While the two mighty spellcasters battled furiously in the sky, on the ground, the fate of ordinary people was disastrous.
The once-glorious Cassalanter estate had completely collapsed, its magnificent glass chandeliers smashed into countless shards, and flas from the raging firestorm sweeping through set the thick wool carpets ablaze, sending dense, choking smoke billowing everywhere.
In the midst of the inferno, even the towering ice walls phistopheles created earlier had lted away, but the runoff was instantly evaporated by the firestorm’s heat, doing nothing to quell the flas.
Cassalanter’s guards, chefs, maids, and all the girls brought in for the evening’s entertainnt rushed out in pajamas and slippers, screaming and sobbing as they scrambled desperately over the rubble—none more bedraggled than Charles himself.
"Cough, cough—cough! Gust of Wind!"
The rolling smoke choked him, nothing like the controlled fires he’d conjured back in the Cassalanter Grand Theater, but real, deadly flas. Muttering an incantation, he cast Gust of Wind—barely clearing the smoke imdiately around him, with no hope of helping those farther away.
Through the flickering blaze, he saw terrified civilians—just pajamas and slippers—running, falling, burning, wailing, desperate to escape. Charles ached to help them, but right now, he couldn’t.
He had a more important mission: phistopheles had to be destroyed, or no one in this city would ever know peace.
Step one—save Theresa!
The mansion’s luxurious carpets were now a sea of fire, and Charles had no choice but to walk directly through the flas. He cast Absorb Elents to shield himself, then forced his way through the rubble and shattered glass, searching for Theresa.
Fortunately, they’d been close together when disaster struck. After the chaos, and after being flung by a flying wall of ice, she wasn’t hard to find.
Fighting through the smoke, Charles soon found the archwitch encased in a huge block of ice, her face frozen in an expression of panic—like ti itself had stopped for her.
The ice was brutally cold, almost too much to touch. Gritting his teeth, Charles summoned his Montport twin-bladed polearm, cast Elental Weapon, and ignited the blades with roaring fla. He smashed the ice—CRACK!
Luckily, this was just phistopheles’s hastily conjured ice, not so ancient glacier-forged crystal, so the sharp, fiery polearm made short work, lting a path until at last Theresa’s body was free.
She still hadn’t regained consciousness. Charles hurriedly produced his spellbook and smacked her with a Cure Wounds, finally rousing the witch.
"Ugh..."
The mont she woke, her first worry was Charles’s safety. "Master, are you all right?"
Charles was moved. He helped dry her soaked clothes with a quick Destroy Water, then hugged her tight. "I’m fine, darling. You’ve been amazing."
Theresa wrapped her arms around him too, feeling safe and warm for a mont—but now wasn’t the ti. Around them, the fire raged, smoke thickened, ruined timbers looked ready to collapse at any mont.
The two legendary spellcasters above were too consud in battle to spare any magic on protecting what few walls still stood. For anyone without legendary power, a single stray spell could easily be fatal.
Realizing the danger, Theresa tried to rally herself and stood up, voice urgent. "Master, this place is too dangerous—we need to go!"
Charles started to rise, then glanced at the pitched battle above, and said, "No, Theresa. We can’t leave!"
Theresa froze, instantly realizing what he had in mind. Her face turned pale in shock. "Wait, Master—surely you’re not thinking..."
Charles swallowed hard, his heart slamming against his ribs. With his current level, jumping into this kind of fight was suicide, but—
In this wild, unpredictable world, where apocalyptic threats like Abyssal Lords and Archdevils appeared one after another, and with his class level stuck at ten and no way to break through...
Could he really just hide forever?
Especially after tangling directly with an archdevil, a being who never forgot an insult, a demon whose grudges lasted centuries—he’d just be spending the rest of his life in fear, miserable and always looking over his shoulder...
Or, right here, right now—could he throw everything on the line for one shot at changing his fate?
Charles had always been the patient, play-it-safe type, but now, with his levels locked and his future boxed in, he was ready to risk it all for a chance at sothing new.
"Theresa, you take up there!" he said. "We’ll have one shot, just one. As long as I can land a hit on phistopheles..."
"We can send him back where he ca from!"
Theresa hesitated—there was no need to worry Vajra would lose. If she was ever in real trouble, Laeral Silverhand would step in, and together they could mop the floor with phistopheles.
But looking at Charles—so resolute, almost fervent—Theresa suddenly understood. She swallowed her doubts and nodded gravely. "Understood, Master. I’ll stand by you. We’ll do this together!"
She stepped behind him, hugging him close, sharp eyes focused on the archdevil above. "Master, get ready. We only get one chance!"
Most people perceived the world by light entering their eyes—but Theresa was light itself. She could sense phistopheles’s exact location, though with him moving at that speed, there was no safe way to get close.
She just needed one mont—one instant where phistopheles was forced to pause.
"Yeah, I’m ready!"
Embraced from behind, Charles drew a deep breath and quietly began chanting: "Banishing Smite!"
Banishing Smite!
He’d never gotten to use this spell before. It burned through spell slots with little damage and heavy conditions, and it was almost always easier to kill extraplanar beings than banish them.
But now, finally, the mont had co.
Against an outsider this strong, whom he had no real hope of beating, banishing him—sending him ho—was the best chance!
Magic surged into Charles’s blade—he was nearly tapped out of spell slots. But if this one stroke landed, everything could change!
"Dinsion Door..."
Theresa started her own silent spell—not triggering it, just flexing her will, waiting for the perfect mont.
She didn’t have to wait long. Above, battle shifted again. Vajra’s illusory silver dragon spewed freezing breath, and she herself fired another Sunbeam, boxing phistopheles in from all sides.
Trapped and with nowhere left to run, he was forced to halt, throwing up a Shield to block the oncoming Blade of Disaster.
And in that single, frozen second—the opportunity Charles and Theresa had been waiting for arrived!
Theresa’s incantation finished. Both their bodies beca radiant with white light and in the blink of an eye, they reappeared behind phistopheles.
At the sa instant, Charles’s twin-bladed polearm ca down in a mighty arc toward the archdevil’s head. "Purified!"
CLANG!
The weapon crashed against his powerful force shield, and the artifact’s blade sliced through, striking his armor. The damage was almost nothing—but Banishing Smite was never about the raw power.
Touch your foe even once, and you could Banish them!
~~~
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