Path of the Forsaken Sigil

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 Hestia’s giant iron arms first. 

There was no resistance. The Ashen Fire instantly erased the metal. The sharp spikes, the heavy iron beams, and the glowing red blood-magic simply evaporated into nothing. Hestia’s arms were cleanly cut off, turning into fine gray ash before they even hit the ground. 

But the swing did not stop. 

The massive sword of Ashen Fire slammed directly into the center of the eighty-foot stone wall and the glowing Runic Defense Array. 

For one single, terrible second, the entire world went completely silent. 

The rain stopped in mid-air. The shouting of the Inquisitors faded away. All sound was sucked into the point of impact. Then, the world shattered. 

KABOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The explosion was catastrophic. It was the loudest sound Oakhaven had ever heard. 

A massive shockwave of condensed black and white flames erupted from the gate. The blast wave shot across the plaza at the speed of sound. 

The shockwave hit the army of Inquisitors behind Bruce. Hundreds of elite, heavily armored knights were lifted off their feet like dry leaves in a hurricane. They were thrown backward, flying through the air and crashing into the brick buildings of the plaza. 

High Inquisitor Bontus was thrown from his golden saddle. He slammed through a wooden storefront, screaming as his pure white armor was scorched black by the Ashen Fire. 

The holy spears and fireballs that had been flying toward Bruce were instantly vaporized by the blast. 

But the real destruction happened at the gate. 

The Runic Defense Array—the magical shield powered by the deep earth—shattered like cheap glass. The blue and red magic completely detonated, exploding outward. 

The massive, eighty-foot-tall wall of solid black iron and dark stone could not withstand the Ashen Fire. The stone cracked. The iron melted. The entire structure blew apart. 

Giant boulders the size of wagons flew into the air, crashing down into the empty streets of the Lower Slums. Thick iron bars bent and snapped, raining down like deadly metal hail. A massive cloud of thick dust, black smoke, and white fire shot hundreds of feet into the rainy sky, completely blocking out the purple clouds. 

Bruce stood in the exact center of the explosion. 

The Ashen Fire around his body protected him from the falling rocks and the flying metal. He lowered his arms. The massive sixty-foot sword of fire faded away, leaving his hands empty. 

The terrible pressure inside his body suddenly vanished. The Ashen Fire aura disappeared. Bruce dropped the one inch to the ground, his bare feet hitting the wet cobblestones. 

He stumbled forward, falling to his hands and knees. He coughed violently, spitting up a large pool of dark blood. Every bone in his body ached. His muscles felt like they had been put through a meat grinder. He had used the full power of a Forbidden Angel, and his mortal body had barely survived the strain. 

Slowly, the thick cloud of dust and smoke began to clear. The heavy rain returned, washing the dirt from the air. 

Bruce looked up. 

The Northern Gate was completely gone. 

The impenetrable eighty-foot wall had been completely erased. In its place was a massive, smoking crater. The path to the outside world was wide open. Through the giant hole in the city’s defenses, Bruce could see the dark, howling wilderness of the Gray Wastes. 

Bruce slowly pushed himself up. His legs shook, but he forced himself to stand straight. 

He walked slowly through the smoking rubble of the ruined gate. 

As he walked, he heard a pathetic, wet coughing sound to his left. 

Bruce stopped and looked down into a small pile of broken, melted iron. 

Lying in the rubble was Lady Hestia. 

She was no longer a giant monster. The explosion of Ashen Fire had completely severed her connection to the gate and the blood-magic. Her monstrous mutations had melted away, leaving her in her human form. 

But she was broken. Her expensive silk robes were burned to ashes. Her legs were trapped under a heavy stone boulder. Her arms were covered in terrible burns. She looked old, weak, and pathetic.