Wasn’t This a Night Game

Joining Forces

The Mamon followers who had fled into the underground mine were in a state of maddening despair.

Due to the pillar of light illuminating the entire city, their corrupted souls and the energies of Mamon were now visible on their skin, making it impossible to conceal their true nature.

Moreover, the situation had unfolded so suddenly that they had no time for preparation of any kind.

Because of this, most of the lesser followers, those not truly blessed by Mammon, were armed with equipment that was frankly pathetic.

Pistols.

At best, submachine guns, which would manage a few shots against the Ketrathus troopers’ armor before they were blasted apart by weapons that were pistols in name only.

“Burn them. Every last one.”

And so they turned to ash beneath the Igniter Squad’s flames.

Of course, Mammon’s followers weren’t complete fools.

“Machine guns! Bring up the heavy machine guns!”

The mine tunnels had long served as their base, so they had prepared various weapons and equipment for emergencies.

Like heavy machine guns mounted in narrow passages.

Or flamethrowers spewing gouts of fire.

Or detonating explosives to block the mine shafts – they resisted with a desperate ferocity.

The problem, however.

“It’s a heavy machine gun! A HEAVY machine gun! Why isn’t it working?!”

Was that the Ketrathus troopers’ armor was made of a magical metal almost impervious even to heavy machine gun fire.

And to make matters worse, they were swathed in protective miracles, allowing them to simply walk through the hail of bullets.

“Roast them! Roast them! Burn them to cinders!”

“You think we’re scared of fire when we wield the miracles of flame ourselves?”

The torrents of fire from the flamethrowers aimed at the Ketrathus troopers entering the narrow passage were instead sucked into their hands, only to be blasted back in a retaliatory wave.

“…High Priest. Are those b*stards just… moving rocks with their bare hands?”

Even when they detonated explosives to collapse the tunnels, their impossibly superhuman strength allowed them to shove aside the massive boulders and reopen the path, rendering all their defensive tactics useless.

Their attacks, no matter how intense, were simply ineffective.

While the Ketrathus’s strikes were horrifyingly devastating.

The greatswords and mauls wielded by the Ketrathus were of a size and weight that ordinary men couldn’t even lift, let alone swing, turning anyone they grazed into a pulped mess of flesh.

The bullets they fired tore through body armor and the flesh beneath.

And even pierced through steel or stone cover with ease, shredding any enemies hiding behind it.

And that wasn’t all.

The followers who had received greater blessings from Mammon, granted with far more powerful bodies that shed their humanity.

Even Abominations exploded with a single pistol shot.

When one Abomination, carrying a thick steel door ripped from the tunnel as a shield, was struck by a bullet that pierced the steel and detonated within its body, the Mammon followers lost all will to fight.

“How… how in the hell are we supposed to stop *that*?”

Driven back, retreating step after retreating step, the followers were finally cornered in what could generously be called their stronghold. Cornered, two distinct opinions surfaced amongst them.

“We need to flee, now! We must escape with the resentments we’ve gathered here!”

“They haven’t found the secret passage yet! We have to escape and live, so we can plan for the future!”

There were those who wished to flee, but the dissenting voices were equally strong.

“Have you forgotten that the Chosen One, prepared by Mammon these past decades, still slumbers here?!”

“Abandon the Chosen One, and any hope of a future is forfeit! We will incur Mammon’s wrath and be dragged to hell, to burn for eternity!”

The two opinions clashed, sharp and unrelenting.

“Then what are we supposed to do?! Just stand here and wait to die against those monsters pushing in?!”

“There’s no way to fight those Dullanear b*stards! Mammon’s power is waning, and that accursed pillar of light is interfering with our black magic and spells. They don’t have their full strength!”

As the conflict escalated, a black magician slammed his hand on a table, silencing the crowd.

“Let us awaken the Chosen One, then.”

His words sparked immediate shock.

“Are you insane?”

“They are not yet complete!”

