A bleeding writhing serpent crushed within the iron grip of a blazing first—all four Supremes bore the Sigil of Sanctified Wrath.
The Supreme Sentinel.
He stood tallest among them, a living Bulwark.
Clad in a sanctified war-plate far superior to Sylvrin's.
Not just polished…but forged with Luminarchal authority.
His armor was a bone-white cerametal layered with burnt-copper edges and wrath-gold seams, each plate overlapping like the folded wings of a cathedral's stone angels.
His chestplate bore the Sigil of Sanctified Wrath, it glowed faintly beneath the metal as if the mark had been fused into his body.
His helm was split down the center by a vertical crest of molten gold light.
In his left hand—a massive tower shield of auric diamond-holysteel—its surface etched with holy wrath scriptures spiraling around the sigil at the center.
In his right—a diamond-holysteel spear, three heads taller than the average man, its head shaped like a descending pillar of judgment, its blade split and flared like an unfolding angel wing.
It hummed faintly, as though the spear itself desired to inflict holy punishment on whomever.
He was as tall as the Luminarch of War, his mere presence felt like standing before a living fortress.
Where the Supreme Sentinel was a monolithic stone, beside him—The Supreme Saint, was holy judgment cloaked in mercy.
His robes were not pure white— but deep sanctified ivory, trimmed with scorched-gold and copper filings, woven with scripture that shifted like burning prayer.
Over his heart was stitched the Sigil of Sanctified Wrath, small but just as radiant.
A ring of hovering, changing prayer sigils, orbited above his head, appearing like luminous pages of holy scripture arranged in a neat halo.
At his sides rested his weapons: on his hip—twin curved sanctified daggers, forged from auric diamond-holysteel.
On his back— a long auric diamond-holysteel bow, Its limbs etched with endless glowing holy wrath-prayers.
The string itself shimmered like woven light.
To his right, was holy rage given flesh.
The Supreme Lumizerker.
His chest-plate and helm were not elegant like the others.
It was wartorn and brutal— with jagged chipped edges half-fused together from previous battles.
Darkened copper veins and molten-gold fractures coursed through his diamond-holysteel armor as though it had weathered a thousand lightning strikes—and at its core, upon his chest, the Sigil of Sanctified Wrath burned not engraved, but scarred into the metal, throbbing like a wound that refused to heal.
His pauldrons were shaped like the sharp jagged teeth of the HorrowMaw Mountain ranges.
Burnt spiked iron chains dangled from his diamond-holysteel gauntlets that encased his forearms, layered in spikes and etched with holy scriptures of wrath.
And chained to his back by thick, sanctified iron links hung his true instruments — two colossal battle-axes.
Each axe head formed a fractured circular ring, like a halo split apart and pulled outward into jagged arcs.
The outer edge of each arc was lined with saw-like teeth of sanctum steel, every tooth engraved with miniature judicial scripture.
At their center sat a glowing core of compressed flames of sanctified wrath, encased in latticed metal struts to contain its violent light.
He smelled of burned wood and blood.
To the right, he hovered slightly above the ground with holy arcane splendor—golden holy scriptures of wrath and cryptic magic runes cascaded wondrously from his wizardly figure.
The Supreme Holy Mage.
His robes were a deep sacred ivory and ash-white, layered with shifting bands of holy scripture.
Not stitched, but alive.
Lines of white, serpentine text slithered across the fabric, crawling over his sleeves, coiling around his chest, dropping off his hemlines and reforming— like living verses of wrath constantly rewriting themselves.
Beneath his hood, a long white beard spilled down his chest, split naturally into two flowing strands, his age impossible to gauge— ancient, yet untouched by decay.
Etched directly into the center of his forehead—was the sigil of Sanctified Wrath.
Around his neck and chest hung a large wrath Sigil medallion, etched into a radiant disc of consecrated stone, cracked slightly at its edges as if straining to contain the energy inside.
Behind him rotated an arcane three ringed halo.
Segmented rings of floating light platforms, each filled with holy scriptures of wrath and arcane magic runes layering over each other.
In his hand was a tall, diamond-holysteel scepter.
its shaft neither polished nor rough, but textured with fine hexagonal sanctum-etchings that refracted light differently at every angle.
The grip spiraled slightly, like a sacred spine.
Etched into it were miniature wrath-scriptures so small they could only be read by Saints.
Near its head, the shaft split outward into a slender auric halo-frame, a perfect sacred ring forged from the same diamond steel, hovering just beyond the core instead of touching it.
Suspended in the center…
A massive Wrath-Mana Stone, deep amber and blood-gold in hue, held in mid-air by the halo's divine field rather than by physical contact.
Beneath it, flared from the shaft:
Two carved sanctified winglets, sculpted like angel wings carved from radiant crystal, each feather inscribed with binding scripture, locking the mana core into perpetual orbit.
Inside the stone, you could see: wisps of all manner of magical affinities, and sanctified flames of wrath swirling around slowly, intermingling harmoniously.
like a miniature arcane sun.
Even when still, the air around him wavered.
Not from heat, but from sheer spiritual pressure.
The four Supremes stepped forward in perfect unison.
Kneeling.
A thunderous impact echoed as their heavy knees met the sanctified marble.
"Eternal Glory be to Luminarchos."
Their voices layered as one.
"The Supremes of Sanctified Wrath stand before the Luminati."
Christophale's gaze passed over each of them.
not with reverence…but ownership.
"You will receive your orders directly from me and carry them out immediately," he said.
The chamber grew hotter.
"Supreme Sentinel Arkus Halcyon.
Take three thousand of your best Sentinels and fortify every threshold leading to the capital.
No one enters unverified.
No one leaves unobserved.
