Zariel

Inside the city of Auguste, the Thracians let out wails of despair and fled in all directions; they had never witnessed such a horror before. Meanwhile, the soldiers of the Cinder Empire held their ground, looking on coldly from afar without making any move, while the devils tactfully avoided provoking these Imperials. Tyrena beat her wings and took to the sky, raising her Sword of Judgment high as a soaring golden light erupted from it. "Devils, begone to Hell!" she bellowed furiously. "This is no place for you!" Swoosh! She slashed her longsword downward, and over a dozen beams of sacred light descended, engulfing more than ten devils in the city and burning them to ashes amid shrieks of agony. At this moment, within Tyrena's pale gold pupils, the solar wheels turned slowly, revealing endless grief, remorse, and self-reproach in their depths. "His Majesty Aragorn..." In a daze, the towering, majestic figure of Aragorn I, shrouded in light, seemed to appear before her eyes. Tyrena felt as if she had returned to ten years ago, when she knelt on one knee before the imperial throne in the holy city. The old emperor had rested the holy sword upon her shoulder, commanding her to defend the second prince even unto death. Back then, she had gladly accepted, swearing in her heart to protect Prince Wilhelm at all costs. Yet now, Tyrena had failed. She had watched with her own eyes as that king fell into a hellish monster, watched helplessly as the red dragon killed him, powerless to do a thing. Tyrena knew she should never have indulged Wilhelm so blindly, driving him down an evil path where he even signed a pact of servitude with cunning devils, coming to such an end. Now, she had to atone. "For Thrace, for Sacred Fadlan, eradicate these sinful wretches from Hell!" Raising her arm, she cried aloud and swung her Sword of Judgment once more. A blade of light dozens of meters long slashed outward, cleaving a hundred devils in half at the waist. "Damned angel!" "Kill that nuisance! She's the godblood duchess!" Hundreds of infernal puppets flapped pitch-black wings, encircling Tyrena like a dense, brooding storm cloud. These wretches who called themselves the "Holy Guard" now answered to Hell, aiding the devils in slaughtering the city's resisters. "Kill her!" The leader of the Holy Guard raised his longsword, pointing directly at the angelic godblood. In an instant, hundreds of infernal puppets swarmed forward in concert, attacking from every direction, every strike aimed at the angelic godblood's vitals. "It was you... you corrupted Prince Wilhelm and lured him to fall into Hell!" Two beams of resplendent divine light burst from Tyrena's eyes. She unleashed the entirety of her solar divine power, practically immolating her own body. Boom! Beams of radiance pierced the dark clouds. Immediately after, an immense fireball erupted in the high sky, incinerating everything within a hundred meters to cinders. Dayev watched Duchess Tyrena perish alongside hundreds of Holy Guard members high above. With a soft sigh, he turned to face the enemies before him. "Die!" Dayev raised his sword, leaped high, and cleaved a pitchfork-wielding imp clean in two. The fiend let out a shriek before dissolving into ash that drifted into the air. Immediately afterward, however, several massive, burly horned devils materialized around him. Rattling bloody spiked chains, they encircled the warrior, letting out raspy, sinister sneers. "Hahahaha! Struggle no more, mortal! Your king has already sacrificed this city to Hell!" "This place shall become our soul pasture! Every last one of you—will become Lady Zariel's personal property!" "Not just Auguste, but all of Thrace shall plunge into Hell!" The horned devil spread his arms and wings, reveling in the mortals' terror and trembling. "No... this is Auguste! The land first touched by morning light—how dare you run rampant here!" Dayev shook his head repeatedly, grief painted across his face, yet deep in his pupils burned a resolute resolve to die fighting. He could never stand by and watch his homeland—the once radiant and sacred "City of Sunrise"—fall into an infernal pasture, nor could he accept his family and friends becoming food for devils. Yet gazing up at the fissure-scarred sky and the rampaging devils, Dayev felt a creeping sense of despair. After the war with the Empire, only a broken remnant of soldiers remained in Auguste, not to mention that Wilhelm's "Holy Guard" had sworn allegiance to Hell. Even a godblood duchess as powerful as Tyrena had died under the fiendish onslaught. How could an ordinary warrior like him, utterly minuscule