Time left before Liara destroys the Pit's Heart of Darkness: fifteen minutes.

  The Thorn's Church cultists stood silently, their dark, cheap clerical robes drawn over their heads. Glenn's head bobbed left and right as the cross he was crucified on swerved to the side slightly. The metal sarcophagus they previously dragged out of the portal with that towering, green monstrosity suddenly opened up. A bloodied hand grabbed the ledge of the sarcophagus, pulling itself out.

  Milena and Tuleam instinctively took a step back while Sahro and Lucian readied their most powerful attacks. The very sight of that tainted hand sent waves of dread through their beings. It couldn't even compare to the big plant-looking abomination.

  "Ah...Munirp, at last." The Thorn's Church's Pope got out of the sarcophagus, covered in blood. He left bloody footsteps in his wake as he marched to the front of his cultist army.

  "Does anyone here know teleportation? I wouldn't be against a timely tactical retreat..." Tuleam muttered. He glanced back and sighed heavily when he realized that none of his companions intended to flee the fight.

  "I think this warrants royal intervention." Lucian exhaled slowly. "Buy me a couple of minutes. I'll call my father's forces. This is at the level of a country conflict, after all."

  Even as they spoke, more and more cultists were coming out of the blood portal. An unending flow of manpower that didn't pale in the face of all the dead already on the battlefield. The few scavenger monsters who thought they could enjoy an easy meal fled, burrowing in the ground far from the conflict.

  "A ritual of this size..." Milena's face drained out of colors as she realized. "My grandfather told me about this. Hundred of thousands of bodies, and countless priests to help channel the energy."

  A bead of sweat dropped from her eyebrow. "It's a summoning ritual."

  Sahro's eyes didn't leave the Thorn's Church troop. "To summon what?"

  "That many sacrifices...That can only be one thing." Milena gulped. "Their God himself."

  "It all points to that, yes. Can I leave, now? Your Highness?" Tuleam pleaded as he grabbed Lucian's sleeve. The latter shrugged him away and grabbed a necklace hidden beneath his shirt.

  "My friends, Tuleam, please try and stop the ritual while I call for help. I'll join in right after I sent the distress call."

  Red electricity ran all over Sahro as his fox Raijin fused with him again. "Say no more, Prince."

  The Black Heir shot off into one bolt of crimson lightning, aiming for the most powerful presence on the battlefield. The man covered in blood.

  "Pest. Kneel." The bloody man snapped in Sahro's direction. The latter crashed on the ground, his face buried into the mud. Milena gasped. She had been a moment's away from following in Sahro's footsteps and rushing at the bloody man.

  "I am the Pope of the Thorn's Church. Your time is not worth mine, vermin." The Pope crossed his arms behind his back as he stepped toward the giant green monster. Sahro gritted his teeth and allowed his energy to burst outward explosively. A glance from the Pope was enough to silence him.

  "Kugh! M- Move...!" Sahro foamed at the mouth, struggling with all his might.

  Tuleam's expression hardened as a couple of magic circles appeared behind him. He revealed his true power, the might of an Archmagi. The seaweed-headed researcher felt half of his Mana reserve disappear, an occasion so rare it deserved to be mentioned. The Pope turned to look at Tuleam, but Milena stood in his way. She used her illusions on him, only for her knees to give up under her weight.

  Her face sank into the mud and blood of the battlefield alongside Sahro's. Tuleam's magic circles shattered, but he didn't succumb to the Pope's pressure. He stood with his head held high, sweat drenching his back. The Pope raised a singular eyebrow before lazily raising a finger dripping with blood and pointing it at him.

  "Kneel, Archmagi." His voice was a command that couldn't be ignored. Tuleam's knee crashed into the ground. His head bowed against his will, his posture frozen obediently.

  The Pope walked up to Lucian, who was still tightly clenching his necklace, sweat covering his face.

  "The blood of the enemy... The Magnus blood... " The Pope's hand suddenly shot for Lucian's throat, grabbing and lifting him. The necklace dropped from Lucian's hands, the chain broken. He clawed at the cultist's wrist, conjuring his Mana to no avail. A crown flickered above his head, but the Pope hurled him to the floor with enough force to shatter the spell. Thorny vines appeared around the Pope's bloody body, tightening against his skin and drawing out more and more blood.

  "By the will of our Lord, Suffer."

