Ravenous Tiger positioned himself before the Elysian defensive s.h.i.+eld, his ax glowing brightly. But before he could, a column of light crashed down from overhead, blocking his path. It was a searing beam that, as he watched, began to carve a path in his direction. The ground beneath it split apart.
âOut of my way!â
With a surprising amount of strength from his fat body, Ravenous Tiger heaved his ax at the column, splitting it apart. A second answered, headed right for the top of his head. He hastily used his ax to block it, but the impact nearly wrenched it from his grip.
Quickly engaging his defensive relic, a s.h.i.+eld sprang up to s.h.i.+eld him from harm. It held.
Selene dropped back to the ground with her white cloak flapping valiantly. She stood before the wastelanders as her crossblade seethed with dim holy light. With her left hand she reached back and drew a second sword.
This one was different from her relic weapon.
The Holy Crossblade was made entirely from holy energy and light, but her second sword was wholly physical. It was beautiful in its construction, a masterwork from hilt to tip. The blade itself was not steel, but a transparent material like gla.s.s or crystal. A faint light pulsed within.
Ravenous Tigerâs eyes went wide. He knew this weapon. âMaster Baldurâs Transcendence?â
Anyone with a pa.s.sing education knew of Master Baldurâs three mighty relics: His Sacred Vestments, his Transcendence, and the Holy Crossblade. The crossblade had long ago been bequeathed to Selene, but his Vestments and Transcendence were said to have been lost when he disappeared.
Here she appeared, bearing all three. The daughter stood before her foes with the full inheritance of her father.
Selene brandished the crystalline weapon, a perfunctory motion that immediately shattered Ravenous Tigerâs defenses. An invisible but intense energy lifted him off his feet and threw the former governor several meters away.
The Giants of h.e.l.lâs Army gathered around her, together with Blackfiend. They wasted no time in a.s.sailing her with their strongest attacks. She stood alone, a spot of peerless white with a blade of light in one hand and one of crystal in the other. She was larger than life, an invincible avatar of divine fury.
Both swords moved. No one dared test their strength. Selene kept five of the enemyâs strongest at bay with nothing but her own power.
Eckard had never met someone so young with so much strength. His face was a map of hideously twisted scars as he frowned. However he quickly saw her flaw; Seleneâs attacks were too strong, too overwhelming. She wasnât holding anything back, so while each strike was deadly they were also draining.
âHow long can she keep this up? Donât fight her now, wait until she tires herself out.â
âDonât apply ordinary logic to her. Your tactics wonât work,â Natessa warned. âHer Sacred Vestments are among the Cloude familyâs strongest relics â made during the Great War. It was given to the founding father of the Cloude family by the G.o.ds themselves.â
Eckard paused. âWhatâs so great about it? It looks ordinary to me!â
âThatâs because this relic isnât offensive or defensive. It looks normal during combat.â
âNeither offensive or defensive? So what the h.e.l.l does it do?!â
Natessa explained . âThe Vestments store mental energy. Put another way, when wearing the armor oneâs energy is almost limitless. For every attack Selene does, her Sacred Vestments restore a large portion of it. We canât wait for her to tire out!â
Eckard was taken by surprise.
Demonhunters were already living war machines. A typical demonhunter could kill Eckard with a direct shot from one of their exorcist bows. Their primary limiting factor was mental energy and how long it took to recover it. In a battle like this it was easy to become exhausted, and once a demonhunter was drained his destructive capabilities were reduced dramatically.
Now there was one who could quickly recover even after using her most powerful attacks. How could she be considered anything but invincible?
Of course, there was no such thing was an invincible foe. The energy stored in Seleneâs Vestments represented whatever she poured into them before the fight. Its upper limit was perhaps ten times her typical mental capacity, a process which required days of effort.
In other words, Selene could go from drained to fully recovered maybe ten times, but would be completely spent once the Vestments ran dry. To say they couldnât wait for her to tire herself out wasnât entirely true, only the five of them wouldnât be able to do it on their own.
Strong as they were, under Seleneâs relentless a.s.sault they were forced to back off.
Seeing her display, Dawn was also stunned. This crazy b.i.t.c.h was that strong?! She had to be on some sort of drugs!
Elsewhere, Wyrmsole and Frost were in the middle of a fierce confrontation.
Frostâs attacks were swift and fierce, with his spear flas.h.i.+ng through the air like a hundred angry dragons. Wyrmsole was caught among them, forced to defend himself against it and Rimeshardâs continuous swipes. Each time he deflected Rimeshard with his banner, a thin sheet of ice thickened around it. It was the unique function of Frostâs weapon that it suppressed the power of other relics, thus weakening Wyrmsole.
This was why he told Selene to deal with the others. He knew the sort of power contained in her Sacred Vestments, which would allow her to fend them off. She was well-equipped to battle five enemies weaker than she, but the Vestments were less effective against someone closer to her own strength like Wyrmsole.
