Phaethon stepped over the massive threshold of the Sanctuary, the tip of his broken sword dragging a glaring blood trail across the mirror-smooth marble tiles. Vittorio stumbled along behind him, not daring to make a sound.
The main hall of the Sanctuary was breathtakingly grand, with a towering dome painted with murals of deities and solemn, colossal statues lining the sides. Yet, the atmosphere within was now oppressively heavy.
At the far end of the hall, two figures paced restlessly. They were none other than Helios and Ascalon—the two High Priests, usually aloof and supremely dignified.
Their magnificent sacred robes were stained with dust, their faces devoid of their usual composure, replaced only by panic and a poorly feigned calm. Sweat trickled down their temples, and in the overly quiet hall, one could almost hear the droplets hitting the floor.
(Phaethon: *I've worked so hard; of course the sweat should be on their heads.*)
Phaethon's footsteps didn't hesitate in the slightest, as if the two figures before him weren't the High Priests who held immense power, but merely two pieces of inconvenient trash.
"Phaethon! How dare you defile the Sanct—" Helios attempted to mask his fear with an authoritative shout, but his voice carried a barely perceptible tremor.
Phaethon didn't even let him finish.
*Whoosh!*
The broken longsword left his hand, transforming into a deadly streak of light! Its speed surpassed visual perception. One moment the sword was in Phaethon's hand, the next—
*Thud!*
A dull sound. Helios's body stiffened violently, his eyes dropping in disbelief to look at his own chest—the notched, broken sword, dripping with golden-red blood, had already pierced his heart with perfect precision.
The immense force carried him backward, slamming him with a *thud* against the cold golden relief carved into the wall behind him, pinning him there!
He twitched twice, the light in his eyes extinguishing rapidly, leaving only frozen shock. Crimson blood slowly trickled down the blade and the relief.
High Priest Ascalon witnessed the scene, his soul practically fleeing his body in terror! Dignity, schemes, power—all shattered instantly in the face of absolute, imminent death! He let out a strange cry, turned, and tried to flee towards a secret passage at the side!
"Trying to run... don't you think it's a bit late?"
Composite Spellcraft activated again. (He just mashed the buttons mentally.)
Phaethon didn't even make a casting gesture. A mere thought sufficed.
*Hum!*
A pure white beam of light, more condensed and more violent than the one in the city, materialized out of thin air directly above High Priest Ascalon! Bearing the absolute authority to purify and erase all, it plunged down with a thunderous roar!
"No! Oronyx, protect me!!" Ascalon only had time for one desperate roar before he was utterly swallowed by the destructive light column.
(Oronyx: *Sorry, it's been too long since you made an offering. Don't recognize you.*)
The light column vanished as quickly as it appeared.
All that remained was a bottomless pit with molten edges, and a few wispy tendrils of smoke rising, carrying a sulphurous, burnt stench.
High Priest Ascalon, along with any spells he might have mustered, his will to survive, any potential life-saving artifacts he possessed—all were completely annihilated, turned into nothingness by this single strike.
The main hall of the Sanctuary fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the dripping of blood from the corpse pinned to the wall and the chattering of Vittorio's teeth.
Expressionless, Phaethon walked to the wall, gripped the hilt of the broken sword, and pulled it out casually.
*Clatter.* The corpse slumped to the floor.
He shook the viscous blood from the blade, his gaze sweeping over the ravaged hall that symbolized the Sanctuary's highest seat of power, finally landing on Vittorio's bloodless face.
"Let's go, Master of Quick Changes," Phaethon said flatly. "The dust here is too much, and the smell... isn't great either." He glanced meaningfully at the pool of not-yet-congealed blood on the floor that belonged to High Priest Helios.
...
Gate of infinity, open!
"Janusopolis! We're here!" Trianne charged out first, the golden door dissipating behind her. She burst forth like a tiny cannonball, waving her little fists excitedly.
"Trianne! Slow down! I said the situation is unclear..." Tribbie followed close behind, her urgent call cutting off abruptly.
Her deep blue pupils constricted sharply, reflecting the shocking scene in the distant city sky—a beam of pure, heart-gripping destructive light, like a scourge of divine punishment, was sweeping ruthlessly across the districts of Janusopolis from mid-air!
Where the light beam passed, dust and smoke billowed into the sky, buildings collapsing like sandcastles!
Tribbie: Σ( ° △ °|||)! "What... what is that?!"
Meanwhile, Castorice was looking down, extremely carefully arranging her gloved hands one over the other in front of her, muttering under her breath: "Careful, careful... mustn't touch anyone..."
After confirming her hands were "safe," she finally looked up. The next second, her amethyst eyes widened instantly.
What met her eyes wasn't the majestic, holy city she expected, but a shocking visage of ruins and scars.
The smoke of battle hadn't cleared; shattered walls and debris were everywhere. A powerful aura of death assaulted her senses, and she almost instinctively opened her Death Domain.
However, the expected multitude of lost, pained, or angry souls did not appear.
The domain was empty, with only a few twisted, insane soul fragments radiating intense malice, cursing in corners or giggling foolishly.
(Golden Finger: Gwah! Want to take a guess why?!)
Castorice tilted her head in confusion. She looked at Tribbie, whose expression was grave beside her: "Teacher Tribbie? Was Janusopolis... always in this kind of... um... 'war-torn ruins' style?"
"What 'war-torn style'?! Little Castorice! Something major has happened! That light beam..." Tribbie's childish voice held a barely perceptible tremor. "Quick! Expand your domain and soothe any souls you can sense! We need to fly up and check the situation immediately!"
"But... there really aren't many souls..." Castorice grew even more bewildered, her small hands twisting together uneasily.
Encountering such a supernatural event so soon after joining Okhema left her feeling at a loss.
...
And then... Phaethon, who had just returned from the Sanctuary intending to find Cyrene, ran straight into a wall of people.
A large crowd of Janusopolis residents had surrounded Tribbie and the others. Some were pleading for justice, others expressing respect, others seeking protection...
Things like, 'With the Saintess here, we will have justice,' 'With the Saintess here, Janusopolis is saved,' and so on.
Tribbie was getting a headache from the noise, but Castorice was having the worst time.
Her face was deathly pale, her body rigid. Those death-blessed hands of hers had become like hot potatoes—she was afraid to lower them lest she accidentally touch someone, holding them up felt weird, clenching them wasn't right, relaxing them wasn't either.
Trapped in the center of the human wall, unable to move an inch, even her breathing became difficult. Her mind was filled with "Don't touch me... mustn't touch anyone..."
It was Trainers, with her sharp eyes, flying overhead, who spotted Phaethon, such an outlier. "Tribbie! Why does that person look so much like the little White one from the oracle?"
The crowd turned their heads in unison following Trianne's pointing finger.
They saw Phaethon, holding a broken longsword covered in notches and soaked in dark red and molten gold blood, walking from the direction of Sanctuary Mountain.
His clothes were stained with large patches of dried and fresh blood, and he exuded a chilling, bone-piercing aura of icy killing intent, as if he had just waded through a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.