187. Ragnarok (2)
*
At that moment, an eerie silence enveloped the battlefield, as if the atmosphere itself was holding its breath. Animals hid, and even the smallest insect crawled back into its nest.
-Goooh…
The sky howled. Beyond the fierce snowstorm, a presence that was neither magic nor divine began to loom. Something was happening. The battle had reached a lull as everyone on the field froze in place.
Even though they had a moment to catch their breath, the warriors grew even more tense. It was strange. Warriors who had been fighting demons or standing alongside them were now terrified by something supernatural.
“Keh, kehehe… heheha!”
Suddenly, the demons on the battlefield burst into laughter. Laughter is contagious, and the demons, baring their sharp teeth, began to cackle wildly.
The battlefield was filled with laughter, the sound of the wind, and the falling snow. The groans of wounded warriors bleeding from their injuries, the desperate gasps of the injured picking up their spilled organs—it all echoed.
“Aeren.”
Gunnar cautiously approached Aeren, his eyes scanning the surroundings nervously. Aeren stood drenched in blood, gripping her axe and staring straight ahead.
Gunnar couldn’t help but admire her. In this moment, she was the only one on the battlefield not consumed by madness or fear.
Gunnar had better “eyes” than most. It was a special ability, a heightened sense that had saved his life countless times. Now, it was screaming warnings all around him.
“We need to leave. Staying here means death.”
“…What do you see, Gunnar?”
“Nothing. I don’t know. I can’t see…”
Gunnar swallowed hard. He looked around. The warriors were frozen like frogs before a snake, trembling uncontrollably. They looked as if they wanted to drop their weapons, bury their heads, or run away.
But they couldn’t move. An overwhelming presence spread across the night sky like a spider’s web, covering the heavens. Beneath it, they were nothing but paralyzed prey.
Was there a way to survive? And even if there was, could they abandon the last embers of northern civilization and flee? Gunnar let out a muffled scream and whispered.
“I can’t see a way out.”
“Seems so.”
-Kugugugung…
The ground shook. Like a heartbeat, slowly, then more violently! From the distant camp shrouded in darkness and snowstorms to the frontlines of this battlefield, the vast land trembled…
“Ragnarok has begun.”
Aeren’s words were, to Gunnar, a literal statement of fact.
*
-Kugugugung…
The ground rumbled. Fernandez flexed his left hand’s fingers, then tucked them into his coat to warm them. He crouched in the bushes, staring at the camp.
-The gate has opened.
‘What are our chances?’
-It depends on Sadarkelisa’s condition.
‘Let’s pray, Faijashi. Like a proper priest.’
-To whom? Those damned incompetent gods?
‘Haha, surely not.’
Fernandez drew his greatsword and spun it, adjusting his grip. The blade bore the inscription “Dain,” meaning compassion in the dragon’s tongue… He kissed the cold blade briefly and then leaped down from the tree.
‘To ourselves. Neither gods nor demons can represent our purpose.’
-That’s good.
*
-Crack!
Zephis, who had been silently cutting down demons, suddenly frowned at a strange smell and paused. Taking advantage of the moment, a demon lunged at him, baring its fangs, but Fabiano sliced its head off from the side.
-Slash!
“Brother?”
“I smell something.”
As the number of demons charging at them dwindled, the command tent of the camp was now within reach. Three minutes? No, one minute would suffice. That was enough time to slaughter the remaining demons and judge the corrupted enemy leaders.
But Zephis glared at the camp with burning eyes.
“I smell the demon.”
“There are only demons around here. Of course…”
“No, something bigger… something…”
-Kugugugung!!
At that moment, a powerful shockwave swept over them, strong enough to stagger even the Diemonica. The Inquisition Officers quickly planted their feet on the ground, steadying their stumbling brothers.
“Brother, are you okay?”
Sarbelio was an Enmagika. Though heavily armed and guarded by the Diemonica, his role leaned more toward magical combat and suppression. He looked confused, glancing at Brand, who was helping him up.
“Brother.”
“Speak, Feliciano. What’s happening? What’s going on?”
“Brother, kill me.”
Confusion, then terror, washed over Sarbelio’s face. His eyes glowed brightly—not with divine light or passion, but with a hellish, dark green hue.
“I see it, brother… I see it. The snake… the universe… the approaching flames from afar… dying brothers, brothers, brother. The world is burning, the Temple of the Gods is opening, and the angels are…”
“Hanging on the pole.”
“Brother!”
[Your god and you, pitiful puppets, will be crushed helplessly under the end I will create.]
Sarbelio’s eyes burned, his eyeballs sunken, revealing the blood and flesh-covered sockets. Blood gushed from his eyes, nose, and mouth as his snake-like tongue began to hiss.
[Yes. You will fail, and your meaningless resistance…]
-Thud.
