Lucent

"IMPLOSION!"

Atop the decimated spire of castle Lysandus, Viscount Mobius was making his last stand against evil.

He smiled as this word left his lips, staring into the face of the Archon's true Demon Hat form as he spat his indignation into the creature's vile crimson eye.

Above, the clouds of Westerweald swirled and rumbled with thunder. Below, the people of the once-great city cried out in sheer terror, pushing through each other, and the corpses of the Greycloaks strewn about the broken streets, to get to anywhere that wasn't this place.

The Viscount stood alone. And that was exactly what he wanted.

As the Archon sent its minions against him, he had forced his spectral Blade Barrage directly into them and imbued them with a viscous little enchantment that he'd been keeping for this very day. He waited till the Archon came close enough, letting the great monstrosity claw its way through his defensive barrier until he came within an inch of the old warrior's heart.

Then, and only then, had Mobius revealed his trump card:

[Implosion]

Grade S

In a last-ditch effort to eradicate your foe, you imbue up to 5 objects nearby with a Smart-Bomb enchantment.

Each bomb, when triggered, implodes for 1000 Spirit DMG in a 50ft radius.

*Note: This Skill uses up all of the User's MP

The Skill had always struck him as odd. He was no warrior. No professional monster-hunter like his compatriots. If anything, he'd preferred to sit out any combat sessions, opting instead for the serenity of administrative duties. That was what had marked him among the Greycloaks.

And yet, the Skill had also been more than suited to his temperament.

For all his life, ever since he'd taken the blood of the Archangel, all he'd wanted was to dedicate himself to preserving her legacy. He'd always thought that meant guarding the gates of merely Caer Krea, high up in the mountains overlooking civilization.

But when his Brothers had chosen him to take up the throne of Lucent in Commander Argent's absence, he had suddenly understood what his true purpose was.

That night, he had received a dream-vision from his Lord. He had seen himself standing atop a silvery-white spire, while smoke and brimstone and the echoes of a dying world raged all around him.

Before him stood a beast with many faces. Not three. But ten. Each one a different hue, with a different twisted appearance. Each one containing a warped, unnatural soul that had turned away from the light of Kaedmon.

And he'd known that his duty as [Gatekeeper] hadn't been simply to guard Caer Krea at all.

His duty was to banish the evil that would soon come knocking at the doors of the dying human race. He was the only man in Westerweald who could.

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As the tavern patrons said: 'Last one out, quell the lights.'

Ethan looked into the old man's eyes, recognizing the skill the instant he'd seen the flash of red that crept into Mobius' irises.

When the blooming bud of fire then began to erupt from his chest, Ethan had at first thought that he should simply attempt a retreat. [Ethereal Form] wasn't charged back up yet. And even if it was, Spirit DMG was unblockable.

And the old man was charging up five loads of his explosive, fiery death. It would be overkill the likes of which wouldn't just kill them both, but eradicate all life that still remained in this city.

But that reaction – the desire to pull away in fright – that was coming from the old him. The old Ethan who had always been afraid. Always full of doubts and trepidation. Now, he didn't listen to that voice anymore. Not even Sys assailed him with woes about his capabilities.

Because now, he knew exactly who he was.

And it was with that same conviction that he launched himself forward, breaking apart the blade barrier of the Greylcoak, and stretching a single claw towards him.

Mobius recoiled, already feeling his internal organs combust and split apart as the spirit fire of his blades began to spread out, fanning away the remainder of Ethan's Shadow Wraiths until –

-the flames died away, just as quickly as they'd been spawned.

At first, Mobius's face merely twisted in confusion. Then, he looked down to his waist to see that one single, Onixian tipped nail of the Archon was currently touching his chest.

[Prophet's Pacification]

Grade S

Heretical Skill conceived by the Prophet Jun'Ei. Allows the User to nullify all Skill usage from another user on contact.

Duration: 10 minutes.

He…canceled me out…

Ethan grinned down at the bemused old man.

"I've got news for you, [Gateguard]: that whole 'shouting my secret skill out loud' thing doesn't make you cool."

Before Mobius could summon up another Blade Barrage, Ethan drove his claws into the man and tore through his muscle and bone like a blade scraping through butter.

Old Mobius barely even screamed as his body broke apart, grey-white blood spurting like a geyser from his eviscerated torso. He felt himself flying through the skies, coming to land in a series of wet thuds beside where the charred rubble of the throne of Lucent now lay. His eyes shifted, watching as the Archon's lion head simply snapped up his lower torso and chewed it apart.

Then, Ethan's eyes found his again.

They're always so prideful before they die, Sys muttered in his mind. All of them, without fail, think that they're the hero of this tale. You'd think, by now, they'd at least accept their situation. There'd be more dignity in it.

Mobius twitched, flapping his right hand feebly as he tried to summon up at least one sword. A split-second later, his hand was chopped apart to ribbons by Ethan's [Thorn Hail].

"Even…now…" the old man choked. "You…make such…a mess."

"No more than what you and your God have made of this world," Ethan replied as he stood above the last Greycloak of Lucent.

"You…will never…understand…what it is….to believe…"

Ethan ignored the Viscount's pointless postulating. He dangled a single Onixia-coated nail over the old man's twitching chest.

"Said you had something to tell me?"

Mobius coughed up blood, his Greyclok metabolism being the only thing that was keeping him from crying out in pain. That, and the sheer determination to laugh in the Archon's faces.

His smile cracked his jaws, and a hoarse, guttural chuckle escaped his mouth.

"You are finished, Archon," he said. "You…and I…we're exactly where we should be right now."

Ethan narrowed his eyes. But Mobius wasn't done yet.

"The angel…was here," he said. "He came to us…in a blaze of white glory, holding the fires of the Lord in his eyes."

The old man licked his bloody lips.

"And then…he went below."

…

…

..Ethan?

"…I don't believe you."

The old man's smile mocked him even as he lay there dying. And it seemed that in his moment of greatest triumph the entire burning city mocked him too.

"…yes, you do."

Mobius the Gatekeeper passed from the world with the smile of a good death on his face. His eyes glazed over and he let out a satisfied sigh of relief.

"My Lord," he whispered. "I go to where I am ne-"

SPLAT.

Ethan's claw came down on his body before he could finish his last words.

"No," he said. "No, no – I – Sys – he's – how?"

For a moment that's all he could say. Even as Sys informed him that he'd just gained 5000 extra Spirit Cores, taking him right up to a whopping total of 15,000, he didn't care.

"He couldn't mean –"

Even as Ethan struggled with the realization, the final nail in the coffin of his judgement came not from his own internalized thoughts, but from another voice, shrill and deathly familiar, that finally managed to pierce his raging consciousness:

MR ETHAN! HELP!

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