Luminous Path

The rubble shifted.

From beneath the crumbled remains of the central building, a figure slowly emerged, unharmed by the falling debris or the searing energy that had scorched the ground. The air distorted around him, the pressure growing heavier with each movement.

Cracks veined his skin, pulsing with eerie black lines that glowed faintly under his flesh. The corrupted energy radiating from him was thick, more refined than any rogue Asrel had fought before. It wasn't just Dark energy.

Then the man spoke, voice smooth but lined with quiet menace.

"That was Guzz's Blessing," he said, eyes fixed on Asrel's teleportation trail. His tone wasn't accusatory. It was observational, cold and certain.

"You're the reason they failed," he continued, stepping forward through the dust and ash.

His gaze narrowed, and his voice dropped.

"You'll have to pay for that."

Asrel didn't respond.

His silence wasn't from hesitation. It was analysis and observation. Gauging the man's power, his aura, the subtle cues in his stance and speech. This enemy wasn't reckless.

Then Asrel saw them.

Figures emerged from the shadows behind the man. Half a dozen—maybe more. Each one carried the same aura, lesser in intensity but unmistakably drawn from the same source. Their posture marked them as combatants.

The leader didn't bother with further talk.

"Kill the others," he commanded with a flick of his hand.

The shadows behind him moved at once, splitting into pairs, darting toward the gate, chasing down the units that had already begun to fall back.

But they didn't get far.

Asrel vanished in a pulse of Chaos.

He reappeared in front of one of the corrupted soldiers mid-sprint, intercepting his path with no wasted motion. In his hand was a long spear of raw Chaos, jagged and seething with energy. The rogue barely had time to register the threat before Asrel drove the weapon straight into his chest, the energy imploding on contact and sending fragments of armor and bone scattering across the field.

But at that same moment, Asrel felt it.

A presence. Behind him.

A surge of power erupted to his left, too close for comfort.

He turned his head just enough to see a beam of Darkness screaming toward him, tearing through the air like a lance of annihilation.

He didn't hesitate.

Already prepared, Asrel snapped his hand outward and twisted space with a ripple of Chaos, redirecting the beam through a targeted spatial fold. The air howled as the attack vanished, only to reappear meters away, redirected straight toward another agent who was mid-leap toward one of the retreating units.

The Dark beam struck him head-on.

His body disintegrated into black dust mid-air, and the explosion that followed leveled part of the cliff wall behind him.

Although Asrel had managed to deflect the initial beam of darkness with a hastily conjured Chaos barrier, what followed caught him completely off guard.

The enemy's leader had been right behind the attack, riding the very path of destruction he created.

Before Asrel could even regain footing, the man was already upon him. A pulse of dark energy surged as the impact landed, launching Asrel like a ragdoll across the ruined field. He crashed against the fractured earth with a thunderous boom, dust and debris spiraling outward. Pain bloomed across his body, even though the residual barrier he maintained had soaked up most of the force.

'Fast.'

Too fast.

Asrel's mind raced. This wasn't like anything he had fought before. The man radiated malicious authority, a controlled violence cloaked in pure hatred.

Before Asrel could even push himself to his knees, the enemy was there again, no sound, no warning.

A flurry of blows descended on him. Each fist cloaked in darkness, striking with the weight of collapsing stone. The aura around them distorted, air cracking with each impact. Asrel barely raised his arms in time to block, staggering backward under the sheer force.

There was no room to counter. No room to breathe. Just blow after punishing blow.

He gritted his teeth and teleported blindly, casting himself across the battlefield to escape.

But it didn't work.

The enemy appeared right behind him, again.

"You can't run," the leader's voice echoed like a growl wrapped in silk. Amused, comfident and cruel. "Not from me."

He raised one arm slowly. Dozens of dark orbs materialized around him, humming with energy that twisted the very air. Then they launched, every single one streaking toward the location of Asrel's scattered team.

Asrel's heart pounded. His instincts screamed. Without hesitation, he flung himself across the field once more, warping space to place himself between the orbs and his friends. His Chaos erupted, bolts flaring in every direction, intercepting the deadly projectiles in a clash of light and shadow.

He landed hard, breathing ragged, but he had no time to recover.

Because the enemy was already behind him.

Asrel spun, too late.

A hand wrapped tight around Rook's throat, lifting him off the ground like he weighed nothing. The enemy stood there, calm and smiling. And from his other arm, something unnatural extended, a sinuous, living tendril of darkness, sharpened to a cruel point. It was already buried deep in Rook's abdomen, blood soaking the front of his armor in growing patches.

Rook choked, body spasming in the air, unable to even cry out.

"No!" Asrel shouted, panic erupting in his chest.

"Do you feel it now?" the enemy asked softly, as if speaking to a child. His voice was thick with venom and satisfaction. "The helplessness. The despair. It suits you."

Asrel's mind raced. Every option. Every technique. Nothing surfaced that could change what was happening in that moment.

Behind him, the other members of Unit 12 saw it too.

"Rook!" Kick shouted, voice cracking.

"NO!" Lira screamed, rushing forward only to be stopped by Brenn's outstretched arm.

They couldn't move. Couldn't even breathe.

The man's power wasn't just physical, it crushed the spirit. His presence alone dulled the air, drowned out hope, twisted their senses with an oppressive, choking weight.

