Name: Vaelith, Angel of Brotherhood
Class: [Worshipper]
Rank: S Level: 83
Skill: Teleportation
Passive Skill: Poisoned Existence
Whaaaat… a fusion? How? That's impossible! Is it some kind of family technique? No, that doesn't matter—it's an S-rank threat! What are we going to—
His thoughts were cut short as Vaelith waved its hand. Four wind blades shot forward. Two of them struck Josen, slicing across his body and sending him to his knees. He staggered toward Zigmo, who had barely managed to block his own strike.
"ZIG! We need to stick together! Back-to-back! He could attack from anywhere!"
"Grughh…" Zigmo groaned, clutching his arm, nearly severed, dangling by skin and limb.
The orb embedded in Josen's arm pulsed, reflecting in his dagger. He saw a perfect, symmetrical hole—a target. Then, another fireball erupted behind them. With no time to hesitate, they split ways, the flames devouring everything in their path: blood, stone, rubble—crimson chaos.
Josen slid the orb into his blade. It glowed with a terrifying spectrum—red, orange, dark violet. He swung, slashing poison-infused fire straight for Vaelith, moving so fast his afterimages blurred in the air.
Vaelith dodged effortlessly. With a swift motion, it caught the last blade and hurled it back. Josen readied his sword to block—but Vaelith was already behind him.
"MOVE!" Zigmo roared from the top of his lungs. Josen barely dodged, biting his lip as he fired three charged arrows with his dangling arm. Each was swatted away effortlessly.
Vaelith teleported behind Zigmo, striking with unimaginable force, sending him flying through hundred of reinforced walls. Josen barely managed to rise, dragging himself to his feet. Before he could act, Vaelith appeared behind Zigmo again—this time wrenched his arm clean off.
"AAAAAAARRRGHHH!" Zigmo's scream ripped through the air—pure, primal pain. Hot, jagged agony surged through Josen as he watched. Blood coated the ground. Time slowed. Each breath was torture; each blink, torment.
He clawed at the floor, delirious, tasting his own terror. Death pressed in on him for the first time. The thought was conscious, undeniable. Nothing could save him.
Die… die… die… I'm going to die… I—ugh, I was way over my head… I shouldn't be doing this…
"YOU—YOU MONSTER—AARGHHH!"
Then, instinct took over. Josen moved faster than thought. His body disintegrated and reformed before Vaelith's eyes, and he struck—one massive punch sending Vaelith crashing through countless reinforced walls. Cradling Zigmo, gasping for air, he turned left and right, leveraging every moment. Vaelith wasn't fully aware yet.
Closing his eyes, Josen channeled fire, crafting a protective forcefield in anticipation of the incoming barrage.
Vaelith rose into the sky, dark energy coiling around it. It drew all the malice and void energy from the atmosphere, forming a colossal attack the size of the highest mountains. In a voice cool, cold, and detached like it was barely trying, it uttered one word:
"ORION."
The attack descended, consuming everything—mana, goblins, rock, rubble, statues, blood, flesh. The shield held, cracking under the sheer scale, but Josen's mind had only one thought:
This is it. All I lived for… all I am… it comes down to this.
Tears streaked his face. Memories flashed—childhood with Miss Adams, training under his father in the massive compound, his father's relentless words echoing:
"Be the best.
Crush all opposition.
You will rule this family.
That is your ordained right."
Those words, once a promise of love, now revealed their cruel truth. Love for strength meant hatred for weakness. Everything he had hoped for, everything wished upon him—it was meaningless. He had failed. Failed his grandfather, his mother, everyone.
Tears fell as his soul dimmed. The residue of his power, the rest energy, descended to his chest, burning with natural light and fire. But it didn't hurt—it burned as it should, cleansing and awakening.
Is this it?
Find your heart. Cleanse your soul. When your will burns, your soul weapon will form.
A small chuckle escaped him.
"The old man… and his terrible puns… okay, I see now."
Josen pressed his severed arm to his chest, and from within, a greatsword of pure energy emerged. Light filled the entire dungeon realm. Golden arcs etched intricate circles and arrows stretching toward infinity, a shining emblem of power and purpose.
The sword radiated not just energy but intent, a manifestation of his soul's will. It was beautiful. Terrifying. Absolute.