A gunshot thundered through the abandoned church, and the Profaner staggered as a bullet tore into his chest. He stumbled, blood seeping through his robes as he clutched at the wound. He turned his head to find the black-robed man standing before him, the muzzle of his gun still smoking and aimed squarely at him.
"You..." the Profaner rasped, his voice trembling with pain and disbelief. He collapsed to the ground in a lifeless heap, blood pooling beneath him.
The Profaner was dead.
The black-robed woman screamed in fury, her voice echoing through the church like a harbinger of vengeance. Without hesitation, she drew her pistol and fired at the black-robed man, her shots wild and unrelenting.
But the man was ready. A thick, swirling mist materialized around him, enveloping his figure and obscuring his position. The woman’s bullets pierced only air, leaving her in a blind rage.
Before the altar, the worshippers faltered. The Profaner’s death struck terror into their hearts, and panic spread like wildfire. Abandoning any semblance of unity, they turned their desperation toward the four figures blocking the church doors.
“For the Goddess!” the woman in white shouted, her voice steady and unyielding.
Gunfire erupted in the confined space. Worshippers armed with pistols took aim at the four people, focusing on the commanding woman.
Unmoved, the woman in white gown raised her hand in a fluid motion. An invisible barrier shimmered into existence before her, effortlessly deflecting the oncoming bullets. The sound of ricochets filled the air as the attackers’ futile assault broke against her shield.
The worshippers of the Church of Chaos froze in shock, their faith wavering as they realized the enormity of the supernatural power before them.
Chris, hidden among the worshippers, watched with wide eyes. His heart pounded as he muttered under his breath, “Who... who is she? How does someone like this exist in Massa?”
"It''s our turn now," said a tall man in a gray coat, his lips curling into a calm yet menacing smile. Drawing his sidearm, he fired with precision, the bullet piercing a worshipper’s silver mask and dropping him instantly.
“Lir, you’re so brutal,” remarked a plump man nearby, dispatching another worshipper with practiced efficiency.
“Keep your opinions to yourself, Shavin,” Lir replied coldly, his tone betraying no emotion.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Nearby, a gentle-faced woman turned the pages of a tome she held, murmuring under her breath. Invisible forces immobilized several worshippers, freezing them mid-charge.
The scent of blood thickened the air, driving the remaining worshippers to the brink of madness. Consumed by fear and desperation, they rushed the four persons in a last, frenzied attempt.
"How do I get out of here?" Chris thought, his mind racing. He could feel the fear emanating from the worshippers like a suffocating tide that almost drowned him.
Suddenly, something clicked in his mind. A faint yet distinct sound, like the unlocking of a door. A surge of energy coursed through him, and green light flickered in his eyes.
Before he could process what was happening, he found himself standing behind the four persons, the oppressive aura of the battle still pressing against his back.
"Teleportation?" Chris rushed out of the church, his newfound ability filled him with equal parts exhilaration and terror.
"Interesting," the woman in white murmured, her sharp gaze following Chris’s sudden movement. She drew her pistol with a graceful motion, angling her body as she fired a single, calculated shot.
Next moment, the bullet twisted unnaturally in midair, altering its trajectory to graze Chris’s left ear with a burning sting.
“Damn it!” Chris hissed, clutching at his ear. His fingertips came away stained with blood, and he turned to glare at the woman before disappearing in the night.
The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she did not pursue. Instead, she holstered her weapon, her focus returning to the fight still within the church.
After all, the Profaner was the night’s true target.
---
The battle’s cacophony faded, leaving the church in eerie silence. The woman in the white dress moved cautiously among the bodies strewn across the floor, her steps deliberate. Her piercing gaze remained fixed on the altar as she approached the Profaner’s still form.
Lir, reloading his weapon with practiced efficiency, kept the Profaner firmly in his sights.
“Maye, surrender now!” Arnold, the black-robed man, called out from the inner sanctum. His voice was calm yet commanding, even as he was evading the relentless attacks of the black-robed woman pursuing him.
“You traitor! The Lord of Corruption will see you damned!” Maye’s voice was cold and venomous, her dagger slashing through the air as she pressed her attack.
“Arnold, subdue her,” the woman in white ordered without looking away from the Profaner. "Don''t play dead, Profaner."
“Heh heh—” The Profaner’s bloodied form stirred, and his silver mask glinted in the dim light, now streaked with red.
“You Dawn Inquisition fools... always such a nuisance,” he rasped, his voice laden with malice. Thick gray mist poured from his body, engulfing him entirely. “Wait for my vengeance!”
The woman’s eyes flashed. “Anna!” Her hand shot out, and her companion passed her a glowing tome without hesitation. With a surge of radiant energy, the pages of the tome flipped open, unleashing a wave of light that dispelled the Profaner’s mist.
“The Scroll of Dawn!”
The Profaner froze, his movements stilled by the tome’s binding power. His expression twisted with fury and despair. “Impressive,” he muttered darkly. “You really went all out for me.”
“Your sins end here.” the woman in white gown declared. Her voice was steady, imbued with a finality that left no room for defiance.
Arnold approached, dragging Maye behind him.
“Arnold, you’ve completed your mission,” the woman said, her tone softening slightly. “May the light of the Goddess be with you.”