Steel and Mana

Chapter 342 – Roh Vasa

The ancient skull of the last Vasa was heavier than it should have been the moment Pascal's hand raised it from his robe. It was no longer merely bone, but it became a vessel, transforming into an artifact. It was more potent than even Pascal expected, knowing why it was kept by the one who first bore the name Ishillia. For that one moment, he hesitated. But it was no longer possible to go back. The formation was ready, and the ritual had started. Its weight kept rising as the skull became hot, painfully so. Suddenly... He could feel the whispers of the dead clinging to him, calling out from behind an invisible veil, becoming a cacophony of voices chanting and muttering in a lost tongue.

"So... I am being released..." the voice said in a way only Pascal could hear and understand. "After so long, I am being let go to the afterlife. Don't worry, son of Ishillia. I will destroy you as a reward."

For a brief, damning moment, doubt flickered in Pascal's chest. What if this was a mistake? What if... What if the skull was not a last resort, left behind to save Ishillia's future? Meaning both the Empire and his bloodline. The old knowledge was already gone, lost in the past, and what remained were rumors within the family, passed down from ancient times but without any proof to back it up. No... He had come too far to turn back now. With a snarl, he then crushed the skull between his hands, shattering it into hundreds of floating, suddenly burning pieces.

The sound was deafening, becoming a loud crack that echoed not only through the air but through the very fabric of magic itself, spreading outwards like a shockwave. The runes etched into the shards now spinning in the air flared to life, glowing red like molten metal would, spiraling out of Pascal's hands, shooting into the sky. The air around the Imperial Palace was illuminated by orange flames, warping the surrounding air as if the world itself was trying its best to contain what he had unleashed. The ground beneath his feet trembled as the palace, and then the city began shaking as if something had woken up from a dream. Something ancient.

Then, fire erupted everywhere, shooting to the sky. Even the constant bombardment of the magical shield suddenly turned away, heading towards one point, straight above the Imperial Palace. No matter from which direction the enemy's magic was coming, it was twisted and distorted, as if caught by the pull of a black hole, dragged to one pinpoint singularity.

When it was bright enough to be blinding, a spiraling column of flame tore into the heavens, its light so intense that it was akin to a new sun. The fires twisted and contorted, and as the column expanded, it began taking a certain shape. First came the eyes—two blazing embers that burned brighter than anything, filled with an old, unmistakable hatred. Then, the rest of the figure emerged, becoming a man, towering above the region, cloaked in flowing robes of flame that billowed like a living thing, as if it was... a God. Its hair, regrowing, was a cascade of molten lava, long and wild, framing a face that was both beautiful and horrifyingly hateful. The figure’s presence was overwhelming, so much so that every battle, no matter where it was going on... it just stopped.

"Hmph..."

When it spoke, the snort it gave off was not heard but felt by everyone, a vibration that resonated in the bones of every living thing. Then... it spoke. The language was alien, sounding guttural yet strangely melodic all at once. It was a tongue that had not been heard in the world for two thousand years. Even without understanding him, everyone could feel its intent. It was a voice that scorned, judged, and condemned everything around it.

“Ishillian wretch.”

The words were so painful that they seared into Pascal’s mind, burning far worse than the backlash he had suffered before when his disciples were dying. Yet he stood straight. If the legends were right, he was facing someone who almost reached the level of the Six Gods, wanting to become the Seventh. It was the last piece of Roh Vasa, the 'God of Fire.' It directly looked down at him, its blazing eyes filled with age-old loathing and bitter recognition, refusing to let go of 2,000 years of anger.

“Even now, you summon me? A slave’s descendant dares command the last will of the Vasa? Your bloodline should have been scorched from this world when we had the chance. Then, we would be already outside... Living amongst our Gods, once again learning from them.”

Pascal could feel the apparent malice behind the words, that if he could, he would kill him then and there, but he gritted his teeth, unwilling to back down. It does not matter what he feels. Roh Vasa was dead. He was nothing more than a spell now. A spell that he controlled... something he was protected from as its master.

“Unleash yourself,” Pascal commanded, his voice trembling but determined. “Burn everything before you! Destroy it all!”

For a moment, the flaming figure hesitated, its gaze narrowing in pure contempt. But it had no will of its own, not truly... and it knew it. Its body began shifting, dissolving, transforming. It was obeying the wretch who controlled his last spell, the thing that Ishillia sealed in his skull when defeating him.

Suddenly, the being's robes melted into wings, and the flowing hair became a roaring mane of fire. And then, it became something grander, something more terrifying.

It was now a burning phoenix, screeching toward the heavens, dispelling the sky above the land, and turning into the image of the Cosmos.

It was no longer a man but a creature of pure, apocalyptic fire here to reduce everything to ashes. Flapping once, its wings were spreading wide, millions of embers swirling around it like an inferno from a hellscape. The air warped from the heat, the flames licking at the stars above its body. Then, with a shriek that split the heavens, it dove down.

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Sasha’s breath was caught in her throat the moment the cracking sound echoed in her being. Then, as the firestorm was unleashed, she felt it. Not because she was a witch, but because... there was something more to it. Something deeper. Something... a connection.

A call.

