Chapter 61

The tension in the temple courtyard snapped like a taut bowstring. Nick’s breath hitched as the immense pressure weighing on Morrin suddenly intensified, forcing the mothman to his knees. The air around him seemed to ripple, and dark mist appeared from nowhere, curling like smoke around his slender frame.Morrin’s wings trembled violently before falling still, and his multifaceted eyes began glowing as the light within them flickered like a candle struggling against the wind. The dark mist sank into his fur and skin, seeping into his very being until his eyes turned a sickly black. A low, unnatural sound escaped his lips—part growl, part wheezing laugh—that sent shivers down the spines of those gathered.

Marthas was apparently undaunted by the changes.“Sashara, the ever-burning flame, the guiding light of purity, the cleansing fire! Lend me your strength to cast away this shadow, this filth that would defile your flock!” His deep voice rang out, commanding the attention of all present.

The chant rolled through the courtyard, echoing with power. The flames in the braziers surrounding the temple flared higher, pushing back the creeping shadows with their golden light. The gathered beastmen instinctively huddled closer together, seeking comfort as the temperature rose and the spiritual weight settled heavily upon them.

Nick could do nothing but watch, clutching his wand so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The scene before him felt surreal—a clash between powers rivaled only by the battle between Arthur and the wyvern.

Morrin’s body jolted upward with a violent snap, extending his arms wide as if pulled by invisible strings. When he spoke, his voice was no longer his own. It was layered and guttural, dripping with malice. It sounded old, older than anything Nick knew of.

“I am That Which Flutters in the Dark,” the creature intoned, freely giving its name. That was bad.

The bright flames dimmed at the sound of its voice, and the courtyard grew colder. The name carried with it a tangible force that rippled through the crowd. Several beastmen collapsed to their knees, clutching at their heads as though the words themselves had injured them.

Nick felt a wave of nausea hit him like a physical blow, a strong discomfort that settled in his chest and crawled up his spine. Notifications from the system blinked into existence before his eyes, but he ignored them, locked on the unfolding confrontation.

has nullified the effects of a mid-tier Abyssal Invocation.

Morrin—or whatever entity now inhabited him—let out another hollow, cold laugh. Although the golden flames licked at his body, preventing him from fully rising, the dark presence appeared unfazed. If anything, it seemed almost amused.

Unfortunately, the temple lessons or his parents’ teachings didn’t cover planar geopolitics, and so Nick had no idea how common these things were.

Marthas squared his shoulders, and his fiery tattoos blazed brighter, driving back the darkness. H addressed the creature directly, unafraid. “You have overstepped your bounds, servant of the Abyssal Gods,” he declared. “You dare bring your foulness into Sashara’s domain? You will find no refuge here, no salvation. I am Marthas, Grand Exorcist of the Burning Path. By Sashara’s will, I will cast you back into the void where you belong!”

With a gesture, the flames surged around him, radiating such heat that the crowd was forced to shield their faces. The oppressive darkness that had settled over the courtyard shrieked back, fraying under the burning power.

The creature tilted Morrin’s head, narrowing its darkened eyes as it regarded Marthas. “Ah, the arrogance of a champion of the Burnt Bitch,” it sneered, mocking yet devoid of true emotion. “You think your petty fires can harm me? You think your mortal-born goddess holds sway over the Infinite Darkness?”

Nick’s stomach churned at the casual dismissal in the creature’s tone. He wasn’t sure if it was bravado or genuine belief, but the entity’s power was undeniable.

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Marthas remained unmoved at the insult. “You will find no purchase here,” he sneered. “Your master’s reach ends where Sashara’s light begins. Even if you shed this mortal coil, your essence will scatter like ash in the wind. You are nothing before her power.”

For the first time, the creature’s expression shifted. Its amusement dimmed, replaced by something colder, more calculating.

“Perhaps I will lose this shell,” it admitted, quieter but no less chilling. “Perhaps your flames will reduce me to nothing more than ashes for you to worship. But even so, I will return to the Infinite Darkness, where my lord waits. And you, exorcist, will remain bound to your flickering flame, forever tethered to what little Her light shows you, unable to comprehend the freedom of oblivion.”

Nick’s breath caught as the air around Morrin seemed to distort. The dark mist swirled more violently as though feeding on the tension. The golden flames danced in response, increasing intensity until the two forces clashed, light and shadow fighting for dominance.

Marthas clapped once, and the flames spiraled upward, forming a blazing pillar surrounding Morrin. The roaring fire drowned out the creature’s laughter, and the light swallowed its mocking words.

But Nick knew deep in his bones that it wasn’t defeated. There was something about the way it spoke, the way it moved, that suggested it wasn’t playing for victory. It could have escaped the clutches of the priests if it had wanted to avoid a confrontation. That it hadn’t meant it was exactly where it wanted.

Most beastmen were passed out at this point, unable to cope with the power being unleashed, and only a dozen remained standing—mostly adventurers with martial classes.

