2026-07-30 18:49:20"A leech trying to drink the ocean," Bontus mocked, shaking his head. "You are pathetic. You have no right to exist in this holy kingdom."
Bontus kicked Bruce sharply in the ribs. The heavy golden boot sent Bruce rolling across the small room.
Bruce stopped rolling near the massive hole in the wall. Through the broken white marble, the main chamber of the Deepest Vault was clearly visible.
The blinding, humming sphere of the Golden Cell was still there.
And inside, Victoria Thompson was watching.
Because her phantom projection had returned to her body, she was awake. She hung from her hard-light chains, her beautiful face covered in tears. She was struggling wildly against her bindings, pulling on the chains so hard that her wrists bled golden light.
She had just watched her only son try to save his friend, only to burn his own soul from the inside out.
"Bruce!" Victoria screamed. Her voice was raw and broken. "Leave him alone! Bontus, I beg you, take my life! Take all my magic! Just let my boy go!"
Bontus slowly turned his golden horse around. He rode toward the hole in the wall, stopping right in front of the Golden Cell. He looked at the weeping, chained woman.
The High Inquisitor did not feel pity. He felt triumph.
"Victoria Thompson," Bontus said smoothly, a twisted smile on his face. "The traitor of the Iron-Heart Clan. The secret battery of the Order. It is a pleasure to finally see you awake."
"Please," Victoria wept, her silver eyes filled with total despair. "He is just a boy. He knows nothing. Let him go."
"Let him go?" Bontus asked, acting surprised. He laughed, a cruel, harsh sound that echoed in the pristine room. "Let a Void-Spawn walk free? Let a boy who summons Forbidden Angels run around the kingdom? I think not."
Bontus raised his broadsword. He pointed the burning tip directly at Bruce, who was lying helpless and bleeding on the floor of the ruined antechamber.
"I am an Inquisitor," Bontus declared proudly. "My duty is to clean the world of dirt. And your son, Victoria, is the dirtiest thing I have ever seen."
Bontus looked back at Victoria, his eyes glowing with sadistic pleasure.
"I am going to purge him," Bontus said coldly. "And I am going to do it right here, so you can watch him burn. I want you to remember this moment every single day for the rest of your miserable, chained life. I want you to know that your sacrifice was for absolutely nothing."
"NO!" Victoria shrieked. She pulled on the chains so violently that the entire Golden Cell shook, but the divine hard-light did not break.
Bontus ignored her screams. He turned his horse of light to face Bruce and the Ashen Seraph.
The Seraph was hunched over in the corner, heavily wounded, clutching its bleeding, smoking shoulder. It tried to step in front of Bruce again, but it was too weak.
"Prepare to meet the true light," Bontus whispered.
The High Inquisitor gripped his heavy broadsword with both hands. He closed his eyes and began to chant a holy prayer in a strange, ancient language.
The air in the tiny, cramped room suddenly grew incredibly hot. It became hard to breathe.
The holy flames wrapping around Bontus’s sword began to grow. They changed from bright orange to pure, blinding white. The magic was so intense that the stone walls of the tiny room began to melt like wax.
Bontus was not just preparing a normal swing. He was gathering a massive, room-clearing Holy Strike. It was an executioner's blow, designed to completely obliterate the entire room and everything inside it, turning stone, flesh, and demon alike into pure white ash.
"Master..." the Seraph whispered weakly, extending a trembling skeletal hand toward Bruce. "I... I cannot stop this."
Bruce lay on the ground. His right arm was useless. His mana core was cracked and burning. He had no strength left to run, and nowhere to go even if he could.
He turned his head slightly. Through the hole in the wall, he met his mother's eyes.
Victoria was sobbing, her face a mask of pure agony, watching her son's final moments.
Bruce tried to smile for her, to show her he was not afraid, but his face was too broken.
The white light on Bontus's sword reached a critical mass. The brightness was absolute, erasing all shadows, blinding everyone in the room. The humming sound of the divine magic grew into a deafening roar.
"In the name of the Supreme Pontiff," Bontus roared, opening his glowing, fanatical eyes. "BE ERASED!"
High Inquisitor Bontus swung the blinding, white-hot sword of judgment down toward Bruce’s broken body.
