dully. Dalen shook his head, clearing the blood from his ears, and sound returned. The creature sneered.
“Even after stripping you of all power, it’s best to leave that dragon’s regenerative ability intact. Watch as Raklatus tears apart the witch and the holy knight, and your comrades dissolve in the demons’ bellies…”
“Who said anything about falling here?”
The exaggerated mouth paused. Dalen chuckled.
“Fall to hell, you bastard.”