before the legions of Hell, hope to save this city and its people? Perhaps only a miracle could truly save Auguste. Wait... a miracle? Dayev could not help but turn his head toward the colossal red dragon bathed in light in the distance, and he thought of that dazzling sun. Even a divine miracle was nothing more than this, Dayev thought, and a daring idea took root in his mind. Perhaps... Perhaps that Cinder Emperor was the one who could save the city of Auguste—or even the entire Kingdom of Thrace. The Thracian soldiers engaged in slaughter against the devil legions suddenly froze in unison—their pupils reflecting an anomaly across the firmament: the lead-gray clouds were scorched with golden fissures, as if a thousand suns struggled behind them. Boom— Accompanied by a deafening roar, a fissure to Hell ripped open into the Material Plane. The sky was dyed into a sulfurous vortex; scorched earth spread from the rift, and the acrid, metallic stench of burning iron permeated the air. A mighty pressure descended. In an instant, nearly every living being within a hundred li shuddered violently, feeling a fear that welled from the depths of their souls. That terror hailed from Hell—an innate dread of the evil order that stood opposed to the gods. "Amaunator above..." "What a terrifying aura... Just what is that?!" "Gods above..." "Doomsday! That is the final doomsday! It is the gods' punishment for our impiety!" Under the gaze of millions of eyes, Zariel's figure rose from the vortex. She stood over fifteen feet tall, her burning wings blotting out half the battlefield, each feather etched with holy scriptures blackened by hellfire, trailing embers like falling stars. Her armor was forged from molten black iron, with magma coursing through its seams. Her visage still retained an angelic majesty, yet her eyes had turned into two boiling orbs of blood-red fire, and the gaze piercing through the slits of her helmet was enough to make even the wildest barbarian cower and tremble. Boom! Her magma greatsword struck the ground, melting rock into a boiling lake. Over a hundred infernal drakes roared behind her, spewing black smoke, while fallen paladins bound in chains knelt at her feet, chanting profane hymns. Three colossal dragons drew a massive war chariot forged of infernal meteoric iron, carrying Zariel into the sky above the wasteland. Those dragons possessed horrific, devil-like features, evil bone spurs jutting from their heads and shoulders, their eyes burning with a terrifying yellow flame. Their shifting scales mirrored the hue of flowing magma, and sulfurous stench rolled off their bodies—they were hellfire ancient dragons, emblems of tyranny presiding over wars of the strong preying on the weak. "Thracians, abandon your futile resistance—" Thrace's angelic godbloods clashed with the devils, their fury stoked as they raised defiant battle cries: "No! We are Fadlanese, children of the sun! We will never bow to Hell!" Zariel's voice boomed like a death knell: "Mortal defiance? Nothing more than kindling... Cast into my forge, your deaths shall ignite Hell's victory!" Before her words faded, the sky's rift ruptured with a blast. Six burning chains descended like black dragons, crushing and rending dozens of angelic godbloods to pieces. Wings burned and drifted down through the sky; severed limbs plummeted from on high, golden blood splashing across the earth. Beholding this gory, brutal spectacle, the corners of Zariel's lips curled into a manic, twisted smile. As the ruler of the Blood War, her very existence was the embodiment of war itself, the fruit of the clash between Order and Chaos—every flame on the battlefield, every shriek of agony crowned her anew. "You have finally arrived, Zariel. I have waited for quite some time." High above, Cassius looked down upon the archdevil, giving her a slight nod as fire surged within his eyes. Zariel tilted her head up to face the red dragon, narrowing her eyes as a dangerous aura radiated from their depths. "Cinder Emperor, if you do not wish to die—take your army and leave this place. Leave Auguste, leave the Kingdom of Thrace. This land has already been branded by Avernus. This territory belongs to the Nine Hells, a soul pasture for great devils." Hearing this, surprise flickered in Cassius's eyes. Inquiring with some curiosity, he asked, "Did you not sign a pact with Wilhelm, agreeing to kill me in exchange for the lands of Thrace?" "Wilhelm? Heh heh..." Zariel's lips curled again, a mocking smile spreading across her face. "Truly a hopeless fool." Zariel raised her head to meet the red dragon's gaze from afar, her