There was a lull in the confrontation as the Spirit of Slaughter appeared. Both the ghost and Hector stared at the illusory spirit with differing expressions on their face. The elder looked conflicted, while the woman seemed more curious than anything.

“You were the one who killed my thrall, then?” she asked. “I must admit, I find it fascinating that such a backwater sect could gather so many curious individuals.”

The swordsman waved his sword in response. The spirit in front of him let out a soundless roar, and punched with his two right arms in response, as if mimicking Domeron’s movements. A beam of black-red flame shot out from the sword like an arrow, crossing the air in less than an instant to reach the ghost.

The woman put her hand up, intent on blocking the blow with her pale palm. The pillar of fire clashed against her, causing an explosion to reverberate over the town. Shockwaves reached Red and blew him back, causing him to feel a tightness in his chest from the sheer power behind these blows.

Fire consumed the sky above them, and there was no sign of the ghost in its midst. Neither Hector nor Domeron let their guard down, though, their heads raised as they waited for the dark-red flames to subside.

Before that happened, though, there were other explosion sounds. These ones, though, seemed to come from far away.

‘The zombies.’

Red frowned and looked downhill. He didn’t have an angle to see what was happening at the foot of the mount, but he saw smoke rising to the sky near the edges of town, as well as screams of alarm from people being awakened from their sleep. Beyond that, though, there was something else.

A shimmer in the air around town. It was similar to the shield talismans he used many times in the past, though this one seemed to cover a far wider area than normal. If the youth didn’t have his dark vision, he would have missed it.

‘The formation.’

Like he had been told many times, when they needed it the most, the formation was still there to protect them from the invaders. How long it would last, though, was an entirely different matter.

His attention turned back to the battle, where the flames seemed to subside. The woman was still there, with her arm raised, and with no signs of damage to her ghostly body. There was, however, a change to her appearance.

Something had sprouted from her upper back - a deformed, large, monstrous arm. It was dark grey and had darkened veins sprouting all over its length, resembling undead flesh, though not in a state of rotting like a zombie or ghoul. It had five fingers like with a human hand, but its nails were fashioned like sharp, pitch-black claws, which were even longer than its digits.

The arm was raised above the ghost’s head, as if in preparation to slash down.

Domeron looked over at Red as his expression twisted. “Take cover!”

The youth didn’t wait twice, diving behind the closest debris he could find.

There was a flash of blue light from up above, as Hector’s sword tried to pierce the arm before it could do anything. It seemed to work, as Spiritual Energy lacerated the ghostly limb, but before it could even fall apart, grey tendrils extended from its mangled flesh and repaired the arm in a matter of instants.

There was nothing else Hector or Domeron could do before it slashed down.

As it did, it seemed to meet resistant against the air, as if it was tearing into something invisible. A rift then appeared from nothing in the space where it clawed, growing in a matter of seconds to the size of a full grown man.

There was nothing but darkness as Red looked into it. Yet, he felt a sense of terror, as if something was making its way through the other side to reach them.

Domeron braced himself, the spirit in front of him roaring inaudibly at the woman.

A cacophony of screams came from within the rift. An instant later, a torrent of mangled ghosts came pouring out of the portal, shooting towards the swordsman with the momentum of a waterfall. Their bodies were sallow and translucent, their skin pulled taut against their bones, and they all seemed to be merged together, forming a continuous stream of damned souls that fell down onto Domeron.

The man held his flaming sword in front of him, and his spirit seemed to move. It clapped its four palms against each other, and the horn on its head glowed with increased intensity, before more dark-red flame twisted out of it. Said flames then condensed in front of Domeron, forming a barrier to meet the incoming attack.

The clash happened a second later, as the stream of ghosts threw themselves against the fire shield. They burned away into nothingness, though the impact of the clash immediately caused shockwaves to spread from the impact point. Gouts of flames and grey wisps were thrown every each way, reaching almost every corner of the large courtyard.

Even behind some cover, Red was still forced to retreat lest he be caught up in the maelstrom of Spiritual Energy. The youth wasn’t even able to see Domeron beneath all of that, only his Spirit of Slaughter remaining visible beneath the shield.

The waterfall of ghosts didn’t stop either, streaming out of the rift for more than five seconds, which must have felt like an eternity for the swordsman who was the target of its rampage.

While this was happening though, Hector didn’t stay still either. His sword flew high above the ghost’s head, a long, floating stream of water manifesting around it from thin air. Then, the blade pointed down and started to spin.

Red recognized this attack.

The woman looked up too, her gaze meeting the artifact. The ghastly arm that sprouted from her back stood straight, its palm turned up as if to shield her from what was about to come.

