The bone-deep chill of death washed over them.
Time seemed to freeze, then shattered into fragments with the Blighted's roar. The thing—until recently a suffering refugee—was now a twisted, foul-smelling construct of pure killing intent. It had no eyes, but the seething darkness where its head should be "locked on" to its targets with uncanny accuracy.
Contrary to Erika's expectation, its first lunge wasn't toward the closest person, but the red-haired noble girl who had been spouting venom moments before. Perhaps her "pure," refined Auric energy was like honey to flies.
"No—!" Her scream pierced the air, all former arrogance replaced by primal terror. She stood frozen, watching the mist-wreathed claws tear through the space where she stood.
"Move!"
Erika didn't know why he shouted. Perhaps survival instinct screamed that isolation meant death. He shoved a petrified acolyte aside, grabbed the long, arm-length hardwood tray used for distributing bread, and hurled it at the Blighted with all his strength!
The tray shattered against the creature's dense torso. It did zero damage, but successfully drew its attention.
The Blighted's charge faltered for a split second. Its hollow "gaze" shifted from the girl to Erika. In that instant, a searing, tearing pain shot through the back of Erika's left hand. The dormant Auric Mark seemed to writhe to life, burning hot, even emitting a faint, barely perceptible golden glow beneath his skin.
He was what it truly wanted.
"Rooooar—!" The Blighted let out a furious, challenged bellow, completely abandoning the girl. It became a blur of black wind, charging straight at Erika!
The world slowed in Erika's vision. Shepherd's instinct overrode thought. He couldn't run back—that led into the dense, terrified crowd, a dead end. His eyes darted—
Left, an overturned supply cart. Right, the support posts of the temporary encampment. Straight ahead, the monster.
He threw himself into a desperate roll to the left. Rotten claws whistled past, the very tips grazing his robe. The fabric sizzled, instantly blackening and corroding. He scrambled up, grabbing a sharpened tent stake from near the cart. It was barely better than the tray.
The Blighted, unnervingly agile for its bulk, pivoted and charged again.
Erika didn't stand his ground. He gave more ground, backing away diagonally while swinging the stake hard at a nearby, simple brazier used to heat water!
Clang! The brazier overturned, scattering burning coals and embers. While it caused no real harm, the fire and ash momentarily disrupted the creature's senses. It swiped a claw in disgust through the lingering heat.
Using that brief distraction, Erika retreated until his back hit one of the thick support posts. He leaned against it, gasping for air, his mind racing.
Fast. Strong. Highly resistant to physical blows… Fear fire? No, just dislikes it. Attack pattern… direct. Relies on charge and claws… poor turning agility…
"Stop it! Someone stop it!" The older sisters' voices were frayed with panic, trying to organize the terrified students with little success. Several city-born had already fled. The village acolytes were mostly pale, huddled together. Little Sister Anna was ghostly white, biting her lip so hard it nearly bled. She hadn't retreated. Instead, she picked up a rock, wanting to help, before an older sister pulled her back firmly.
The Blighted charged once more. This time, it seemed smarter, advancing in a twisted, zig-zag pattern, cutting off Erika's lateral escape routes.
No way out!
Erika's pupils contracted. The will to survive crushed everything else. Instead of retreating further, as the Blighted's claws swept toward him, he lunged forward, dropping low and sliding—heart-stoppingly close—directly under the monster's body between its legs!
At the same time, he drove the sharpened stake upward with all his remaining strength, aiming for the relatively vulnerable back of the Blighted's knee joint.
Thud! A wet, dense sound. The wood didn't pierce through, but it clearly caused significant pain and disruption. The Blighted roared in agony, its charge thrown off balance. Its massive claw slammed down onto the support post where Erika had been standing moments before.
Crack! The post, thick as a bowl, snapped like a twig.
Erika rolled clear, coming up in a half-crouch, his white robes soaked with cold sweat. His arms trembled from exertion, his lungs burning. A few dodges and one desperate counter-attack had nearly drained his untrained body completely.
The Blighted, however, was only enraged further. It shook the broken post from its grip like a toy and turned. Its pure malice felt almost solid.
Erika watched it prepare to charge again. A cold despair settled in his heart. He couldn't calculate a way out. His "cleverness" seemed a pathetic joke against this absolute disparity in power and endurance.
Maybe… this was it.
Just as he was about to give up—
The sky changed.
