Chapter 79: The Breaking Point
Amidst the chaos, Dominic caught a fleeting glimpse of Harwick. He was moving, slipping out like a serpent through tall grass, his form almost swallowed by swirling smoke. Aldric was with him, heading toward a side passage where the guards had abandoned their posts.
Dominic tried to rise, but his ribs screamed in protest. His ears throbbed, and the thick smoke made it hard to breathe.
"Harwick's escaping," he rasped between gasps.
"Let him go," Florence snapped, her voice sharp and unwavering. "We have bigger problems now."
She was right. Through the shattered window, Dominic saw them, shadowy figures emerging from the smoke. Dark robes, pallid faces. Leading them was a figure unlike any other, tall, gaunt, cloaked in shadow and ancient fabric, with eyes blazing cold fire.
The lich stepped through the shattered window, and an icy chill swept through the chamber.
Frost spiderwebbed across the broken stone, while smoke curled and curdled in the air. The terrified nobles inside were too paralyzed to scream or flee. They stood frozen, helpless witnesses to the ominous figure that had come for them.
Its voice resonated through the hall, not a sound, but a heavy, otherworldly presence pressing into their minds.
"The Tribunal is over," it declared.
Then, chaos exploded.
Church agents snapped blades from beneath their robes, their eyes shimmering with dark light. Some nobles in the gallery rose, revealing themselves as more than mere spectators, cold and ruthless, their hands cloaked in shadow.
Without hesitation, they struck down those beside them, guards toppled, servants screamed, and the once-stately hall descended into a brutal slaughterhouse.
Dominic was already advancing rapidly through the chaos, his movements sharp and purposeful.
"Florence, flank left! Lysandra, protect as much people as you can and get them out! Theresa—"
"She's busy!" Florence yelled back, her voice cutting through the tumult as she lunged into the first wave of Church agents. Her halberd whirled in a deadly arc, slicing through the air with precision, and a man draped in dark robes was struck down, falling apart into trembling shreds.
Theresa was still on the ground, clutching Tobin's fading life with desperate urgency. Vex stood nearby, shields raised high against the chaos, her stance steady as she fought to contain the onslaught. Vora had vanished—she'd slipped away at the first sign of the lich's appearance, slipping silently toward the core in the distance.
"We need to get Tobin out of here," Theresa called, her voice strained with urgency. "She won't survive much longer this way."
Vex nodded sharply. "I'll take her to the Collegium. My mages can stabilize her, keep her alive." Her gaze briefly locked on the lich, her expression grim and resolute. "Contain this. If you can."
"Go," Dominic commanded. "We'll hold the line."
Vex swiftly gathered Tobin into her arms, a shield of shimmering silver light enveloping them. She moved through the chaos with decisive resolve, cutting a clear path like a blade slicing through cloth. The Church agents who dared to interfere were dispatched quickly, falling before they could get close.
Now, it was just Dominic, Florence, Lysandra, and Wobbly standing against the lich and its remaining followers, ready to defend what was left.
Then the first true assault erupted.
An imposing S-rank Church captain, broad-shouldered and clad in dark plate armor, burst out of the smoke cloud and swung a massive two-handed axe directly at Dominic's skull. The speed was staggering, blazing fast for a man of his size, and far too heavy to block.
But Dominic wasn't fighting alone.
Florence's battle instincts roared through the bond, piercing through the chaos to pinpoint the attack's angle, timing, and precise arc. His body responded instinctively, twisting just as the axe blade whistled past inches from his ribs, tearing at his clothes with a gust of wind. Behind him, the ground trembled as the axe shattered the stone floor.
Seizing the moment, Dominic raised his sword and slashed across the captain's thigh. The blade sank deep, yet the man remained standing. S-rank endurance at work. He grunted, swung back fiercely, forcing Dominic to retreat step by step, their blades clashing in a deafening collision that jolted through his bones.
Though amped with energy, Dominic was still only human. And the gap between C-rank and S-rank? It was a chasm impossible to ignore.
Florence found herself surrounded, fighting two formidable opponents simultaneously.
A graceful woman with twin daggers darted just out of reach, her blades laced with ominous dark light. Nearby, a massive man in heavy chainmail swung a flanged mace with such force that each strike seemed capable of shattering stone. Despite fresh wounds, a gash on her arm and a burn on her cheek, Florence's resolve didn't waver. Her halberd whirled through the air, deftly deflecting the mace and driving the dagger-woman back.