It was not a sound but a sensation, a natural pull that resonated in the very core of her being. Her magic instinctually roared to life, surging through her veins like a tidal wave, searing her bones as if carving into them. She gasped in pain, her hands trembling as they suddenly moved on their own, tracing patterns in the air she had never been taught or known, summoning runes as she built a formation out of nowhere. The spell forming before her was something else, coming from memories of not hers nor previous lives but from an inheritance given to her through blood. It was instinctual as if her very soul had awakened to answer a call from her ancestor.

She wasn't the only one, though...

...

Suddenly, sitting in my chair, horrified, looking at the figure appearing above the Imperial Palace, I stumbled out of my chair, holding my chest as though my very blood rebelled against my body. It felt as if my veins burned, my pulse hammering as if something had reached across time and space to shake me, trying to say something. But... I could barely hear him. What... what do you want?!

“What… the hell is this?” I growled, struggling to stay upright. My voice was strained even to my ears, and my face was probably pale as I fought against the invisible force gripping me. Kustov was already next to me as panic was spreading through the bridge, forcing me to try to hold together.

"Fire everything at that... thing!" I grunted, gasping for air, watching as all of our attacks were... siphoned away. It was useless... I knew. "Sasha?" I tried to call out through the radio as Kustov helped me back to my chair.

But Sasha did not answer. She probably couldn’t. I had a nagging feeling that her mind was assaulted just the same. And then Merlin’s voice came through the radio, urgent and unlike anything I had ever heard before.

“Leon! Something is bad! That thing—it’s wrong! It’s… It’s not a spell! It’s...! I think that thing is alive! We’re dealing with something far beyond a simple magical formation; I won't be able to dispel it! We have to get away from it! NOW!”

"Too late..." I muttered, watching it speak, hearing and understanding its words, furrowing my brows, especially as it turned into a majestic firebird. "Well... Fuck."

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"What... is... that?" Mirian gasped, her breathing becoming shallow. She sat in her mech, shocked as she had never seen or heard anything of that magnitude being hidden in the city. Even as she didn't know what she was seeing, she knew it was a Master-level spell, something that... was... Never seen before. At least, as far as she knew it.@@novelbin@@

Just thinking, she felt something change, and when she looked down, in her mech's hand was now a spear—something impossible, yet it happened. It was the Spear of Death, Goddess Ariana's own creation, and she could feel its smooth, cold surface as if she were holding it barehanded. It was enlarged, fitting perfectly into her mech's hand as it began moving, directing her hands.

She wanted to ask questions, but she knew there was no time. Yet, expecting it to aim at the spell Pascal summoned, it was raising her arms, ready to throw... at the palace. Why? She didn't know, but she allowed the Spear to guide her motions, letting go of everything else. Trust the Gods. That was what she would do in this desperate moment.

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Sasha's hands never stopped. She couldn’t. She watched as the wings of death were nearly upon them, its body casting a burning shadow over the battlefield. It would kill them all. It would turn this battlefield into a smoldering grave, along with the city and every living being... Only Pascal would remain. But she knew what she had to do. Somehow, she knew, as the same voice coming from that thing's mouth was speaking to her since the start. Emerging in her head. The same voices she could clearly understand but for Leon were only faraway whispers.

Her spell was completed just as the flaming phoenix let out its final, world-ending cry.

Then...

A second shape emerged.

Another burning bird, small but blindingly bright, leaped from Sasha’s fingertips, from her formation, soaring into the sky. It was also made of orange fire. It was light—pure, radiant, and just as alive. The moment it took flight, the great infernal beast, the essence of the last Vasa... turned.

It followed it. As if meeting a mate.

The two birds spiraled around each other, twisting, rising higher and higher, heading into the visible Cosmos as if caught in an unseen whirlpool, sucking them away from the earth. Only in a few seconds, they were now barely specked dust...

And then boomed the ancient, surprisingly happy laughter.

It was from the same voice as before but no longer vexed. No anger. No hatred. Only the pleasure of freedom, as if the past itself had found amusement in this final, impossible moment.

"The last laugh is mine, Ishillia. I told you! Betrayal will bring its just rewards..."

And then—

The world became day.

The explosion that followed was so far away they didn't feel its impact, yet it still horrified everyone looking at it. It shattered the night on the whole continent, illuminating the sky in a burst so bright that no matter where one was, one could see it. For a single yet long-feeling moment, it was as if noon had arrived early as if the sun itself had been summoned to appear in the middle of the night.

And then, just as quickly as everything spiraled out of control, the world fell silent. The strange firebird was gone. Both of them. The light began fading as it and the image of the Cosmos also disappeared, bringing the night sky back. Only its millions of tiny embers remained, drifting down like stars through the already darkened sky.

Sasha, breathless, finally fell to her knees while Leon collapsed just the same on the bridge of the Camelot.

"This is Prime Minister Merlin!" Echoed a strict but powerful voice from all the radio frequencies. "The Ishillian Master-level spell has been countered by the Sovereign and Lady Sasha. Don't waste the time your leaders brought you! Take the city! Their defenses were empty; their shield had been broken! Cut the Eternal Emperor down and end the war!"

Then, just as he ended, a blackened flash tore through the sky, like a bolt of dark lightning, hitting one of the spires of the palace... exploding it into hundreds of pieces.