It wasn't clouded over. Rather, the light itself was… overwritten by a higher presence. An indescribable, vast, and icy pressure descended, instantly smothering the entire Seventh District. All sound—screams, sobs, the monster's roars—ceased abruptly.
A figure composed of pure light appeared soundlessly in the air, positioned precisely between Erika and the Blighted.
It was an Angel.
It bore little resemblance to the benevolent figures in stained glass. It looked more like a perfect, merciless weapon. A sleek, streamlined form sheathed in a material resembling white alloy. Wings composed of light particles spread behind it. Its face was a smooth, featureless plane, save for a single, complex golden ring that slowly rotated where its face should be.
It didn't even glance at Erika. It simply "regarded" the Blighted.
The Blighted, as if facing its ultimate predator, let out a shriek of unprecedented intensity—a mix of terror and madness. Yet it didn't retreat. Instead, it gathered all its power, transforming into a black arrowhead, and shot toward the Angel.
The Angel merely raised one of its "hands."
No incantation. No build-up. Not even an unnecessary motion.
A beam of intensely concentrated, finger-thin golden light lanced from its fingertip.
It passed silently through the Blighted's head, then through its entire body.
The Blighted's charge froze instantly. In the next moment, its form erupted with blinding golden light from within. Like an overinflated balloon, it disintegrated, dissolving into nothingness without a sound. No trace remained. It was simply… erased.
Purification, accomplished in a heartbeat.
Absolute silence blanketed the ruins. Only Erika's ragged breathing seemed loud.
The Angel descended slowly, hovering a foot above the ground. Its faceless "countenance" turned, for the first time, toward Erika, who knelt on the ground.
An invisible force seized Erika, lifting him, pulling him toward the Angel. A cold, probing awareness scanned his entire being, finally settling on the back of his left hand, which still emanated a faint heat.
Erika couldn't move, couldn't breathe, could only endure this scan that felt like it could pierce his very soul.
After a few seconds, the force vanished. He dropped to the ground.
The Angel didn't grant him a second look, as if he were an inconsequential pebble by the roadside. It transformed into a streak of light and shot upward, disappearing in the direction of the city's heart, as if it had merely taken out the trash.
The crisis was over.
But as Erika sat on the cold earth, feeling the phantom burn of the Mark and the emptiness left by adrenaline, he felt no joy.
The Angel's "gaze" had felt colder than the Blighted's claws. In that cold assessment, he had sensed no salvation, only a kind of… verification of an anomalous item.
He looked up, taking in his surroundings. Survivors began to weep, to hold each other. The red-haired girl stared at him, shaken, her expression complex. Little Sister Anna broke free and ran toward him, her face etched with worry.
But Erika's eyes were fixed on the sky where the Angel had vanished.
Erika's gaze dropped from the sky back to the wreckage of reality. The muffled sounds of grief and relief washed over him as survivors clung to one another.
Little Sister Anna reached him, kneeling beside him, her small hands trembling as they hovered, unsure where to touch. "You… are you hurt? Your hand…"
Erika shook his head. He meant to speak, but his eyes, looking past Anna's shoulder, froze.
Not far away, the red-haired noble girl—Cecilia—was being supported by several city acolytes who had arrived after the fact. Her face was bloodless, her body wracked with violent tremors. Her eyes were hollow, fixed on the spot where the Blighted had been erased, her lips moving soundlessly.
An acolyte murmured comfort to her, "It's over, Cecilia. The Angel purified it…"
But then, the girl named Cecilia flinched violently, as if pricked by an unseen needle. Her hand flew up unconsciously to her neck—to a thin, almost invisible scratch left by the passing touch of the Blighted's corrosive mist.
At first, it was just a faint red line.
But under Erika's intense stare, the edges of that red mark began to darken with a nearly imperceptible speed, seeping into a dull, sickly purple-black.
Cecilia seemed to feel it too. She lowered her hand, staring blankly at a faint, sticky darkness now smudged on her fingertip. She frowned in confusion, before being overwhelmed again by delayed terror and beginning to sob quietly, seemingly dismissing the minor wound.
The people surrounding her began to lead her away toward safety.
No one else noticed the detail.
Except for Erika.
He remained rooted to the spot, the cold fire of the Mark still burning on his left hand, while a deeper, sharper chill crept up his spine.
The color of that bruise was identical to the darkness of the Blighted's form seared into his memory.