On the other hand, Frost carried Rimeshard. With each swing he weakened Wyrmsoleâs power and brought the two of them closer to equal. So long as Frost kept up the pressure, Wyrmsole couldnât split his attention on other parts of the battle to lend aid.
Layer after layer of ice crusted over Wyrmsoleâs standard, and not ordinary frost either. It was a condensed form of energy that interrupted the relicâs resonance. Normal heat had no effect at dispersing it, and after a few exchanges Wyrmsole wa already finding it more taxing to try and summon his bannerâs strength.
âYouâre so eager to kill me, young man. All because I once betrayed your master? In bygone years I was also Arcturusâ student, and like you I wors.h.i.+ped the man. Now I stand by the Crimson One. I decided to renounce my home, my honor, everything â and do you know why?â
Frost was not a man of words, but of action. In his typical, persistent style he focused completely on the battle at hand. He took advantage of Wyrmsoleâs pause to speak to launch into another a.s.sault, using the edge of his blade to answer the older manâs question.
Wyrmsole methodically and steadily fended off Frostâs attacks. He could see it clear, the hostility that roiled just beneath this young manâs icy surface. There was a secret hidden hereâŠand if he could see it, then Arcturus had to know it too.
It didnât matter. All that mattered was making sure Woodland Vale did not fall into Elysian hands.
A surge of energy rose through Wyrmsole, summoning a pillar of fire around him. It roared with such intensity it threatening to blot out the sky. Rising like a dragon of fire, it swept overhead before descending toward Frost.
The younger manâs face darkened. Even after Rimeshardâs suppression, he could still call such power? He reeled back, spinning Frozen Dirge around in his hand like a whirlwind as he squared off against the pillar of fire.
Fire and ice collided. Steam filled the canyon from their struggle.
Meanwhile, Dawn was not idle. She continuously poured her energies into Terrangelica to bring the canyon cras.h.i.+ng down around them. Under her power the earth shook and landslides threatened her foes, while spikes of jagged rock were belched forth among their ranks. Only the enemy was too many. She couldnât stop them all on her own.
Where did that idiot Cloudhawk get to?! Why isnât he helping!
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind then the canyon began to shake, and not from Terrangelica. It came from somewhere deeper. She lifted her head and looked toward its source, the stone doorway. It was aglow with power that set its runes stark against the drab gray surface, like some ancient and archaic spell. Power flooded the canyon, filling it to the brim.
The doors began to move! Cloudhawk! It had to be!
He stood at the base of the ma.s.sive door, both hands pressed against the rough stone. He felt with his mind for the resonance, joining with it, and in that moment there was a threat of light that appeared. It slowly rose from the ground up toward the doorâs apex while its runes flared to life. He was doing it, but he needed time â if they kept him safe he would be able to open their way into Woodland Vale.
Cloudhawk had slipped past everyone, far behind enemy lines. He was alone, isolated, and the enemy wasnât about to let him succeed.
Dark power swirled around Squallâs tattooed arm. A taunting chill invaded his eyes when he saw what Cloudhawk was attempting and he cried out to him. âSuch a disappointment. I thought eventually youâd see reason and stand with us. Instead youâve become just another Elysian dog.â
Cloudhawk knit his brows and focused on the door. He couldnât stop, or it would all be a waste.
The cyborg wordlessly obeyed. Raven lifted an arm, preparing to attack, but was foiled by a dagger that appeared from thin air. Seething with purple energy, Deathstalker buried itself in its targetâs heart.
Raven went stiff as iron.
No normal weapon was a threat to Three-Eyed Spiderâs greatest achievement, but the dagger split flesh and metal like it was paper.
The old scientistâs three eyes went wide when he saw. A faint figure, almost like a shadow. Grinding his teeth he howled, âDiiee!â
A strike to the heart was deadly, especially a kiss from Deathstalker. However, Ravenâs body had long had its internal organs removed. For all its toxic fury, Deathstalker could not poison metal. As a reaction, a death beam fired from Ravenâs eyes right toward his shadowy attacker.
Atlas blinked out of existence, only to appear half a moment later behind Cloudhawk. He returned Deathstalker to its sheath and drew a long, sickly shadow in its stead. He dropped into a combative posture.
His voice was curt, and cold. âHow long?â
âA couple minutes!â Cloudhawk shouted back.
Atlasâ emotionless gaze swept over Three-Eyed Spider, over Raven, over Squall. He could hold them off, at least for the moment. But as he set his jaw to face them two more figures emerged, in robes of green and black. Besides the clothes they looked like typical wasteland mutants, but he sensed they were much more dangerous than that.
One against five, and Atlas was not trained for head-to-head fighting. He wasnât a warrior like Selene, but he didnât shudder at the circ.u.mstance. He was a cold-blooded killer, and killers didnât blink. But his pupils contracted when they landed on one of his foes. Squall.