“If they awaken in an unfinished state, we will all die by their hand!”

“We die either way!”

That single sentence quelled all opposition.

“If we make them mobile and escape together, it cannot be said we abandoned the Chosen One. Mammon will not fault us! And despite their incompleteness, they are still Mammon’s chosen! They can tear apart those Dullanear dogs with ease, and will be of great help in our escape!”

No one spoke, but everyone tacitly agreed.

In this dire situation, that absurd suggestion was the only solution.

“We must concentrate all the resentments we’ve collected and awaken the Chosen One at once. Hurry. We have little time.”

The black magician clutched his twitching hand, his voice trembling.

“Pray this works. Awakening the Chosen One will take at least ten minutes. I will awaken them. The other priests and mages must hold back the encroaching enemy. Ten minutes. Just ten minutes. Do whatever it takes to hold them back for ten minutes.”

The chance of being torn apart by the Chosen One, enraged at being awakened in an incomplete state versus the chance of dying while defending against the encroaching Kethratus.

For the followers, both probabilities were, unfortunately, nearly equal.

“Damn it. How did it come to this…”

At someone’s choked voice, all of Mammon’s followers clenched their fists.

Those words spoke the truth of their situation.

Just how did things come to this, truly?

*

As they delved deeper into the underground lair of the Mamon Cult, the advance of the Ketratu began to slow.

Exhaustion from the journey and the depletion of their Divine Power certainly played a part, but the resistance had also intensified beyond expectations, as the scattered Cultists had gathered into a concentrated force.

“Hold the line!!”

[For Mamon!!]

The sheer number of black mages and abominations had become oppressively high.

Furthermore, the Cultists didn’t hesitate to strap explosives to themselves and launch suicidal attacks, inevitably leading to an exponential increase in casualties.

And the dirty tricks of the Cultists were endless.

“Mister! Please, save me!”

A four-year-old child, leg injured, approached with tearful, sorrowful eyes, limping.

A bomb strapped to his back.

“Please! I’m not a Cultist! I… I was brainwashed! I woke up here! I have a child waiting for me! I miss my child! Please, save me!!”

A beautiful woman, claiming to be brainwashed, tearfully pleaded with heart-wrenching desperation.

Hiding a cursed dagger in her waistband, ready to strike at their vital points the moment anyone offered a shred of sympathy.

“Brother! I’m wounded! Help me up!”

A foul imitation, pretending to be another Ketratu to lure them in.

“Fight amongst yourselves!!”

The black mages unleashed all sorts of illusions and hallucinations, tormenting the Ketratu relentlessly.

Booby traps lined every passageway, naturally, and the dwindling ammunition supply was hastened by the fanatical Cultists, throwing their lives away in the assault.

But nothing could truly stop them.

“Show no mercy, no compassion!!”

Regardless of the wounded child’s sobs.

Regardless of the beautiful woman’s pleas of being brainwashed and unfairly dragged into this, yearning to see her child.

Regardless of the identical Ketratu’s cries for help.

Silently, they invoked miracles, identifying the Cultists before filling them with bullets and weapons, neutralizing the threats.

“Trust nothing!!”

Booby traps and ambushes were preemptively identified and either disabled or bypassed through divine intervention.

“If you run out of bullets, pick up the stones from the ground and throw them! Kill them with miracles and fire!! Show no mercy!!”

Even heavy, ordinary rocks became brutal ranged weapons in the hands of the Ketratu, hurled with unnatural force.

A hole ripped through the Abomination’s stony hide, chunks of brain and bone erupting from the lesser cultists caught in the blast.

The white fire, ignited by sacred power in a concoction of gasoline and elixir, continued to immolate the wicked without fail.

But inevitably, their limitations were closing in.

“Ammunition depleted.”

The Ketratu’s rounds were twenty millimeters in diameter.

Tungsten penetrators and divinely consecrated propellant packed into the shell made them devastating against any monster, shredding them to pieces with a single hit, but this meant they could carry only a limited number.

