Chapter Twelve: Baptism of the Sacred Flame

From the marsh behind came the unmistakable sound of fire devouring rot. Though Rayne and his companions had already traversed a fair distance under the escort of the paladins, the scorching sensation creeping up their backs was impossible to ignore.

The old hunter risked a glance over his shoulder.

He saw golden flames encircling the swamp behind them, twisting shadows writhing and dissipating in the inferno.

At the front of the formation, Adrian strode ahead, the tip of his sacred flame lance trailing along the ground, leaving a smoldering scar in the damp earth, sparks hissing in the humid air.

"Stay alert," he murmured without turning. The mist of the marsh clung to the ends of his silver hair, condensing into beads of water. "The curse concentration here is—"He abruptly halted mid-sentence, raising his left hand in a clenched fist—the signal for imminent combat in the Order of the Holy Temple.

Hans and the others immediately tensed, eyes scanning the surroundings. Rayne's right hand moved instinctively to the hilt of his silver blade.

He could feel his crystalline heart pounding violently within his chest, the rhythm so frenzied it threatened to shatter his ribs. The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end—an instinctual shiver felt only when prey is locked in a predator's gaze.

The infant cradled in Leah's arms began convulsing violently, a pulsing green glow flickering through the linen wraps like a dire omen.

"They're coming," the old hunter rasped, just as the mire ahead erupted in a spray of fetid water.

Three grotesquely mutated swamp gators burst forth. Their once-armored hides were now sloughing off, revealing masses of black, writhing mycelium. The largest exceeded five meters in length, and a cluster of luminescent green mushrooms pulsed in its left eye socket, releasing tiny spores in rhythm with its breath.

"Fall back!" Adrian's sacred flame lance erupted with blinding light.

He lunged forward in a blur, thrusting the spear deep into the gaping maw of the lead beast. Holy fire detonated from within, tearing the monster apart. But the airborne chunks of rotted flesh were pulled back together midair by sinewy threads of fungus, reassembling like grotesque marionettes.

Rayne's silver blade carved an elegant emerald arc, cleaving the flanking beast in two. The mycelium recoiled violently from the runes on his weapon, sizzling and emitting acrid black smoke."Their weakness is silver-enchanted—"

Before he could finish, the third gator's massive tail lashed out toward Leah.

With a roar, the blacksmith threw himself in front of her, his burly frame crashing into the blow like a living wall. With a dull thud, he was hurled several meters back, carving a trench in the mud.

"Spit!" The blacksmith spat blood, wrenching a crude silver dagger from his belt, runes etched in shaky lines along its edge. "Should've used this from the start!"

Adrian spun mid-motion, hurling his lance like lightning. It pinned a pouncing, corrupted lynx to the trunk of a twisted tree. The creature let out a shriek like a wailing infant, its claws flailing futilely in the air.

"Above!" Adrian barked, his hand pressing to the silver box at his waist, knuckles white with strain.

And then, silence.

Even the insects ceased their songs. Only the occasional pop of bubbling mud could be heard. Breath caught in every throat as an oppressive dread settled like fog. Rayne felt the rhythm of his crystalline heart shift—no longer frantic, but heavy, like the toll of a funeral bell, warning of something worse yet to come.

Adrian's eyes narrowed. His sacred lance quivered faintly in his grip as he slowly turned his head, ice-blue gaze sweeping the mist.

"Something's wrong," he whispered, barely audible.

Hans unconsciously reached for the holy sigil at his chest, lips moving in silent prayer. The knights closed ranks, backs to one another, armor clinking softly. Leah clutched the feverish infant, its green glow flickering steadily.

The blacksmith wiped sweat from his brow, rough fingers tracing the silver dagger's edge. The old hunter's one eye widened as his ears twitched, straining to catch any sound. Pools of murky water mirrored the blood moon overhead like shattered mirrors.

Then—

Gurgle...

A faint noise—like the churn of intestines—echoed from the depths of the swamp. Then another. And another. The sounds multiplied, drawing closer. Ripples spread across the mud's surface—first sparse, then ceaseless.

