"It is over!"
The triumphant shout echoed across the devastated wasteland, cutting through the lingering stench of ozone and scorched blood.
A middle-aged man entirely clad in heavy, silver-plated knight’s armor draped with the pristine white robes of the Holy Church ripped his glowing broadsword free from the flesh of a massive, unnaturally twisted beast.
The grotesque demon collapsed into the ash, its multi-jointed limbs twitching one final ti before dissolving into black mist.
Behind the lead knight, a loud, exhausted chorus rang out into the blood-red sky as dozens of holy paladins raised their blood-stained blades in victory.
The knight commander didn’t cheer.
He stood completely still, his chest heaving as he stared straight ahead at the vast, jagged red portal suspended in the air.
The violent tear in reality was already shuddering, its edges collapsing inward now that the rift-boss had been slain. He lowered his sword, bringing the hilt to his forehead, and closed his eyes to utter a quick, solemn prayer of gratitude to the heavens.
As the portal finally collapsed with a deafening crack, sealing itself and leaving behind only a shower of dying red sparks, the knight turned to his surviving n.
"Gather the wounded!" he bellowed, his voice carrying the heavy authority of his rank.
"Patch them up and secure the periter. We are heading back to the main camp!"
An hour later, the battered but victorious procession limped into the fortified periter of the Church’s forward operating base.
Standing perfectly still at the center of the camp, unbothered by the chaotic movent around him, was an older man in immaculate, gold-trimd robes. His hair was a stark, slate gray, and his presence carried an oppressive, divine weight that imdiately commanded absolute respect.
The knight commander and his n imdiately stopped, dropping to one knee in unison. They bowed their heads, their armor clanking loudly.
"Archbishop," the commander greeted reverently.
"Raise your heads," the gray-haired man said, his voice smooth and echoing with unnatural resonance. "You have done good work today. The Lord’s light shines upon your blades."
The Archbishop didn’t linger on the praise. His sharp eyes imdiately drifted past the knights, locking onto the open flaps of the dical pavilion where a frantic triage was underway.
Kneeling in the dirt beside a knight with a shredded torso was a young woman.
She had striking, pale blonde hair that practically glowed in the dim light, and bright, crystalline blue eyes.
Her white vestnts were stained with mud and drying blood, her hands hovering over the dying man as she desperately channeled a warm, golden light into his wounds through her staff.
"Aria," the Archbishop called out, his tone entirely devoid of warmth. "Do it quickly. We are packing up the camp and leaving for the capital in two hours."
Aria didn’t break her concentration. Beads of sweat rolled down her pale forehead as the golden light flared, knitting the knight’s torn flesh back together.
"Just a minute, Archbishop," she replied, her voice incredibly raspy and completely raw from hours of continuous chanting.
Eventually, the final wounded were stabilized, the heavy canvas tents were broken down, and the expeditionary force began the long, grueling march back to the central territories.
As the armored carriages rolled over the uneven dirt roads, the atmosphere among the holy knights was tense.
"Did you see the plating on those demons?" one of the younger knights whispered, rubbing a dent in his breastplate. "It took three fully mana charged strikes just to crack the carapace. They’re getting stronger."
"And the rifts are opening faster," an older veteran muttered grimly. "That makes four in the northern sector this month alone. It’s unnatural."
Sitting in the corner of the carriage, completely shrouded in the shadows, Aria remained entirely silent.
She was clutching her staff so tightly her knuckles were stark white.
While the knights debated the logistics of the war, her mind was entirely trapped on the battlefield. The horrifying scenes kept violently looping behind her eyes—the sickening crunch of a paladin being bitten in half, the overwhelming stench of demonic blood, the desperate, gurgling screams of the dying.
Calm down, she ordered herself internally, taking a slow, shaky breath. Calm down. Ground yourself. You are the Saintess in training. You cannot break here.
By nightfall, the expedition had returned to their base, heavily filing into the grand, cavernous hall of the Central Cathedral.
There were no civilians present, only the high-ranking officials, the surviving holy knights, and the clergy.
The massive stained-glass windows cast long, colorful shadows across the polished marble floor as the entire congregation dropped to their knees, bowing their heads in a collective, resonant prayer of purification.
Aria knelt at the very front of the altar, her hands clasped together, seeking the familiar, comforting warmth of her deity.
But the warmth never ca.
At the head of the altar, the Archbishop abruptly stopped chanting. His eyes snapped open, his pupils dilating in sheer, unadulterated horror.
His usually immaculate posture broke, and he staggered back a half-step, clutching the podium as if he had just been physically struck.
"...It can’t be," the Archbishop breathed out, his voice trembling violently.
The unified chanting of the hall instantly died. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the cathedral.
"What happened, Your Grace?" one of the high priests asked, stepping forward nervously.
The Archbishop looked out over the sea of kneeling knights and clergy, his face entirely drained of color.
"The Day of Judgnt..." the Archbishop whispered, though his voice magically amplified to reach every corner of the grand hall. "...is near."
A wave of panicked unrest violently swept through the cathedral. Knights exchanged horrified looks, and priests began frantically whispering amongst themselves.
Aria’s head snapped up, her blue eyes widening in sheer disbelief.
"But Your Grace... wasn’t that supposed to be years from now?" she asked, her raspy voice cutting through the panic.
"The holy scriptures explicitly state the final calamity is over a decade away."
The Archbishop slowly shook his head, his gray eyes locking onto the pale blonde girl.
"I just communed with the Divine," the Archbishop stated, his voice hollow.
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