"Well...it's a lot more than expected," facing the astronomical numbers of flaming projectiles dropping from the sky, Mithras stayed stoic, his lips curling into a wry smile.
All theocracies had at least one Cursed Flame guarded by their strongest retired guru. The moment the reigning grand priest died from unnatural causes, the Cursed Flame would activate, seeking the cause of the grand priest's death to destroy it at all costs.
The Red-Cloud Theocracy had two Cursed Flames, controlled by the former grand priest and headmaster respectively.
This was common knowledge. And the reason why from the start, Cassandra never expected Mithras to kill the grand priest. Mithras didn't plan to either—finding the deed not worth the trouble it'd bring. But as the picture of his father burning on a funeral pyre appeared in his mind, Mithras moved on autopilot—reducing Elijah to ashes.
And yet...he wasn't satisfied.
The memories of his dead father took over Mithras' mind, forcing events of his childhood back to the surface.
Born the son of a successful Ener Bank Admin, Mithras' father, Fenkil refused to pick up the profession that had earned his family generations of wealth, instead pursuing his passion as a construction worker.
Yes. In an age where golems and automated Arcane Refineries produced the majority of tools and goods, the value of human manufacturers had collapsed to zero, and commoners often had to sell themselves into servitude to make ends meet, Mithras' father wanted to become a construction worker, and competed with golems to find a place in that industry.
This got him promptly disinherited by his father, to his brother's greatest delight, but he didn't care. He was a silly man with a silly name and a strange temperament—yet stayed steadfast and principled regardless of the situation.
Growing up, Mithras didn't like him. Of all fathers in the world, he got the dumb masochist who refused generational wealth to break his back outlifting freaking golems.
99% of the problems they went through could have been avoided if Fenkil hadn't fumbled the bag.
You never fumble the bag!
But at the same time, Mithras couldn't help but admire how carefree and lighthearted his father stayed in even the most disastrous of scenarios—so much so that he sometimes found himself trying to imitate him.
The realization his silly father died burning made a mess of Mithras' mind, making him space out for a moment.
"'Always take the money and take care of the money so it takes care of you.' Old man, if you'd followed half the advice you gave others, you'd still be alive and kicking," Mithras whispered in a bitter tone, and activated the Reduction Secret.
It wasn't enough. It couldn't end like this. As his chest tightened and a consuming feeling of emptiness spread in his guts, Mithras refused to let things end this way. But what could he do? Destroy the Red Cloud Theocracy? Kill Gaiseric?
Pillage the Angra?
All three, maybe?
The fifteenth second hit at last, and without delay, Mithras deactivated both Primal Strength and the Second Secret, joining his hands in a succession of mysterious gestures.
[Divine Fantasy: Red Cloud Paradise]
Mithras threw his head back. And with warm blood flowing down his eyes, nose, and lips, Mithras moved his hands like a maestro, directing an orchestra of invisible entities.
Those entities now emerged from their hidden plane, covering the theocracy in iron-scented haze and sanguine clouds.
In that instant, what interest group they belonged to didn't matter. From elder priests to flame dancers, without exception, all conscious members of the Red Cloud Theocracy aimed something at Mithras, hoping to stop him from using that mantra—a pointless effort.
A host of gigantic red dragons appeared in the sky, beating boulder-sized war drums with their tails while underneath, 300 mesmerizing tribal girls danced along the beat.
Tongues of sanguine flames coiled up the tribal girls' sensual bodies, and Mithras reached forth with a deadpan look—sweeping the Red Cloud Theocracy's lives.
All deities possess a Divine Fantasy—a mantra that not only carries their heart and vision, but a tool they use to judge their devotees and punish non-believers.
Once Mithras snapped his fingers, in a 500-meter radius, the Red God's hardcore believers would leave their mortal bodies and enter the Red Paradise, and the rest burn into ashes. Unless they carried divine boons, no one could avoid that rule.
The Red Cloud Theocracy entered a stasis. Mithras collected his scattered pets, but as he was about to snap his fingers...
[Pyretic Hell]
Nagini and Cassandra appeared at the theocracy's doors, smashing through its defensive barriers with combined efforts.
As Mithras' familiar, Nagini had also received the Red Sacraments and didn't have to worry about the Divine Fantasy. Cassandra, however, would face it at full strength—dying without a doubt.
Mithras could no longer activate his skill. But as he considered ways to circuNovelFireent this problem...
[Divine Fantasy: Pyretic Blood Paradise]
Another Divine Fantasy took shape, overwhelming Mithras' and shattering it in a heartbeat.
The moment next, two figures appeared in the theocracy's sky. On the left, the unconscious Headmistress Achai. Mithras ignored her, focusing on the one who'd so easily dispelled his strongest mantra: a woman shrouded from head to toe in a twister of silver flames, with windblown white hair that cascaded at her back:
Elektra di Elektra, Queen of the Blood Smelting Kingdom, and true leader of the Red Cloud Theocracy had made her entrance.