With a shout, the pillar of flames dispersed with a shockwave, and Marthas was forced to step back. Weeping, cracked skin was all that was left of the mothman’s fur coat, but he didn’t seem to be in pain.

Nick crouched low, fighting his every instinct to leave. His pulse hammered in his ears as he watched the priests begin to encircle Marthas and Morrin. Their steps were soft, and they were careful not to draw attention to themselves as they formed a wide ring.

The creature within Morrin seemed oblivious to the maneuver and kept its blackened eyes fixed on Marthas with unblinking malice. The Prelate regained his stance as his fiery tattoos blazed like molten rivers across his skin. They shone through his robes, revealing that his entire body was covered in the same patterns.

Nick watched the fight but also kept an eye on the priests as they reached their positions. Subtle gestures passed between them—a nod here, a twitch of fingers there. Then, at Marthas’s shout, they moved in unison. Their hands came together with a sudden clap, and a spark of flame ignited above their palms.

“Praise be to Sashara, the eternal flame!” they intoned as one, ringing with fervor. “Cleanse the world of its impurities!”

The flames leaped from their hands, spiraling upward in threads of gold and crimson. The streams of fire met above the courtyard, intertwining and spreading like molten glass. In moments, the blazing strands solidified into a translucent dome, trapping Marthas and Morrin within its fiery confines.

The resulting construct pulsed with radiant light, shifting like a liquid flame. For a moment, Nick thought it might collapse as Morrin slashed, sending a wave of shadows, but it held firm. Its heat was so intense that he could feel it even from the distance.

This wasn’t just a barrier; it was a crucible. A brazier of sorts, meant to hold incredible heat within its confines.

The fight inside the dome began again with a blinding flash. Nick raised an arm to shield his eyes as searing light filled the space. When the brightness faded, the interior was a swirling maelstrom of flame and shadow vying for dominance.

Morrin moved first, opening his insectoid wings and blurring into motion. He darted through the enclosed space, appearing as a dark blur, dancing between the flames that erupted with each of Marthas’s strikes. The Prelate’s attacks were relentless, and he kept sending waves of purifying fire toward his opponent.

Nick lifted his head, nearly forgetting his efforts to remain hidden. His fingers twitched around his wand, barely refraining from sending probing gusts as he analyzed the battle. Morrin’s agility was remarkable, but the creature was clearly on the defensive, and its erratic flight patterns betrayed its desperation.

The shadows exploded outward as it attempted a counterattack, and tendrils of darkness lashed at Marthas. The Prelate didn’t flinch. With a single gesture, he summoned a wall of flame that disintegrated the shadows before they could reach him.

“Is this the best the Abyssal Gods can muster?” He taunted, his voice ringing with scorn. “A pathetic parasite clinging to mortal flesh it claimed through trickery?”

Morrin hissed a guttural sound. “Mock me all you like, firekeeper,” it spat. “Your light may blind, but the dark is infinite. You cannot burn what you cannot reach.”

But his bravado was wavering. Nick could see it in how his movements grew sluggish, and his evasive maneuvers became less successful. Every time the creature was forced to meet Marthas’s attacks, the flames left their mark, adding to the charred mess. Each blow eroded its strength, visibly weakening it with every exchange. Morrin was likely long gone, but if he had been the one fighting, he would have been unable to move by now.

Marthas pressed his advantage, growing more aggressive. The dome’s heat intensified, licking hungrily at Morrin’s battered form. Finally, with a crackling burst of fire, one of the Prelate’s attacks hit the mothman head-on, sending it crashing to the ground.

Morrin lay sprawled, heaving with labored breaths. The creature’s darkened eyes burned with defiance as it stared up at Marthas, who loomed over it like a vengeful god.

It let out a rasping cackle. It was an unnerving sound. “You think you’ve won, firekeeper?” it sneered, its voice carrying a note of triumph despite its broken state. “Even if the Night does not come today, your kingdom is doomed. Whether to the dark or to the Green Gods, this land will fall.”

Nick felt a chill run through him at the words. He glanced at the priests encircling the dome, noting their nervous glances. The words had unsettled them too.

Marthas didn’t deign to respond. His face was carved from stone, and his fiery tattoos glowed with renewed intensity. He raised his hands, and the flames within the dome surged, converging on Morrin in a torrent of golden fire.

Defiant laughter was drowned out by the roar of the flames. When the firestorm subsided, there was nothing left of Morrin but ash scattered across the ground.

Nick exhaled shakily, his grip on his wand slackening. The dome flickered once, then dissolved, its light fading into the morning air. The priests stepped back, pale-faced but resolute, as Marthas turned to address the crowd.

“Let this be a reminder,” he said, commanding the attention of the beastmen, who were just starting to wake. “The darkness cannot stand before Sashara’s light. Trust in her, and you will be safe.”

Nick wasn’t so sure. The fiend’s words lingered in his mind as an ominous echo that refused to fade.