  Lucian’s back arched as if pulled by unseen strings. His eyes flew open, pupils shrinking to pinpricks. His limbs spasmed, jerking against the ground with unnatural, jarring movements—as if his own body had turned against him. His fingers twisted back too far, almost snapping.

  The Pope clasped his hands behind his back and watched his work for a few minutes, satisfied. He turned away from the green, gigantic monstrosity and raised his hand.

  "Ancient Beast, fruit of the union of our Lord and the Unnamed One, please feed.." He slammed his fist against the massive bell nearby. A deafening gong rang through the battlefield, loud enough to wake even the dead. A low, grave sound rumbled from the Ancient Beast—not a roar, but something deeper, something wrong. It was a low, guttural resonance like the earth itself groaning under unbearable noise.

  With the Pope's attention turned away, Sahro managed to push himself up slightly, just in time to watch as countless vines slithered across the ground, through the mud and piles of corpses.

  "By the ancestors, what hayil is this...?" His horror only grew when the vines, acting like tentacles, grabbed the corpses and dragged them back to the top part of its body. Sahro could put his hand to the fire that an opening was laying at the peak of the monstrosity, a gigantic mouth waiting to be fed the Retni's Plains in its entirety.

  'I need to stop this...' Sahro drove his fist into the mud, his muscles tightening as he pushed against the pressure. 'I need...to get up!'

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  His Mana and Aura flared up as if to reply to his desire. They burned like a forest fire, consuming all the strength in the Black Heir's body. Sahro's fox, Raijin, appeared before his eyes, hissing encouragingly. Sahro looked at his friends crushed on the ground, at Glenn pinned to a cross for everyone to see, and at this monstrous Pope.

  Since his breakthrough to the fourth rank in Aura and Mana, Sahro had failed to find any clue to the next level. Even though he somehow smashed the two energies together, and was rewarded with Raijin, he still considered Aura and Mana to be two disassociated things. Like oil and water, they could be put together in one reservoir, but not truly mix.

  That had been his mistake.

  The mistake of every Black Heirs.

  Sahro's forehead shone with bright white, his Inheritance Sigil finally working toward its true purpose. Raijin faded into his master's body, infusing him with potent crimson lightning. Sahro slowly pushed himself up, breaking off the Pope's pressure. His Mana and Aura combined, one taking over the other.

  The key was in imbalance. One would always be stronger than the other.

  He only used his Mana to empower his sword, even though he could use it like Glenn to create projectiles or throw thunder down at his enemies.

  But that wasn't who he truly was.

  'I am a Black Heir.' Black clouds obscured the sky. Sahro's energy shot past the Fifth Circle or the Fifth rank of Aura. It was already touching the realms of Saint and Archmagis.

  'I am pride.' The Pope frowned and turned back to the Black Heir.

  "Pointless struggle. I want you to watch as our God descends into the Savior's body, so... KNEEL!" The Pope's command made every cultist obey, their knees buried in the mud and their foreheads pressed against the ground.

  But the Pope could only watch as the Black Heir exploded with otherworldly strength. His ears elongated and his skin darkened, his eyes gleaming with crimson power.

  A race supposed to have been extinguished by the gods after their transgression. The sworn enemy of the Thorn's Church.

  "I am...Sahro Sand..." He grabbed his sword as his prosthesis shook, the components crumbling away. "And I will not...KNEEL TO YOU!"

  His roar exploded like a shockwave, shaking off the Pope's influence entirely. The latter took a wary step back, a whip of thorny vines appearing in his hand.

  "Impossible. The Lord cannot fail. Your existence itself is a blaspheme to the skies!" The Pope's condemnation went on deaf ears. Sahro's strength only kept on climbing, the white mark on his forehead turning into a different color.

  A violent, electrical red.

  Sahro could feel his energy. It wasn't Aura, nor was it Mana. It was both, yet not the same. It was beyond them.

  An ancient strength... A strength that could only be described as Primal.

  Sahro clenched his sword softly as his power rushed through the weapon. The crackling electricity made the blade searing red.

  In all his might, the Black Heir stood, a bolt of red lightning in his hand.

  "I killed the last of the dark elves, I followed the Gods' orders? You cannot exist!" The pope screamed as he lashed his whip violently at Sahro. The battlefield exploded from the might of the attack, the ground rupturing and the piles of bodies flying above. Sahro's foot slid back slightly, and with a movement that he repeated hundreds of thousands of times...

  He cut.