If even a whisper of the Dark Lord is heard—
eradicate it before prayer is required."
Varos bowed his head.
"It will be done my Pontiff."
"Supreme Saint Luminorthus Aster.
You will lead faith reinforcement among the populace.
No hysteria.
No doubt.
Sermons at dawn.
Ritual reaffirmation at dusk.
The people of the Theocracy will eat, sleep and breathe the holy word of the Lux Bible."
Aurelion lowered his glowing eyes.
"As your holy Will commands my Pontiff."
"Supreme Lumizerker Tiberius Ender…"
Christophales' tone darkened.
"You and your legions are hereby placed on immediate war footing.
You are to coordinate with Varos and Seraphiel to assemble a reinforcement contingent of six thousand sanctified crusaders for deployment to the Perfidious Frontier.
In addition, you will collaborate with them as well to form an Aegis Cell— a four-man strike unit comprised of one crusader from each division of the Sanctified Wrath army and send them into the HorrorMaw Expanse.
Upon encountering any demons, irregular entities, dimensional distortions, or unsanctioned manifestations…
you are granted full clearance for holy extermination."
Tyrvek smiled slightly.
His armor flared once.
"Eternal glory through purification my Pontiff."
"Supreme Holy Mage Seraphiel Silver…
You will reinforce the divine holy barrier that protects these lands and make sure nothing breaches it or corrupts its function.
You will monitor the skies above the Theocracy, nearby ley-lines, mana fluctuations and the Expanse itself. With that, I gift you the important task of capturing an image of this individual."
Seraphiel's orbiting glyphs tightened.
"If the Dark Lord does indeed try to enter Theocracy lands," Christophales finished,
"We will crush this death wizard before he can make it past the Mountain range."
"Failure is not an option."
Seraphiel inclined his head.
"I will be the Theocracy's eyes and ears… and locate the Dark Lord without fail my Pontiff. There will be no shade for him underneath the wrathful holy light of Luminarcho's burning iron halo."
In unison the supremes shouted.
"ALL HAIL GOD LUMINARCHOS!"
They beat their chests and pounded the floor, and then the chamber fell silent once more.
"You are dismissed."
The massive chamber doors opened slowly and the supremes made their exit.
"Now we wait…"
Christophales sat tall upon his throne, one arm resting along its carved arm, the other propping his chin as he gazed toward the uncertain future.
…
A rather ominous looking hooked cliff side with a jagged edge that resembled a wicked finger was oddly highlighted by the moon on this fateful evening.
Surrounded by a vast sea of Redwood Titan trees permeated with a dense fog, the cliff precariously dangled over the ocean.
The sounds of waves crashing violently into the cliffside, the wind howling, crickets chirping, bugs buzzing, frogs croaking, all manner of creatures, critters and beasts that belong to the night coming alive to revel in the moonlight and thrive in the darkness echoed throughout the night.
They say strange things happen in the dead of the night…especially under the watchful gaze of a full moon.
A strange phenomena unbeknownst to the world began to take place on this wicked finger.
The fabric of reality started to waver, bending and rippling like a disturbed surface of water.
Space itself seemed to be stuttering, a jagged tear tore itself open, its edges crackling with unnatural dark energy.
Through this rift, emerged a vile abomination—a monstrous Lycanthrope, hunched and sinewy, its fur blackened as if singed by the darkness of oblivion itself.
The world seemed to utterly reject its grotesque otherworldly presence and the unseen energy in the air seemed to seize and regurgitate around it.
Its wicked claws peeked through the rift, ripping the fabric of reality open like a rabid newborn finding its way out the womb of its poor unassuming mother.
Then its malignant serrated canine snout dripping with saliva and malice made an unsightly appearance sniffing the sea salt in the air.
Only the clacking of fangs and claws along with its revolting snarls could be heard against the crashing of waves as it made its villainous entrance through the void.
It lurched and prowled forward on its hind legs with its decrepit walk.
It seemed to be chewing on a rather large octopus tentacle, it squirmed in its mouth like a mealworm being grabbed with a feeding tong.
Hunger, evident in its gleaming rabid red eyes and slavering jaw as it dripped with purple Aetheric blood.
The creature from the void, that crawled out of oblivion like a damn demon out of hell, was an absolute hulking, bulging mass of rippling muscles and black death.
its claws scraped against the cliffside and sank deep into the ground.
The creature snarled and inhaled, its nostrils flared as it caught the scent of something living nearby, and a cruel grin split its muzzle, revealing rows of sharp, black-tipped fangs that reflected the moonlight.
Remnants of the tentacle could be seen stuck between its teeth.
It stood at the edge of the cliff, peering into the forest with dark desire in its evil eyes, in anticipation of all the prey that awaited it within the fog.
Then into the sky.
It licked its wretched maw and let out a deafening bestial howl that bellowed all across the continent and throughout the night announcing its newfound presence and hedgemony at the top of the food chain.
The abomination then lowered itself to the ground, and rabidly took off on all fours leaving a trail of miasma ridden footprints in its wake as it raced into the forest.
The lycanthrope tore through the forest, its massive sinewy limbs propelling it forward with unnerving relentless speed.
The forest seemed to be coming alive as the beast charged through it.
Fog wrapped around gnarled trunks and twisted roots, creating a ghostly haze as if trying to confuse the beast.
The fog began to wrap around its limbs like ghostly tendrils trying to hold it back, but nothing could stop this terror from barreling down the path of prey.
The creature's senses were deathly sharp, truly keen.
It had caught the scent—one so pure, so divine and otherworldly its redolence pierced through the oppressive dark fog like godly bone marrow roasting over a campfire.
The decadent and rare scent of Eldritch blood.