flat tone dripping with ridicule. "That is right, Cassius. I will kill you, but I will kill you three thousand years from now, when you are decrepit with old age; I will destroy your empire, but I will step in five thousand years from now, when it is already on the verge of collapse, to finish it off..." At last, she raised a hand, conjuring a parchment pact, and pointed to a faint line of fine print nestled between the clauses. "After all... the contract states there is no deadline for this task." "Fascinating." Hearing this, Cassius could not help but click his tongue in marvel, finding it utterly absurd and feeling a twinge of pity for that King of Thrace. A devil's pact through and through—corrupt to the extreme, stopping at nothing to exploit loopholes. Wilhelm had cast aside everything he possessed, only to trade it for such a useless, worthless blank check—too stiff even to wipe his backside with. Snap. Zariel snapped her fingers, and the pact burned to ash, dissolving into thin air. "What do you say, Your Majesty Cassius? Avernus and the Empire could easily coexist in peace." "Lady Zariel, hearing the word 'peace' from your mouth is rather rich," Cassius sneered. Zariel's expression shifted slightly. Reaching down, she drew the greatsword buried deep in the earth and pointed it without hesitation at the distant red dragon. "So—you want war? In that case, I will have no choice but to move the completion of that contract forward by a few thousand years, Cassius." She enunciated each word slowly, her voice seeming to echo from the deepest pit of Hell, laden with an utterly terrifying aura. "Nothing would please me more." Cassius nodded slightly. With a sweep of his dragon wings, he stirred up a scorching tempest and ascended into the sky. Soaring high on the horizon, the red dragon threw back his head and let out a magnificent, thunderous roar: "In the name of the Cinder Emperor—the city of Auguste, and indeed all of Thrace, shall belong to the Cinder Empire! We shall inherit the legitimate rule of Sacred Fadlan, and the people here shall dwell beneath the sun for all eternity—not under the blood-drenched skies of Avernus!" With Cassius's long cry, boundless solar divine power surged forth, coalescing in the high heavens into a dazzling sun that radiated countless rays of brilliance. The solar divine power and celestial origin within the red dragon were unleashed in full force, and even his authority over the Elemental Plane of Fire resonated with it. Epic · Sacred Sun! Under this radiant illumination, the devils burst into flame, plumes of black smoke pouring from their bodies. They thrashed wildly and wailed in agony, stripped of all their former arrogance and savagery. "Long live His Majesty Cassius! Loyalty!" "Long live the Empire!" "Praise the Great Red Dragon! Praise the sun!" This time, not only the Imperial soldiers beyond the walls cheered, but even the Thracians who had suffered under the devils' torment began to roar in celebration, their expressions fervent, having already come to see Cassius—an invader—as their true savior. In a corner of the city, Dayev struck from behind, lopping off the head of a horned devil, and then looked toward the red dragon bearing the blazing sun. "Cinder Emperor..." Hesitating for a moment, he nonetheless pinned that Imperial badge to his chest, raised his sword, and gritted his teeth, shouting, "Long live His Majesty Cassius!" The Thracian soldiers behind him raised their voices in unison, their spirits soaring. Boom! Boom, boom! The Empire's steam tanks, heavy artillery, and airships bombarded the devil legions pouring from the planar rifts without pause. A hail of shells exploded in midair, and devils repeatedly crumbled to ash and plummeted from the sky. The Redscale Conquerors clashed violently with winged fiends in the air, while down on the ground, a storm of bullets and shells raged as the Imperial army gunned down approaching devil soldiers with ferocious firepower. Thus, under the threat of a shared enemy, former invaders and defenders fought side by side, raising their voices in praise of the same Emperor. Zariel glared at the distant red dragon, her blood-red eyes boiling as boundless fury erupted from within. "Red dragon, you are courting death! I will sever your head, destroy your empire, and show you the true might of Avernus—" With the archdevil's wrath, pillars of dazzling hellfire erupted from the cracks in the ground. The fissures across the sky tore wider and grew ever more grotesque and terrifying, soul screams intertwining in the void, as if something monstrous was about to be birthed from within.