  The Pope's eyes widened and he hurriedly stepped in front of his troops, his whip extended in front of him. A red horizontal line appeared in the air, thin like a sheet of paper. The world flashed red for an instant, and the whip in the Pope's hand broke in two. A deep gash appeared on his chest, exposing the bones and beating heart beneath.

  Silence reigned over the battlefield.

  Tuleam and Milena picked themselves up, staring at Sahro with unveiled awe. The Black Heir stood proudly, red electricity shooting out of him and hitting the ground. The black clouds in the sky rumbled in a low sound, until, eventually...

  Boom!

  The thunder rang.

  The Thorn's Church army flew back, blasted away by the impact of Sahro's attack. The Pope roared as countless vines from his Ancient Beast rose from the ground and took the brunt of the assault. The gigantic green monster shrieked painfully as a massive crevasse appeared on its body, red blood flowing out like from a fountain.

  The corner of Sahro's lips curved upward even as he collapsed on himself, his energy drained and his consciousness fading away. His signature red electricity dissipated as Raijin rubbed its tiny head against his. As soon as the shock was passed, Milena rushed to Sahro's side to verify his condition.

  "What in the seven Gods was that...?" She muttered as she pressed her ear against his chest. His heart was still beating, as reliable as ever, unlike Glenn's heart. Thankfully, it seemed like Sahro was only exhausted. She activated her Mana Sight, unable to believe her eyes as she found a power equivalent to a Saint's in his chest.

  'Wasn't he at the fourth rank? How did he jump ranks like—no, what even is this?' Her awe only deepened when she realized that Sahro's power was nothing like Aura. Or Mana, for that matter.

  'It looks...and feels like Aura, but...different. Stronger. More violent. Almost beast-like.'

  Milena sighed softly. She pushed herself up and glanced at Lucian. Tuleam was kneeling next to him, a small magic circle hovering above the Prince’s chest. The latter was still contorted in pain, his face progressively turning from red to purple.

  “Sorry, but that might feel a little weird…” said the researcher through his teeth. He clenched his fist tightly and rotated it counterclockwise. Lucian’s eyes popped wide open and his skin turned back to a normal color. It was as if his condition had been reversed to before receiving the Pope’s curse.

  Tuleam leaned back and coughed heavily in his hands. He frowned when the realization that he was spitting blood settled in.

  “I’m never getting out of the house again…” Tuleam grumbled. He slipped his shoulder under Lucian’s arm and pulled him up. He glanced at Milena and nodded sternly, before flying away without a second of hesitation.

  Milena hoisted Sahro onto her shoulders, her heart clenched, hoping not to be noticed by the mad Pope. The latter clutched at his bleeding chest and staggered back, the wound caused by Sahro not closing. The flesh wouldn't heal - no, it wouldn't heal. The remnants of Sahro's Primal energy continued to consume his flesh, destroying his tissues and scarring the Pope forever.

  “The forbidden power… Blasphemy!” The Pope’s eyes were practically jumping out of their sockets. “I will execute the Gods’ will before he—”

  His knees caved in suddenly as thorny vines pierced through his eyes and ears. He pressed his bleeding hands together in a prayer, listening intently with his head turned to the sky.

  Milena hurriedly jumped away, flying on Sahro’s sword in a desperate attempt to escape. She needed to put Sahro in a safe place, then return to rescue Glenn from the hands of the cultist.

  ‘Shit, shit, shit…! The Pope is strong enough to crush me with a gaze!’ Milena’s thoughts were racing in search of a solution. ‘How am I supposed to save Glenn?’

  The moment she had that thought, a figure flew past her. The short glance she managed to catch made her almost stop and double-check. An armored knight, with a red cape embroidered with Munirp’s setting sun. Two rapiers were resting at his waist, and a large cut ruined a pristine chest plate.

  The knight stopped in front of the army of cultists, evaluating the situation swiftly. He grabbed a necklace hanging from his neck and approached it from his helmet.

  “Your Highness, the Prince was correct in calling for assistance. This is a level seven, maybe eight threat.”

  A voice reached out from beyond the necklace, sighing.

  “...I see. Take care of this, Harriet. I need to block the Celestial Gods and find an alternative to the Dark Wall.”

  Harriet bowed his head respectfully. “Your wish is my command, Your Highness.”

  The amulet shone softly.

  “Show them Munirp’s might, Harriet. Show them what happens when the King’s Blade is drawn out.”

  Harriet, the King’s Blade, nodded slowly.

  Without further ceremony, he unsheathed his pair of rapiers.