(Muiyan Faye's POV, A few seconds ago)
As Faye watched Jishan draw his blade, her heart lurched into her throat, a silent scream lodging behind clenched teeth as her eyes fixated on the glint of metal that hovered just above Leo's neck.
Her fists slammed the golden barrier harder in one final desperate effort born from instinct rather than logic, because logic had long since told her this wall could not be broken by anything she had.
Not by her alone, at least—
And yet, she still tried.
Still carved her blade into the same groove she'd carved a dozen times before, as if persistence might defy the enchantment where strength could not.
But it was too late.
The blade was drawn. The angle had shifted. Jishan was ready to finish it.
And she could do nothing but watch as the dragon she swore to protect was about to be executed.
However then— Leo moved.
A subtle shift of the wrist. A tightening of the shoulders. A strange closeness to Jishan's thigh that seemed deliberate.
As Faye's eyes narrowed.
"What are you—?"
And that's when it happened.
The mana spike was small, almost negligible to anyone not paying close attention to the exchange. But she was.
And she felt it.
That sudden pulse of raw, invasive energy that Leo sent into Jishan's body, was a technique she had never seen before and the results it produced were shocking to say the least.
"Guh—GAAAAAAAAH—AAAHHHHH—!!!"
The scream that ripped from the cultist's throat wasn't pain, but rather the sound of a man discovering a kind of agony he didn't even know existed.
Jishan reeled. Collapsed. Convulsed.
While Leo— bloodied and broken— remained on his knees, panting through a crimson smile.
And Faye could only stare, as half of her wanted to cry from relief…
…while the other half looked around in desperation, as she glanced towards the same Dupravel Nuna that her cult hated, hoping that he would crack the barrier soon, so she could dive down and save Leo.
*THUD*
*THUD*
At this moment, two other Monarch's entered the fray, as the Mu Family Patriarch and the Enigma Wade, also showed up.
Both gave Dupravel a knowing nod, as the three stood in formation, seemingly ready to enhance each other's attacks and work together to break the barrier.
Dupravel's aura surged first, as a violent torrent of black-violet energy burst around him in serpentine coils.
Beside him, the Mu Patriarch drew a long breath, and as he exhaled, golden runes spiraled from his chest and danced along his arms and onto the curved Talwar Sword he held.
And finally, Wade— ever silent, ever enigmatic— merely raised a single hand, and the space around his palm bent unnaturally, as if reality itself was preparing to give way.
Then—
*BOOM*
All three unleashed their might in a single coordinated strike.
Dupravel moved like a beast unchained, his fists hammering down on the barrier in a flurry of precise, brutal blows that fractured the dome's outermost layers.
The Mu Patriarch followed with a divine cleave of his blade, a golden arc slicing through the fabric of the enchantment, carving deep into the structure's core.
And finally Wade simply tapped the barrier with his index and middle finger—
As the world went silent for half a second before a high-pitched crack echoed like shattering glass from within the enchantment itself.
Within microseconds, factures webbed outward across the dome's surface, spreading like veins, glowing with unstable mana as the golden light began to flicker, until it shattered completely, as the barrier came undone.
*Crack*
The barrier cracked, and hundreds of warriors fell into the pit all around Leo, while several dozen attacks landed on Jishan, who was turned to a pile of bones and ash within moments.
"HALT… NOBODY MOVES—" Dupravel commanded, as soon as he landed in the pit, his voice sounding grave, as he seemed desperate to do something, before the people standing in the pit ruined it.
Extending his hand, he summoned something strange— an ancient silver urn, etched in glowing white runes, as it hovered before him, suspended in air by the sheer amount of mana he fed into it.
It did not seem to appear from a spatial pouch, nor a spatial ring— no, this was not an object he carried, but rather an object he conjured from a sealed space known only to him, like a sacred relic bound to his soul.
And then he began to chant.
Low at first— so low that even Faye, standing a few feet away, couldn't hear it clearly— but the longer it went on, the more the universe seemed to respond, as the wind stilled and the temperature dropped, as if the urn was sucking the vitality of the universe itself.
*SHINGGG—*
The urn trembled.
It's lid cracked open slowly with a hiss of pressurized air that reeked of old blood and burnt incense, as the ashes that were once Jishan— bone fragments, slivers of tendon, even the last flakes of his scorched black robes— rose from the floor like dust caught in a reverse wind, drifting upward, before being drawn into the urn.
Faye could only watch as every last speck of his body was collected by the artifact, devoured in silence, before the lid sealed itself shut with a deep, final clunk that echoed like a tombstone slamming into place.
Only then— after the ritual was done and the artifact returned to stillness— did the wind start moving again, and the temperature return to normal, as Dupravel covered in sweat from head to toe, let out a deep sigh.
"I can't sense the other two," the Enigma Wade said, his voice rough, worn, but filled with certainty.
"Not in this sector. Not even in this star system."
He paused, his brows furrowing deeper as his expression turned grim.
"Whatever spatial rift the Evil Cult bastards used to escape… It wasn't a simple hop. They've covered a vast distance, and fast at that."
His eyes turned slowly toward Dupravel now, and though his voice held no emotion, there was weight in his words.
"Apologies, Guildmaster… it seems the cult bastards have got your son." Wade said, as Dupravel didn't respond to him right away.
He stood there, one hand still resting on the sealed urn as his chest rose and fell with the weight of mana fatigue, his eyes narrowed beneath the tangled strands of damp hair clinging to his forehead, not from fear or sorrow, but from pure, simmering calculation— like a man already dissecting the next hundred steps in his mind before the first words ever left his mouth.
"Don't worry about it." He said in a voice that bore no hesitation or doubt, as he simply glanced down at the urn, and for a brief second, broke into a dark, cold smile.
"I've got one of them now," he said, lifting the urn slightly with a twitch of his fingers, "and I have my ways to make the dead sing like canaries."
His tone wasn't boastful.
It wasn't theatrical.
It was the flat, matter-of-fact promise of a man who had done this before— many times— and would do it again without blinking.
"I'll find out everything," he continued, his voice low but heavy, each syllable landing with purpose. "Who ordered it. Who sanctioned it. Where they took my son. What they plan to do next. All of it."
And then, slowly, his head tilted upward— past the ruined edge of the shattered arena, past the stunned warriors still trying to make sense of what they'd just seen— until his gaze locked on the beautiful blue sky above.
"I'll find my son," he said again, softer this time, but no less terrifying. "And once I do..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
Because the promise in his silence was louder than any vow he could've ever spoken.