Leon’s relentless swings finally stilled only when there was a thunderous rumble that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth. He flicked blood from his divine blade and surveyed the makeshift barricade beneath his feet before lifting his gaze to the ceiling, where dust and debris rained down like snow.
Something ominous hung in the air. The moment this realization struck him, an outraged voice bellowed from behind.
“If you don’t want to die, get down from there this instant! You seem desperate to throw your life away. Just because you’ve abandoned the Knight Order doesn’t mean you can act without consulting your brothers.”
Leon turned to find Philip and several senior knights standing there. His eyes narrowed as he assessed them.
“What are you still doing here?”
Instead of answering, Philip signaled to his knights with a sharp gesture. They clutched ceramic vessels with both hands, hurling them at the Bahamuts lurking beyond the pews. The jars shattered on impact, spraying black liquid in all directions. Leon spotted the danger and leapt down just as archers on the stairs drew their flaming bowstrings taut. They must have been alchemical fire bombs.
The explosion rocked the sacred foundation, unleashing billowing clouds of acrid smoke.
Leon finally understood the meaning behind the cascading explosions from the upper floors. The vice commander of the Holy Knight Order—the sanctimonious legalist Philip von Wittelsbach—had actually dared to orchestrate the destruction of God’s own sanctuary. A bitter laugh escaped Leon’s throat. He wiped the blood trickling from his mouth and flashed a predatory grin through the smoke.
“Wittelsbach. Next time you want me to retreat, perhaps word it more strongly. I nearly met my maker just now.”
The chaos surely drowned out his words, yet Philip seemed to catch his name, at the very least.
“It appears you’ve finally given up on calling me ‘Vice Commander.’”
“It’s your fault. Since you won’t stop addressing me so formally, it just makes me feel ridiculous to keep treating you as a superior officer.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across Philip’s features after their brief exchange.
But soon, the knights glanced at the spiderwebbing cracks spreading across the vaulted ceiling before turning as one and rushing toward the stone staircase. Thanks to Philip’s zealous destruction from the roof downward, the ceiling was collapsing methodically, layer by layer. Fractures raced through the ancient pillars, accompanied by ear-splitting crashes. The grand organ pipes released a haunting melody, like the death throes of the sacred space itself.
Leon periodically whirled to cleave through the Bahamuts that pursued them with unnatural determination. One particularly persistent beast followed him all the way to the stairs, nimbly avoiding the raining debris. While the knights who had already descended waited anxiously by the massive stone door, Leon halted midway down the staircase.
“Sir Berg!”
Leon knew he had to finish the monster here or suffer the consequences later.
“Damn it, they’re going to reach us here any moment! Why aren’t we sealing the door?”
“Just wait a moment longer! There’s still someone who hasn’t made it inside!”
The desperate shouts of his companions echoed behind him, but Leon had already shut them out, channeling every fragment of his attention forward. The charging Bahamut lunged for him, skeletal fingers outstretched. In a heartbeat, Apocalypse flashed with divine brilliance twice.
The creature’s arm and head were severed cleanly, flying in opposite directions. With a thunderous crash, the remaining passage was completely buried beneath an avalanche of stone.