“Injured, Centurion. Brother Romaro is unable to advance further.”

“Call the medics!”

Men began to fall behind, and the resulting drop in firepower only worsened their progress in a vicious cycle.

Yet, they refused to let their spirits break.

“Recite the Codex Prorilium! Invoke the sacred power! Brothers! If we fall, they will extinguish humanity! Better to die fighting than to live on our knees!”

They hurled stones, swung swords and hammers, fighting with desperate fervor.

And at their head, Grand Master Al Madai carved a path with more zeal than any other.

“Behold! The concentration of resentment grows thicker! Their stronghold is not far! Advance and burn it all to ashes!!…”

Al Madai, hacking and slashing with greatsword and shield, relentlessly pushing forward, was forced to a halt.

“Dulaner.”

As if lying in wait, dozens of Abominations and black mages stood arrayed, prepared for battle.

These Abominations were unlike the grunts they had faced before.

Colossal forms towering over three meters, dozens of eyes gleaming hungrily upon the holy warriors, and the black mages emanated an unsettling aura of rancor as they glared at them.

“Come! Dulaner’s dogs!! I’ll tear you apart!”

[We shall devour you!!]

A chaotic storm of incantations and dark magic erupted, bolstering the Abominations as they emitted shrieks that threatened to tear the very soul.

A battle against such foes would certainly cost the Ketratu dearly.

Perhaps even lives.

Yet, knowing this full well, Al Madai and the Ketratu did not falter.

“Let us go, brothers. Charge to a most glorious death!!”

Instead, they roared their fury and advanced with even greater fervor.

The black mages and Abominations saw a flicker of hope in the Ketratu’s reaction.

“The fools are charging as expected! Unleash the preparations! We shall teach Dulaner’s curs a lesson they won’t forg… ack!!… Gguuuaaah!!!”

Suddenly.

Every black mage screamed, their bodies contorting.

“The… the mana’s reversing… *cough!*”

They fell, vomiting blood.

All the dark magic they’d been wielding dissipated uselessly; some clutched their heads, convulsing, as if driven mad.

The Abominations, poised to strike, were startled, their attention diverted.

Then, their bodies began to fragment.

[Something’s attacking us!!]

[Where, where is it! I can’t see it!!]

[M, my strength is failing! Mammon, help! Who in the world?!]

They flailed, unable to properly see the thing attacking them, screaming as they fell.

The Abominations and black mages were thus massacred with a simplicity that bordered on the absurd, unable to mount any real defense.

The Kethratu, shocked, halted their advance, staring blankly at the scene of carnage.

[Are you paladins of the White Order? We are not the enemy.]

A stiff, mechanical voice echoed from the empty air.

A primal unease prickled at Al Madaai. He turned his gaze toward the voice, and dimly,

a faint presence began to coalesce, just beyond the veil of the air.

Slowly, Al Madaai extended his blade, imbued with burning divine power, toward the source of the voice.

He watched as the divine energy flickered and died, the flames on his sword extinguished, and a laugh escaped him.

“An Anti-Magic Field. No wonder the black mages and Abominations fell so easily.”

[Do not approach too closely. Should you enter the field, your divine power will also vanish.]

“I had no intention of doing so. Assassins of the Black Fortress.”

[Your Holy Maiden is descending through Shaft Four, escorted by the battle mages of the Magic Tower. A little further and you will reach the enemy’s base. Your condition appears grave. We recommend joining forces and fighting together.]

“The Holy Maiden herself? I must go. What are your intentions?”

[We will infiltrate the base and assassinate the enemy’s black mages and priests. We will avoid your operational area, so you need not worry.]

Al Madaai chuckled.

“Assassins! I am in your debt. I shall not forget it. For Dulanair!”

From the empty air, the faint presence responded to his words.

[For the Emperor.]

Then, the thin presence faded completely.