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Chapter 52
Hestia looked up at Bruce. Her face was covered in blood and wet dirt. Her eyes, which used to look at him with such cold, cruel arrogance, were now filled with absolute, pure terror. She opened her mouth, but she was too weak to speak. She just whimpered, raising a trembling, bleeding hand to protect her face. She expected Bruce to summon his dark sword and cut her head off. Bruce looked down at the Matriarch of the Iron-Heart Clan. He looked at the woman who had locked his mother in a cage, who had branded his shoulder, and who had ordered him to be treated like garbage for nineteen years. He could easily kill her right now. It would take one second. But Bruce did not raise his hand. He realized that killing her here, in the rubble, was too easy. She was already defeated. Her gate was destroyed. Her secret battery farm was exposed to the church. Her elite army was dead. Hestia was going to have to explain this massive failure to the rest of the noble clans and the angry Inquisi
Chapter 51
The Blade of Lost Tears materialized in his grip. But it was not a normal sword of dark smoke anymore. Fueled by the Seraph’s full localized power and the explosive Ashen Fire, the sword grew. It expanded massively, shooting up into the rainy sky. It became a towering pillar of black and white flames, sixty feet long and ten feet wide. It looked like a column of absolute destruction. Bruce grabbed the hilt of the massive, sixty-foot pillar of fire with both hands. He did not feel the weight. The magic moved with his will. He ignored the army of Inquisitors behind him. He ignored the holy spears and fireballs flying at his back. He focused entirely on the giant monster and the massive eighty-foot gate blocking his path to freedom. "I am the Devourer," Bruce’s voice boomed. It sounded like an earthquake. Bruce swung the massive, sixty-foot sword of Ashen Fire directly at the Northern Gate. He swung it in a perfect, horizontal arc. The giant pillar of black and white fire hit Hest
Chapter 50
"Very little, Master," the Seraph replied. "Only enough for one final attack. But I cannot come out of your shadow. The holy net will burn me instantly.""You don't need to come out," Bruce commanded. "I am the Devourer. I am the bridge. I want you to push all of your remaining power directly into my body. Every single drop. I will channel your true, localized power through my own flesh."The Seraph was completely shocked by the order. "Master, you cannot do that!" the Seraph warned quickly. "My power is Forbidden. It is too dense, too chaotic! Your Void-Forged Body is strong, but you are still a mortal boy! If I push my full power through your cracked core, it will break your bones! It will tear your muscles apart! You might explode!""I don't care!" Bruce shouted out loud. His sudden shout made Bontus and Hestia stop arguing. They both looked down at the boy in the glowing net. "I don't care if it breaks my bones!" Bruce yelled, his voice echoing over the rain. He opened his eyes
Chapter 49
Bruce Thompson lay flat on the wet, cold cobblestones. The holy net of pure, burning hard-light was wrapped tightly around his body. The magic acted like glowing ropes of fire, pinning his arms to his sides and his legs together. Every time he took a breath, the net burned deeper into his wet clothes and his skin. He could smell the sickening scent of his own burning flesh. He was completely trapped. Above him, the giant, mutated monster that used to be Lady Hestia looked down. She was fused into the massive, eighty-foot Northern Gate. Her giant iron face twisted into an ugly, jagged smile. Her eyes burned with red, stolen blood-magic. She raised her massive foot, which was made of heavy iron beams and sharp spikes. She hovered it directly over Bruce’s head, ready to stomp him into a bloody paste. "I have you now!" Hestia’s monstrous voice roared. The sound shook the heavy rain in the air. "You are nothing but a trapped rat, Bruce! A little, dirty rat caught in a trap!"But befor
Chapter 48
The Seraph was not strong enough to stop the monster completely, but the dark chains slowed the giant arms down for just one crucial second. Bruce used that second perfectly. He ran straight up the falling right arm. His bare feet found traction on the rusty iron and the glowing red spikes. He sprinted up the massive arm like it was a ramp, defying gravity. "Get off me!" Hestia screamed. She tried to shake her arm, but Bruce was too fast. He reached the shoulder of the giant monster. He leaped off the metal joint, launching himself high into the air, directly toward the center of the gate. He was flying straight toward Hestia’s giant, ugly face. Bruce reached his left hand out. The Brand of the Void on his shoulder flared with its maximum power. The deep purple light illuminated the rainy night. He was ready to pull the corrupted magic right out of her brain. He was ready to end the Matriarch once and for all. "I am going to eat you alive, Hestia," Bruce whispered as he flew thro
Chapter 47
Without even slowing his sprint, Bruce reached his left hand up and caught the glowing red fire-arrow directly out of the air. He did not even look at it. He simply absorbed the fire magic into his palm, turning the iron arrowhead to rust, and kept running. The guards on the ground were completely decimated. They could not fight back. They could not even defend themselves. Every time they swung a weapon, Bruce was already behind them. Every time they tried to use magic, Bruce ate it, growing stronger, faster, and more deadly. It was not a battle. It was a harvest. In less than sixty seconds, the remaining twenty Iron-Guards on the ground were completely erased. There were no bodies. There was no blood. There were only piles of gray ash quickly washing away in the freezing rain. Bruce slid to a stop. His bare feet dug deep grooves into the wet stone. He was breathing deeply, but he was not tired. The stolen magic rushed through his veins, repairing his torn muscles instantly. The
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