Yet, fatigue was creeping in. She was running at forty percent strength. Her timing was slightly off, her power just a touch weaker than usual. With every clash, she felt herself wear down, painfully aware that she was only a shadow of her former self.
Lysandra darted through the side passages, her rods flashing black steel and shimmering gold. She wasn't engaged in a direct fight with the elites, she was playing the clock, buying precious seconds.
Every time a Church agent broke through to pursue the fleeing nobles, she was there, her iron rods smashing bone and cracking stone with relentless precision. She was an A-rank warrior. Against S-rank elites, a straightforward fight would be suicidal, but she didn't need to win outright. Her only goal was to hold the line, creating a window of escape for the civilians, and she was more than capable of that.
Wobbly hovered at her side, transforming into shields that soaked up deadly blade strokes, enveloping enemies to stifle their attacks, then breaking apart to expose openings. She wasn't aiming to kill, she was fighting to keep everyone alive.
The lich observed silently.
It chose not to attack. There was no need to, the very aura it exuded was destructive: the biting cold, the crushing pressure, and the weight of something ancient, patient, and supremely confident in victory. It allowed its followers to do the fighting, and they were succeeding.
Dominic caught it all in fractured glimpses.
Florence was struck by a mace to the ribs, the blow staggering her. She didn't collapse, but blood trickled from her mouth.
Theresa navigated through the chaos, her piercing golden eyes constantly scanning the battlefield for any sign of danger. With Tobin gone and Vex guiding her to safety, a surge of freedom ignited within her to fight. Her hands moved swiftly through the air, unleashing a wave of force that collided with three charging Church agents, sending them hurtling into the debris.
Yet, even as she fought fiercely, the oppressive presence of the lich loomed over her, a chilling weight that slowed her movements and dulled her spells.
An enemy mage spotted her and began to cast an ominous spell. Theresa saw the dark energy swirling in his hands and quickly raised her shield, but it shattered before her eyes, the first bolt snapped it, the second crushed it. The third—
Wobbly intervened.
The bolt disappeared into the creature's glowing form, causing its light to flare white-hot for a fleeting moment. It emitted a strange sound, half burble, half scream, but held its ground.
Theresa's eyes widened in alarm. "Wobbly—"
The creature wobbled unsteadily, its glow flickering erratically.
A hardened resolve flashed across Theresa's face. Without a shield, her hands already attacking, she launched herself at the mage.
He never saw it coming.
A jagged needle of pure force pierced through his chest before he could complete his spell. He collapsed, dark magic sputtering into the air around him, dead.
Florence faced two S-rank elites, but the real challenge wasn't the fight itself; it was the impossible space around her. The hall teemed with allies and fleeing civilians, and she strained to avoid collateral damage.
The dagger-woman launched herself at Florence first, a blur of black steel and shadow. Florence let her come, waiting patiently until the woman was within her guard. Then, she moved straight into the attack, twisting her body past the twin blades. The dagger-woman's eyes widened in that final moment: she saw it coming but couldn't stop it.
Florence's halberd sliced through her head in a single, merciless arc.
Next, a hulking man roared and charged, swinging a flanged mace powerful enough to shatter stone. Florence sidestepped effortlessly, letting the mace dent the ground, then countered fiercely with her halberd, opening him from shoulder to hip. He collapsed, armor shattered like paper.
Two S-ranks down, dead in seconds.
But more enemies were already approaching.
From the smoke emerged an SS-rank captain, dark energy crackling along his blade. Two more S-ranks flanked him. Florence's expression remained unchanged. She shifted her stance slightly, her bloodstained halberd ready, and waited.
"This is why we can't hold the hall," she sent through the bond. "Too many bodies. Too many of ours mixed with theirs. I can't fight properly without risking our own lives."
Dominic understood immediately. "Then we push out. Take the fight to the street."
Agreed.
Before they could move, the lich raised a skeletal hand, signaling the next wave.
It raised one skeletal hand, and the shadows around it collapsed inward, gathering into a sphere of absolute darkness. The air screamed as the sphere grew, and the temperature dropped so fast that Dominic's breath turned to ice in his lungs.
He saw it coming. He just couldn't stop it.
The sphere shot downward, at the center of the Tribunal Hall itself.
It struck.
The world went white.