Chapter 204: [204] The Fear Of Death

The sword of ares cut through the air with a sharp whistle akin to a hypersonic missile.

Lightning pulsed around the white blade, the sky crackling with tension.

It could not be dodged, not when Azarath had seen it too late and the spell was homing.

Azarath suspected as much, so he gave up on escaping. Instead, he immediately teleported the gate of sheol in front of him, using its hulking frame as a shield.

“Foool! The [Gate Of Sheol] cannot be destroyed by magic!” Azarath screamed out, a wide grin on his face as the sword came.

He would suffer a few burns, maybe lose a limb at most. But it was nothing he could not heal.The gates of sheol closed up, the thick metal-like material glowing nefariously.

Clang!

“Bring it on—”

The sword slammed into the gate, the gates giving off a purple hue. And then right before Azarath’s wide eyes, it cleaved right through it.

“I-impossible!”

It was like a hot knife through soft cheese. The Sword Of Ares sliced the gate in two, just before plunging into his chest, nearly splitting him in two halves.

Blood gushed out of his wound and mouth, burning to steam as it made contact with the ethereal blade.

Azarath’s hands trembled from unimaginable pain. He looked up, his vision blurry as he raised his gaze to meet Eliron.

Up in the clouds, the Eliron that had launched the blade vanished, warping himself to Azarath.

He stretched like he had just woken up then sighed. “Oof, that was a weird feeling….”

With a snap of his finger, the sword vanished. Azarath was about to fall out of the sky when golden chains wrapped around his arms and legs.

The chains had come out from small black rifts that looked like miniature spatial rifts.

Eliron regarded Azarath, his eyes moving over his dreary form. He clasped his hand behind his back, his brows creasing with mock concern. “You don’t look so good, Grand Mage.”

Azarath stared at the ground, which in this case was a vast, empty sky.

“H-how?”

“Oh? I guess this must be pretty confusing for you.”

“How?!” He seethed, the chains rattling from his sudden movement. “I had the real you in my grasp, that I am sure of. Yet, your illusion, how did it use such a spell.”

Eliron nodded, an amused smile on his lips. “It’s simple. [Soul Shift].”

Azarath stared up at him as though to verify if Eliron was indeed joking or not. But when he saw the look on Eliron’s face, his face became even paler, which was something, considering he was leaking blood like a broken faucet.

The way vampires and advanced mages saw through illusions, was by using their spiritual vision to gauge the differences in mana.

At least that was what they thought. What they actually saw was a fragment of the soul, the source of spiritual mana.

Naturally, since illusions had no soul, their mana would look weak to spiritual vision, like a disturbance at best. While the real person would look like a beacon.

Of course, more advanced mages knew how to hide this, but it was still usually not as effective as one would think.

That was where [Soul Shift] came in.

The spell allowed Eliron to move his soul as he wished. From inanimate objects, to illusions, to even other living beings, he could do so as he pleased.

And since Grand Illusionary Magic gave his illusions physical form, all Eliron needed to do was send his soul into his clone while he took off to the sky, remotely controlling his body.

So while Azarath thought he had the real Eliron in hand, it was merely a well made fake. Or rather one third of him, if you wanted to be technical about it…

“And the gates of Sheol? Breaking it should have been impossib—”

“The sword of ares nullifies any and all magical effects. It is only natural that the gate of Sheol would fall.” Eliron replied in a matter of fact manner.

Then his smile broadened as he watched Azarath. “So? Any more questions? Or are you done stalling for time?”

Azarath tried to keep a straight face, but the desperate fluctuation of his mana told Eliron all he needed to know.

“Let me guess…” Eliron stroked his chin. “You are trying to keep me talking while you attempt to regenerate, right.”

He shook his head. “Don’t bother. You just have realized it by now haven’t you? You can’t regenerate.”

Azarath unleashed the desperate fury he had tried too hard to mask. “What have you done to me you bastard?!”

He gritted his teeth, his eyes bloodshot as he struggled against the chains.

“Tsk tsk. You would make a poor student. Didn’t I tell you? The Sword Of Ares nullifies all magic effects.”

Eliron had a maniacal smirk on his face as he began hovering higher into the sky.

“… including your regeneration.”

Azarath froze up. His eyes widened, slowly, as the realization his current state trickled in.

He was vulnerable.

“You said something earlier, Grand Mage.” Eliron had to raise his voice because of the distance that had grown between them.

“You said everything in this world must follow a set order. An admirable principle.”

“In that case. You should have no issue with the way I handle your life right?” Eliron’s eyes grew dangerously cold. “After all, I am far above you in all ramifications.”

[Magnetism]

Eliron weaved a pattern in the air with his hand, and a black orb of darkness was formed, hovering in front of him.

He pointed his palm forward, and the ball was sent crashing into the area below. As Eliron moved his hands, the ball was racing through the city, sucking up buildings like glue.

The houses crumbled when close to it, piling up atop it, the ball growing bigger with each acquisition.

“There are many exceptional people in this world, Azarath. There are those who have gone through so much death, witnessed life being stolen from their comrades, held their family in their arms, as life faded from their eyes….”

Eliron spoke as the town below was being decimated.

“After so much suffering, they have grown numb to the fear of death.”

Houses rent to shreds, warehouses destroyed, and roads picked up like it weighed nothing. Up until a large rounded ball was formed.

Eliron raised his hand, recalling the rock and causing it to hover over his head.

“And there is you… you claim you do not fear death, but that is only because you have not witnessed it.”

[Thunder Gauge Fireball]

There was a resounding boom as a polar of fire came down upon the lump of stone, completely engulfing it in a fiery sheath.

[Combination Magic, Meteor]

The fire flickered in Azarath’s crimson pupils like a dance from hell, the heat so great that he could feel it from where he was.

Eliron smiled as he slowly brought his hand down. Each second abysmally slow.

While the fire seemed to horrify Azarath, Eliron seemed to be drawn to it, his blue eyes glowing menacingly as a dark flame blossomed in them.

“Tell me Grand Mage, how does it feel to truly fear death?”

Tears began to flow down Azarath’s eyes. He tried to move, to run. His senses screamed out to him, his instinct begging him to flee.

But his entire body was bound, his eyes wide open as the fire came. And smiling as he watched him suffer, was none other than the elven lord.

“Ha, aahahahahaahaha!” Azarath’s mind had been overloaded with so much emotion, that a deranged laugh was all that escaped his lips.

“D-demon…”

VWOOOOOOSH

As the fire ball came down, promising to bring divine judgment upon him.

A silhouette suddenly appeared between them, like a ghost in the night.

The strange figure grabbed the air as though it had form, and then he pulled the skies apart, creating a large rift that swallowed the fire ball whole.

“Tch! Really, what sort of mess have you gotten yourself into, Azarath?!” A young boyish voice reached Eliron’s ears.

He stared at the figure, his eyes narrowing, hands patiently clasped behind his back as he frowned.

The person looked no older than twelve. He had stark white hair the colour of the winter snow, golden, angry eyes with a thick black eyeliner.

And his cloack….

It was white, with gold highlights lining its edges.

Eliron hid the smirk that was about to appear.

’Finally…’

He was in the presence of the Arch Mage.

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