Rayne's silver blade began to tremble of its own accord, the runes flickering erratically. A chilling dread crawled up his spine—an instinct as ancient as the species itself.

"Brace for battle!" Adrian shouted, raising his lance high. And in that instant—

The entire swamp boiled over.

Dozens of humanoid shadows rose from the mire—dead villagers, twisted by decay. These Corrupted opened their mouths in unison, emitting a soundless scream beyond human hearing, black fungal tendrils erupting from every orifice.

"Form ranks!" Adrian recalled his spear in a flash, tracing a burning circle of flame around the group. Rayne noted the strain in the knight-commander's breath, sweat beading across his brow—exhaustion mounting with each invocation of holy fire.

The Corrupted surged forward in unnatural unison. Hans raised his kite shield to block the first wave, the angel relief on its face opening radiant eyes that blazed with divine light.

Two knights hurled sanctified grenades—glass vials arcing through the air before bursting, dissolving the front line into black smoke. But more monsters clambered over the charred remains of their brethren, phosphorescent green fire dancing in their hollow sockets.

"They're learning!" Rayne cleaved through another, only to see those behind mimic his stance. A sharp, blinding pain lanced from his crystalline heart—like a red-hot brand piercing his chest. He staggered to one knee, only the silver blade plunged into the earth anchoring him.

A Corrupted broke through the line, claws lunging for the infant. Adrian stepped between them, his spear impaling the beast. Yet countless claws grasped at his cloak, dragging him back. Fungal tendrils slithered into the seams of his armor.

"Commander!" Hans tried to assist, but was pinned by three foes. His shield was cracked, his supply of holy water nearly depleted.

Rayne surged up with a roar, every rune on his blade bursting into brilliance. A fan of emerald flame erupted, carving down the Corrupted surrounding Adrian. Yet the severed torsos continued to crawl, regrowing tendrils at an alarming rate.

"This never ends!" gasped the blacksmith, his dagger dulled, blood pooling beneath his shattered arm.

Adrian suddenly tore open his breastplate, revealing a chest etched with golden sigils that pulsed like living things. He bit his finger, scrawling a complex blood rune upon the silver box."By sacred blood, I invoke thee—!"

The silver box burst open. A beam of pure light lanced skyward, vaporizing the Corrupted and sterilizing even the mycelium-infested mud to ashen dust.

But the blaze lasted only three seconds before Adrian collapsed to one knee, blood trickling from his lips, his golden irises beginning to dull.

"Go... now…" he croaked, arm trembling as it pointed toward the vague spire of a ruined temple veiled in mist.

Rayne followed his gaze, helping the wounded onward. Behind them, the rustling of regrouping monsters returned—like countless insects feasting on leaves.

They did not attack directly, but lingered at a distance.

Rayne's heart twisted with a disturbing thought: it was as if the creatures were herding them toward the ruin.

With every step, Rayne felt eyes hidden in the shadows upon him. The crystalline heart thundered in his chest, desperate to warn him of something yet unseen.

"Just a little farther," Adrian rasped, dragging his scorched spear behind him, fire trailing in his wake. His once-lustrous hair was soaked in blood, clinging in crimson strands.

When at last they reached the ruins, they froze.

The ancient elven structure was entirely ensnared by grotesque vines, pulsing with veins like living tissue. Black ichor oozed from the runes etched into the arched entryway.

"By the gods... is this the end of the world?" The blacksmith's voice trembled. Blood soaked through his tunic; his arm hung limp.

Adrian said nothing. He drove the sacred lance deep into a fissure, the runes flaring to life like lit fuses. The vines at the entrance convulsed violently in the silver box's glow, shrieking like newborns.

"Hans! East wing!" Adrian tore off his shattered pauldron, exposing an arm inscribed with golden sigils now weeping blood. The droplets hissed into golden mist.

The six knights quickly shifted into a hexagonal formation, holy fire tracing a six-pointed star across the floor.