And still, he smiled. That hollow, slow smile of a predator who knew it had already won.

Rook's blood dripped from the end of the tendril.

Asrel stood frozen, every muscle trembling, not from fear, but from the rage building deep inside.

From the bloodstained dirt, black tendrils erupted without warning, slithering like serpents from the shadow-soaked earth. They coiled toward the remaining members of Unit 12, arms, legs, torsos, ensnaring them in seconds. Mari's scream was cut off as one wrapped around her neck. Kick struggled, blade flashing, but the tendrils only multiplied, tightening their grip.

But Asrel had been bracing for this.

The Chaos within him surged, a tidal wave he had held back until now. In an instant, it exploded outward in a pulse of pure distortion, forming a dome of writhing crimson energy around him. The very air shuddered as Chaos bolts spiraled from his core, crackling across the battlefield. The tendrils disintegrated on contact, dissolving into oily smoke as the wave tore through them.

Without hesitation, Asrel acted.

A surge of Chaos expanded outward from his position, distorting the air in a wave of spatial dissonance. His senses locked onto his companions' locations, each signature distinct in his mind.

Then they vanished.

Lira, Kick, Nessa, Berto, Mari, Brenn, and Rook, ripped from the battlefield in an instant, teleported away simultaneously in a flash of warped space.

On the battlefield, the enemy's grip snapped shut on nothing but air.

His arm hung motionless, blood trailing down his fingers where Rook had just been.

He stared at his empty hand.

"…Impossible," he muttered, eyes narrowing.

He turned towards Asrel with interest.

Tendrils burst from beneath Asrel's new position, snapping at his limbs. But Asrel was already on the move again, dodging between slashes and strikes, his Chaos-imbued suit flashing with residual energy. He danced through the assault, until the enemy reappeared, this time just a breath away.

A solid kick struck Asrel's side with a concussive boom.

Pain exploded through his ribs. He flew backward, bouncing off broken stone and dirt before slamming into the base of a shattered pillar. A gasp escaped him, and then blood spewed from his mouth, the taste of iron biting at his tongue.

His body screamed in protest, aching from the repeated abuse.

The sound of slow, measured steps cut through the air as the enemy neared.

From the ground, Asrel tried to rise, only to feel something cold coil around his ankle. Another tendril, thicker, more vicious, wrenched him across the ground, dragging him toward the looming figure.

Dust and gravel scraped across his face and arms. His Chaos shimmered, flickering with instability.

But Asrel didn't stop.

He gritted his teeth, raised one arm, and called forth a blade of Chaos. With a sudden twist, he slashed the tendril at his foot, severing it in a burst of shadow mist.

He hit the ground hard and rolled to his feet, just as more tendrils burst from the liquefying earth, all converging on him.

But then, they both paused.

The air shifted.

Multiple presences, drawing closer, their energy cutting through the battlefield like hot blades through cloth.

The enemy turned his head slightly, dark eyes narrowing. "Hmmm… They're here, huh."

With a low hum, he spread his arms, and the very ground beneath him responded. A wave of black liquid radiated from his feet, transforming the terrain into a viscous, tar-like morass. Buildings sank slightly. Stones dissolved. Even light seemed to bend, warping at the edges.

It was a declaration of power. A final move to assert dominance before the next confrontation began.

But by the time his attention returned to Asrel.

He was gone.

Asrel had sensed the moment. In that brief distraction, while the enemy flexed his presence, Asrel teleported, vanishing with nothing but a ripple of air and a fading trail of Chaos sparks, to the edge of the battlefield, toward the incoming reinforcements.

The reinforcements had arrived.

Seven figures descended from the scorched ridge like judgment given form. Each step seemed to push back the swirling mist, the Miasma recoiling in silent dread. Their armor, resplendent white with golden inlays etched like radiant veins, glimmered even beneath the overcast skies. But what truly marked them was the aura, a faint, shimmering corona of golden light that hovered over their exposed heads, forming a halo-like veil that warded the corrupted air without the need for helmets.

Asrel, still groaning on the blood-slicked ground, lifted his head. His vision blurred and chest heaving, he struggled to focus on the approaching figures. But the sensation was unmistakable. He felt them long before he could clearly see them. It wasn't just power, it was consecration. They burned with the kind of energy that didn't just wound flesh, it judged the soul.

A whisper ran through his mind, unbidden:

"These are no ordinary warriors."

The enemy leader turned toward them, his lips twisting into a crooked grin. "Well, well, well... if it isn't the Paladins of the Luminous Path," he sneered, voice oily with mockery. His laughter echoed off the broken landscape.

The Paladins halted in a perfect line, equidistant and unshaken. In synchronized motion, they drew their swords, blades forged from polished silver-white metal, each one thrumming with divine resonance. Golden runes along their length blazed to life, the heat of sanctity radiating from every inch. When they raised their weapons, the air grew lighter, cleaner, and even the shadows seemed to retreat.

He could feel it in his core, these warriors bore a presence reminiscent of the Holy Knights of the Magic Era, champions of purity who once stood as bastions against evil and darkness. Yet these Paladins were something new. Their essence felt grand, as though chiseled from faith itself and wielded with the discipline of a divine order.