A flash of light appeared before the bewildered Brand’s eyes. A gauntlet, drenched in madness, shot out like lightning, grabbing Sarbelio’s screaming head, and almost simultaneously, a greatsword sliced through his neck like a bolt of lightning.
“Brother!”
“He is no longer our brother.”
-Splash.
Blood spurted like a fountain. Zephis threw Sarbelio’s severed head to the ground. The head rolled on the floor, its long tongue sticking out. The tongue wriggled like a snake, scales forming, and it giggled alone.
“Once the operation is over, we will perform the purification ritual. Brothers. From this moment on, we are considered to be in a semi-psychotic state. Brothers. Every five steps, speak each other’s vocal signals.”
“…Macto.”
May the Temple of the Gods bless us. Zephis glanced at Sarbelio’s convulsing corpse on the ground. There was no time to make the sign of the cross or pray for him.
-Boom!!
It was a dark night. Like a melted, distorted oil painting, it was a night filled with swirling colors, both dazzling and eerie. Zephis watched the massive, swelling gateway casting a long shadow over his body.
The weight of the greatsword, the battle hammer, and the armor felt increasingly burdensome. The air clung stickily to his skin.
-Screech…
It was less the sound of a door opening and more like the screams of beasts. Such a sound, one that would make an ordinary person lose their will and faint or drown in madness from terror, began to tear through the air.
Zephis watched the demons emerging from the activated gateway and adjusted his grip on his weapon. The other Inquisition Officers did the same.
‘There must be a place for us in heaven too, brother.’
Remembering the words he had spoken to Beorn, Zephis raised his greatsword and charged forward in silence.
*
-Screeeech…!!!
Fernandez ran toward the screaming gateway, cutting down the demons pouring out like a torrent. From the small fry to the foot soldiers, and even the occasional demon lord. Demidrako, Parasil, Chelases… Demons of all kinds and ranks were rampaging and pouring out.
-Slash! Thud! Crack!
Like parting a waterfall, the greatsword danced. Fernandez’s sense of time was warping. It could be due to the corruption of hellish magic or the survival instinct of a mortal standing at the crossroads of life and death.
The blocked talent, the divine flowing through Diemonica’s veins, was slowly breaking through the limits that had once been insurmountable. His purpose was clear, and his actions precise, but his consciousness was gradually fading.
-Swish.
Sliding under the demon’s outstretched arm, he swung the greatsword. Once, a flash of light, and the demon fell in two pieces. Next, the demon’s sword and spear aiming for Fernandez’s neck shattered into five pieces.
-Clang!
His left hand, another greatsword was drawn to his grip. Holding two greatswords, Fernandez bounced forward like a salmon leaping up a waterfall.
-Swish.
Next demon, and the next. His eyes were reading the battlefield, the attacks and hostility coming toward him, and, crucially, the flow of this battle.
Thus, his sense of time was strangely warped. A tenth of a second, split into moments. Each moment read with his eyes and reacted to with his body, moving forward. Just like that, forward.
-Crash!
But at the same time, the battlefield. His position. And the end of this battle. In the seemingly frozen sense of time, only he seemed free. Just a little more, and it felt like something would be within his grasp.
The duel with Daryan in the Great Wilderness came to mind. That sense of time was awakening his body once more. His body, chilled by the northern wind, heated up, and a sigh escaped his lips.
A distraction. Even his breath felt like an obstruction, clouding his vision. In extreme sensitivity, Fernandez moved forward, forward.
“Friend.”
There was no time to answer. He cut down demons, one after another, without a word.
“Friend, the gates of Valhalla have opened.”
Loft walked alongside Fernandez, matching his stride, whispering into his ear as if the demons were nothing.
“You’ve done well. Really well.”
Every time a demon fell by his hand, a blue soul rose from its body and seeped into Loft. Loft sometimes tickled or rolled those souls with his fingertips, laughing.
“Warriors of the Einherjar… our daggers, fallen prey to demons. Messengers of the end.”
-Splash!
A rather large demon pressing down on Fernandez was split in two. Fernandez quickly climbed over the demon’s body and leaped up from it.
Loft watched and laughed.
“My Fenrir. You’ve done well. Truly splendid. My gamble has hit the mark once again, Botan.”
He turned his head to look at the distant battlefield. It wouldn’t take long for the demons to reach there, and the humans, stiffened by the overwhelming presence of hell, would be swept away and slaughtered by the torrent.
Oh, no. Can’t let that happen. Loft chuckled and slowly floated up into the sky. Lightly, as if stepping on stairs. One step. One step.
“Botan, it seems I’ve won again this time.”
As the gates to the fallen Valhalla opened, the power of the Aesir flowed into his body. The demons that Fernandez and the Inquisition Officers were defeating. Their souls scattered and were sucked into Loft.
Looking at the sky beginning to be tainted by hellish magic, Loft clicked his tongue and laughed. Isn’t this what the end should be like?
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