Rayne's gaze brushed over their battered armor—edges eaten away by the Corruption, faint green light oozing like slow venom.

"Watch the vines—!" he warned, but too late.

The ruins shuddered, and the vines lunged like serpents. One knight screamed as he was snatched and dragged into darkness.

"Leah—!" the old hunter's raspy shout echoed across the stone.

Only then did they see—Leah was already walking, cradling the child, toward the altar at the temple's heart.

"I... I can't stop..." Her lips quivered, voice no louder than a breath. The infant in her arms now glowed with shardlike green light, casting jagged shadows across her face. Her body was taut, moving without will.

Rayne lunged, but vines wrapped his ankles. Their spiny surfaces burrowed deep into his flesh."Leah! Stop!" he roared, hacking at the vines. Putrid green ichor sprayed.

But as she neared the altar, her gaze grew vacant, tears mixing with blood on her cheeks, forming crimson droplets that sizzled as they struck the child's shifting skin.

The blacksmith struggled to rise, his face contorted in pain from broken ribs. "Lia, girl… don't go…" he cried, blood bubbling from his mouth.

Her lips trembled, as if she wanted to say something—but just then, a deep voice echoed from the depths of the ruins, layered like a chorus of countless whispers. Her body convulsed, and her gaze turned vacant once more as she cradled the infant and walked toward the ritual nexus.

Raen could only watch as her silhouette vanished into the shadows beyond, a trail of blood-streaked tears the only sign she'd ever been there.

"Damn it!" Raen roared, helplessly watching her go. Suddenly, the runes on his silver blade all flared to life. Emerald light flickered like flame along the edge, and the vines ensnaring him writhed violently, shrieking with cries like a wailing newborn.

With a surge of strength, Raen lashed out. Where his blade struck, the vines convulsed and snapped as though struck by lightning, spraying foul-smelling green ichor.

The old hunter seized the moment, throwing his hunting knife with deadly precision. It severed the tendrils binding the blacksmith. Though grievously wounded, the man still forced himself upright, drawing a final silver dagger from his belt. "I'm not finished yet!"

A piercing scream tore through the air—Lia's voice, raw and broken, echoing from the heart of the ruin.

Raen's whole body jolted. He dashed toward the sound, boots squelching across the slick ground. The walls around him, carved with ancient elven reliefs, wept black ichor as though mourning.

Rounding the final bend, the sight that met his eyes froze his blood.

Lia knelt at the ritual nexus, the infant in her arms now fully transformed into a grotesque fungal mass. Black filaments burrowed into the wounds on her arms like countless parasitic worms. Her face was streaked with tears, lips trembling in agony, yet she clutched the abomination to her chest with unwavering resolve.

"Ra…en…" she rasped, barely audible.

A thunderous crack split the air—the ceiling of the ruin burst open, and rubble rained down like a stone storm. As Raen looked up, a colossal feminine face woven from mycelium descended. Decaying spores drifted from her hair-like tendrils, and her eyes—twin pulsing green crystals—reflected Raen's blood-streaked face.

"At last… I've found you…" Her voice was a symphony of the damned, echoing with the cries of countless souls. The walls shook, ancient carvings crumbling beneath the force of her words. Raen's eardrums burned, warm fluid trailing down his neck—blood.

The ground surged as boils erupted across its surface. Moments later, dozens of vine-like tendrils as thick as a man's arm burst forth. Lined with barbs, their tips gleamed with a metallic sheen.

Instinct took over—Raen rolled aside just in time. One tendril slashed across his left shoulder, tearing flesh apart. Blood splattered on his silver blade, causing its ancient runes to flare with eerie crimson light.

"Sacred Flame, hear my plea!"

The shout came from behind—Adrian, Commander of the Holy Knights, knelt in a pool of blood. His armor was shattered, exposing a body etched with golden sigils. From his palm, radiant glyphs wove into a curved wall of fire.

The tendrils struck it with a hiss that rang through the ruin. Adrian convulsed, blood pouring from his mouth. Raen watched in horror as the knight's silver hair turned ghostly white, and deep lines carved themselves into his once-handsome face.