A few seconds later, the river stream started to converge downwards, before turning into a torrent of raging water that fell down towards the ghost.

The woman’s figure disappeared under the waterfall, and the cascade clashed against the ground of the courtyard. Whatever remained of the meeting hall was completely swept up in this attack, which seemed to even cave into the earth below.

The youth, who thought himself safe almost a hundred meters away, was forced to retreat even further, until he was outside the sect. He could feel the fluctuation of Goulth and Rog nearby, and although he could see them, they seemed to have fled a safe distance away, too.

At this point, Red was considering complete retreat, but he knew he couldn’t do it.

‘The exorcism technique might be the only way to defeat her.’

Since Aurelia hadn’t told him to retreat either, she must have a plan too. At the end of the day, he couldn’t just leave his companions here fighting against this enemy by themselves when he knew he could help.

The waterfall continued to strike down against the woman, and her own stream of ghosts disappeared. Domeron’s figure also retreated so he wouldn’t get swept up in Hector’s attack, and he stared at the spot the ghost had just been.

A few seconds later, the waterfall seemed to subside. A crater was located in the middle of the sect where the waters had struck, and the rift had also disappeared, but there was no sign of the woman anywhere.

“Domeron!” Hector called out to the swordsman.

Domeron didn’t respond, instead just swinging his sword towards the air. The spirit in front of him punched along with his swings, and large gouts of fire flew from his blade to multiple points of the sky up above. It seemed like the man was hoping to reveal their invisible enemy.

He soon succeeded in the task. The air shimmered far above the swordsman's head, revealing the ghost’s figure. This time, however, she was flying towards Domeron.

The man swung more flames towards her, but the woman, now prepared, weaved through the air like a bird, avoiding his attacks.

Hector’s sword that had been in wait vanished, flashing like lightning to meet the woman. The deformed hand that sprouted behind her back slashed towards it, causing a clash that deflected the sword away. Still, the impact seemed to be enough to make her fly off-course and give Domeron the opportunity to slip away.

The swordsman’s movements were much faster than Red remembered, approaching even Hector in pure speed. He relocated himself to another side of the courtyard, sending more flaming slashes in the ghost’s direction.

The woman disappeared into the mist before these could reach her, but Domeron didn’t change his strategy. He continued swinging his sword and revealing her position in the sky, at which point Hector would send his sword her way, stopping her charge.

Although they didn’t manage to wound her, the duo’s combination neutralized her offense, and for a delicate period of time, the battle seemed to have reached a stalemate. Yet, as Red looked at Hector and Domeron’s worsening expressions, he knew this balance would soon be broken.

‘They can’t keep this up.’

Hector told him before that the energy within the Deep Sea Sword was limited, while he knew that the further Domeron’s spirit stayed out, the harder it would be to control it. They were both using these tools to fight a being far above them in power, and as soon as either of them was spent, they would both die in an instant.

Red needed to do something.

“Aurelia, are you done?” he asked.

“Not yet!” The woman sounded as if she was struggling. “There’s something wrong with her energy… It’s like it has a will of its own!”

Red frowned. “Will you be able to do it?”

“That necromancer taught me what I needed to do, but it will still take a bit!” she said. “Just tell your friends to hold for as long as they can!”

The youth wasn’t sure how to communicate this message to them, and he supposed there was no need to, either. They couldn’t run, and as soon as their energy ran out, they would die. The only thing they could do was resist for as long as they could.

Just as Red was considering what else to do, he felt one of his companion’s fluctuation approach the battlefield.

‘Rog?! What does he want to…’

The youth trailed off as he felt something strange about the hunter’s fluctuation. It was as if another force was slowing spreading through it and overtaking what he usually felt in its place.

A terrifying possibility crossed Red’s mind. He looked over at Rog across the battlefield, and although he couldn’t see the man’s appearance clearly, he noticed something was strange with the color of his skin.

Suddenly, the hunter picked up his pace, and he shot in Domeron’s direction with speed unbefitting his power.

“Domeron!” Red called to the swordsman.

It didn’t seem like the man needed his warning, though, as he felt someone approaching him from the rear. He swung his sword around to meet whoever it was, but when he saw the face of his attacker, Domeron’s arm seemed to falter for a split second.

Suddenly, the air above him shimmered, and the form of the ghost appeared, her clawed arm swinging towards him. Domeron’s spirit raised his four hands above to block, manifesting a flame shield on its own. Its hurried attempts weren’t enough to stop the attack in its entirety, though.

One of the claws slipped through before the barrier could form, clawing into Domeron’s arm. The man immediately buckled and fell on one knee, and then Rog dove in.

The hunter’s clawed hand dug into the swordman’s chest.