[Madikia Molotov]
Aubrey clutched her right arm, struggling to keep her sword raised as she faced the man before her.
He wore a long black cape trimmed with gold, the fabric sweeping like the wings of a fallen angel.
His hair, scruffy and shoulder-length, fell in uneven strands across his pale face.
But it was his eyes that drew the breath from her lungs, wide, hollow, yet within them shimmered every color imaginable, a kaleidoscope that bent reality itself.
His silver armor gleamed with faint divine luster, etched in black stars.
Golden gloves and boots glinted faintly under the fractured light, and in his grasp rested a sword of silver, its hilt and guard carved from obsidian.
This was no ordinary foe. He was Saint Jaqnerats, the Lord of Lies.
A title earned not through conquest, but through terror, for his illusions transcended reason.
Entire worlds could rise and fall at his whim, falsehoods so flawless they were indistinguishable from truth.
And yet, this battle lacked deceit. No tricks, no veils, only raw, devastating superiority. Aubrey stood before a god, and he made no effort to hide it.
"Madikai," Jaqnerats called, his tone smooth, dripping with mockery. "Will you not help your disciple? You seem so fond of her."
Aubrey's desperate gaze found mine. Her lips trembled, voice hoarse. "Please… I can win. Just a little longer."
I exhaled through my nose, folding my arms. "Very well. Jaqnerats, don't hold back. I won't interfere."
He sighed softly, then split into hundreds.
The field was consumed by movement, his silhouettes advancing like a flood of shadows. Aubrey leapt forward, her blade cleaving through the nearest form, only for it to dissolve into mist.
A second Jaqnerats appeared behind her, his strike slicing cleanly across her side. Flesh tore. Blood followed.
Still, she turned with fierce defiance, catching his next blow with her sword. Metal screamed. Sparks flared.
He parried effortlessly and brought his blade down once more, scoring her cheek with a narrow cut.
From above, six radiant beams descended, burning like miniature suns. They struck her chest, scorching her armor.
Aubrey coughed violently, yet lunged forward through the pain and smashed her head into his chin.
He stumbled, blood beading along his lip, then smiled, almost delighted. Spears of light manifested around him, launching in a radiant storm.
Aubrey deflected what she could, but he was faster, infinitely faster.
He slipped past her guard and drove his foot into her stomach, forcing her back as his hand reached forward.
To mortal eyes, it seemed like nothing happened. But I felt it. His mana twisted.
He had cast her into an illusion.
For an instant, her spirit was swallowed. Then, shattered free. Aubrey's fist smashed across his jaw, breaking through the dream by will alone.
His eyes widened, disbelief searing through his composure, before he countered with an upward slash.
Above them, the heavens ignited.
Millions of lights, real and false, cascaded downward.
Flames, frost, void, illusions, and matter all intertwined. Some passed through harmlessly, others struck with world-shattering force.
Aubrey endured. Her body trembled, armor breaking, blade cracking, but she stood.
She had reached the tenth wall, the threshold where mortals splintered their limits. And yet, he outclassed her as though she were nothing.
That was the difference between a warrior and a Saint.
Still, she hadn't unleashed her Regalia. Poison God: Ferna. A power that could corrupt not just flesh, but the very essence of existence.
Yet there was no sign of its manifestation. Only faint ripples whenever she healed herself. She mended her wounds, yes, but nothing more.
Her Regalia was capable of far greater horrors. I knew it. I had seen it brew potions that could rot time itself. So why restrain it now?
Jaqnerats struck again. Over seven hundred blows within a breath. The ground caved beneath the pressure.
Aubrey rolled aside, narrowly avoiding a finishing swing, and clenched her trembling hand.
At last, her Regalia stirred.
But instead of attacking, she healed herself again.
I frowned. Foolish. If she died, I could resurrect her through Griffin's grace. But then… something changed.
Jaqnerats faltered. His movement broke. His breathing hitched.
Blood trickled from his lips, and for the first time, fear entered his eyes.
Aubrey laughed softly, voice raw but triumphant. "This is the nature of my ability. Falter before me, for I have already embedded my poison into your soul."
Even I was impressed.
She had been poisoning him while healing herself, concealing it beneath layers of regenerative magic so subtle even I hadn't noticed. Her toxin didn't target flesh—it infected essence.
It corrupted being.
Not even a Saint could resist that. Not even I, perhaps, could endure it.
Aubrey turned to me, smiling despite her exhaustion. "Your faith in me pleases me, Master."
I smirked, rubbing beneath my nose. "You are my student. Who else should I put faith in? Hahaha!"
Pride surged in me like a flame. She had grown beyond expectation, strong enough to bring a Saint to his knees without even revealing her Inheritance.
Jaqnerats collapsed, clutching his throat, his body convulsing.
"Im… possible," he rasped. "Poison? I am a Saint… your petty tricks—"
He coughed violently, hatred flickering in his dying gaze. "You two… are filth. Mutts. You deserve slaughter."
Aubrey sneered, blood running down her chin. "And you, rat that you are, took the bait."
He screamed, voice cracking with fury. "Fall victim to my Fantasy Palace!"
His eyes flared.
Then silence.
No light. No explosion. Nothing but stillness.
His hand fell limp. His body followed.
Dead.
Aubrey blinked, confused. "I've never heard of that technique. What was it supposed to do?"
I shrugged. "I felt something. But it vanished when he died. Likely, he lacked the mana to sustain it."
Magic is merciless. Attempt a spell beyond your capacity, and it devours you whole. That is the fate of those who grasp too high.
It is a fate that many mages and warlocks aimed to transcend but never could; in short, it's impossible, a law that goes beyond laws.
I stepped closer, intending to retrieve his remains.
Then the world flickered.
A suffocating dread crashed over me, thick and absolute.
Impossible. My Regalia could reflect even void magic, concepts that existed beyond existence itself. No spell should have touched me.
Yet pain seared through my chest.
I looked down. Jaqnerats's sword was buried deep within me.
It had pierced every barrier, every layer of defense, cutting straight into my flesh and soul alike.
His voice slithered through reality, echoing from nowhere and everywhere.
"What's wrong, Madikai? Has your heart faltered? Your mind deceived you? Or have you realized the truth? Your death… is absolute."
My vision blurred. The battlefield fractured into infinite reflections.
There lay Aubrey, her head severed. Yet in another reflection, she stood whole. And another. And another. Countless versions overlapping, bleeding into one another.
This wasn't an illusion. This was something higher.
I staggered back, pouring mana into her body, forcing life into her broken shell. Her head reformed, her heart beat once more, but her lifeforce flickered weakly.
"Why?" I gasped. "These should be illusions… so why do they feel real?"
Jaqnerats's laughter erupted all around, warped and maddened. His eyes burned like fractured prisms.
"In my Fantasy Palace, delusions are no longer fiction." His grin stretched unnaturally wide. "They become truth."
He raised his sword, power crackling along its edge. "This is my Regalia," he declared. "King of Delusion: Orivain."