"The... casket…" Adrian's voice was little more than a whisper on the wind.

Raen's gaze locked on the silver reliquary five steps away, now open, the silver-gold flame within casting shifting shadows across the floor.

He leapt toward it, but the entire ruin trembled violently, like a beast stirring beneath the earth.

"Left side—watch it!" the blacksmith rasped from behind.

Three tendrils surged forth from the darkness. The one on the far left darted ahead, impaling the blacksmith through the chest. He looked down at the gaping wound, then grinned—a wild, bloody grin. Crimson spilled from his teeth, dripping onto a silver pendant at his neck with a hissing sizzle.

"Bastard… taste this…" he growled, hurling his ancestral dagger with one last burst of strength. The blade spun through the air, runes glowing bright as it pierced the tendrils and sank deep into Her right cheek.

She screamed—a deafening roar that shook the very bones of the ruin. The opportunity was fleeting, but Lia seized it. Wounded and trembling, she crawled toward Raen. The black filaments still squirmed in her arms, and beneath her skin, web-like black veins crept toward her heart.

"Raen…" she sobbed, her voice ragged and broken. Her outstretched hand trembled, its fingernails turned a sickly, unnatural green. "Kill me… while I'm still me…"

Raen's hand on the blade trembled violently, a piercing pain stabbing at the crystal core in his chest.

"Catch—!"

Adrian's shout rang out. Raen turned to see the knight's battered body launch forward, shielding him from three converging tendrils. The sound of punctured steel and flesh was sickeningly clear as Adrian was impaled. Blood burst from his chest and back like a fountain.

With his dying breath, Adrian hurled the reliquary toward Raen. It flipped through the air, the silver-gold flame leaving a trail of brilliance. In that instant, Raen saw his lips move, though no sound came:

Burn it… burn Her…

Raen caught the casket midair—the searing heat instantly burned through his gloves. The smell of scorched flesh filled his nostrils, but he didn't flinch. Gritting his teeth, he pressed the flame against the silver blade.

"Oath of Life—" he rasped, voice hoarse yet resolute, "To death, unwavering!"

The runes blazed in sequence. Emerald fire surged across the blade, its heat unbearable. Raen's hand split open, blood dripping from his mangled palm, sizzling holes into the stone floor. Yet he clung to the hilt as if it were his only lifeline.

In that moment, he heard them—countless ancestral spirits crying out from beyond, their voices uniting into a thunderous war cry:

"Godslayer!"

Emerald flame erupted from every fracture in the blade. Her scream pierced the soul itself, resounding not through the ears but within Raen's very bones. His hand was now bone laid bare, flesh charred to cinders, but he refused to let go.

"Push forward!"

Adrian's spectral form emerged from the flame, his translucent hands overlapping Raen's bloodied grip. "She has not fully descended—burn Her entirely!"

With each tendril that withered in the fire, Raen's vision blurred—until, through the smoke and ruin, he saw Lia again.

Her spine had sprouted glowing nerve-like tendrils, entwined with the fungal god's own limbs. Her face flickered between torment and serenity, locked in a final, desperate struggle for control.

Then, for one precious moment, her gaze cleared.

"Raen…"

Her voice was soft but sure. "Now."

She reached out, grabbed the blade, and drove it into her own heart.

"Her weakness… is the humanity I still cling to…"

Blood trickled from her lips, but she smiled, serene and free.

"End it all."

Raen let out a primal cry, forcing the blade home.

—And time… stopped.

He saw Lia's peaceful smile.

Saw the blacksmith's open, lifeless eyes.

Saw the last flicker of light fade from old Walker's solitary eye.

Adrian's spirit dissolved into the blinding light.

White fire devoured the world.

When it faded, the ruin was gone—nothing remained but smoldering rubble. Beneath the blood moon, only Adrian's broken spear still stood atop the ruins, wrapped in a sacred flame that never died, swaying gently in the night wind—

A lone beacon to guide the lost home.