The man in the turban stepped forward. As he walked, whenever his shoes touched any lingering puddles of water, it dried up instantly—not by evaporation or absorption, but by meeting its demise.
“Stop right there, Anahem,” Wenzel ordered in a sharp tone. “What is the God of Demise doing outside of the Withered Desert? The flowers here will wilt instantly the moment you use your powers.”
Anahem kept walking towards them, ignoring Wenzel’s warning entirely.
“Or are you actually the God of Culling, the one who destroyed the gods here?” Wenzel asked.
“Such worthless questions,” Anahem said in a solemn voice, continuing to walk.
“What do you mean by worthless?”
“If I, Anahem, had another identity as Romuen, why would I disclose that to you? And if I weren’t Romuen, simply denying your accusation wouldn’t lessen your suspicion at all. Thus your questions are worthless to me,” he said.
“No,” Wenzel said. “It is through discussion that we come to an understanding.”
“It’s been ages since you’ve stepped foot in the Round Garden of Principles, yet the first thing out of your mouth is an accusation towards me. What is there to discuss with an imbecile?”
Wenzel struggled to reply. It seemed Anahem was a rather temperamental man—or at least, he was acting temperamental to avoid revealing he was the one destroying gods.
“I apologize for the unfounded accusations,” Wenzel said. “Please calm down, God of Demise. Why have you shown yourself in the Celestial Canopy?”
“While you’ve been away, someone has been busy stealing firedew. And I know it was you,” Anahem said, shooting a murderous glare towards Ennessone. “Detestable order that will never be a god.”
Zeshia stood before Ennessone and spread her arms as if she could physically shield her little sister from Anahem’s gaze.
“Ennessone hasn’t stolen anything!” Ennessone shouted.
“A false...accusation!” Zeshia added.
“Silence, whelps!” Anahem snapped. “No one else could have stolen the firedew in Da Qu Kadarte.”
“I guarantee it wasn’t them, Anahem,” Wenzel said calmly. “I swear in the name of the Goddess of Birth.”
Anahem’s murderous gaze only sharpened. “Very well. Then hand Ennessone over.”
“What?” Wenzel exclaimed, startled. “I just said she didn’t steal the firedew.”
“If she is as innocent as you say, then you will have no qualms handing her over to me.”
He exerted pressure through his words alone; with each syllable uttered, the flowers of the divine domain were crushed, petals scattering everywhere.
“What do you intend to do?”
“Bring down the gavel,” he said mercilessly. It almost felt like the words themselves could attack at any moment.
“She may not be a god’s order, but she is still one of my children. Why would I hand over one of my beloved children just for them to meet their demise?”
“Fool. Did you think such nonsense would work on me?” He glared at Wenzel. “The God of Demise only believes in one thing: The words of the dying as they meet their demise.”
“What in the world is he saying?” Eleonore muttered in bewilderment, trembling.
Anahem turned to Eleonore at once, her low mutterings still reaching him. “When a source meets its demise, everything it has accumulated over its life is released back into this world. My Divine Eyes govern all those at the end of their life cycle and thus see everything.”
Magic power seeped out of Anahem’s body, causing the divine domain to shake in fear.
“An ending source does not lie—investigations, then, are conducted simply and easily. All I need to do is guide them to their demise.”
So he can read the thoughts and memories of lives as they perish?
“And what will you do if Ennessone turns out innocent, after all that?” Eleonore asked.
“Rejoice. I’ll delay your demise for five more minutes,” Anahem said, ignoring her.
He stepped up from the dried lake bed and continued forward. Every flower he stepped on wilted, their deaths transmitting to their surroundings and killing even more flowers. The God of Bloom grimaced in pain.
“Hey! No shoes on in the house!” Eleonore shouted.
She gathered magic power in her palm using Aske and fired Teo Triath. A giant blast of light swallowed the God of Demise like a flood. But despite being bathed in such powerful magic, the man continued walking unaffected.
“No way, it didn’t have any effect?!”
Teo Triath converted the power of love and kindness, two things that were extra effective against gods. Yet Anahem had simply brushed the light away.
“I, Anahem, am the god that controls the demise of all sources. If I willed it, I could end all of your lives at this very moment.”
“Opening...spotted!”
Hidden by the light of Teo Triath, Zeshia had gone around behind the God of Demise. She leaped and swung Enharle, duplicating the blades with Regalomitein and grouping them in one bundle.
“No, Zeshia! Run away!” Eleonore shrieked.
Enharle swung, but the God of Demise caught it with his left hand. The blade shattered instantly into shards of light.
“This mere puppet of order.”
Anahem used his hand to chop diagonally at Zeshia’s body, killing her in the blink of an eye and spraying blood everywhere.
“Ingall!”
Eleonore’s magic circle covered Zeshia and revived her. But Zeshia’s corpse was actually a decoy; the moment Eleonore focused on casting Ingall, the God of Demise closed the distance between them. At point-blank range, he drew his scimitar.
“De Ijelia!”
Four magic circles of earth, water, fire, and wind surrounded Eleonore.
“Sink in demise, Withered Blade Guzelami.”
The white scimitar swung through Eleonore’s De Ijelia and slashed her hand. No—it slipped past her hand, past her skull, and through her entire body.
“Ah...”
The only thing that had been slashed was Eleonore’s source. Most likely, the Withered Blade passed through everything and could only slice one’s source, draining it of life. Eleonore’s Eyes were capable of seeing sources, so she had noticed the blade’s capabilities early on and managed to retreat a little.
Her source was wounded, but the injury wasn’t fatal. She forced her body to move in preparation of a follow-up attack. But Anahem was already gone.
His goal, after all, was Ennessone. The God of Demise swiftly closed in on her and thrust the Withered Blade at her young body. An ear-piercing screech rang unpleasantly through the air; the scimitar that only sliced sources had been blocked by an azure shield. And the one holding it to protect Ennessone was the Goddess of Birth, Wenzel.
“The first drop makes the pond. The pond becomes the Mother Sea. Rise, my kind children—Life Birthing Shield Avrohelian.”
The azure shield shined brightly. Magic particles rose from Guzelami, but the scimitar was unable to pass through Wenzel’s shield and deal any damage. No—the scimitar did indeed wound the shield, but in response to these wounds new life emerged within the broken parts, renewing it immediately. As a shield of life made from sources, its true power was to create new life for every death and demise it experienced, thus its name: the Life Birthing Shield.
“Withdraw, Anahem. I know how you value order. Fighting another of the Four Principles is senseless.”
“Fool.” Anahem slowly reached out and grabbed Avrohelian. “You who governs birth cannot hope to win against me.”
The God of Demise exerted more of his power, lifting Wenzel’s body into the air. Neither of their orders were more superior than the other, but Anahem’s physical strength was far greater than Wenzel’s.
“Don’t get in my way.”
“Guh...”
With Wenzel and her shield held up in one hand, Anahem marched forward and used his other hand to swing Guzelami at Ennessone. This time, the scimitar was stopped by a barrier of faint light—a magic barrier Eleonore had created from artificial sources.
“I’ve figured out how to block that bent sword of yours,” Eleonore said.
“It’s futile.”
The God of Demise exerted himself yet again and slashed through the barrier of artificial sources. Just then, a kind voice called out.
“Dance, my pollen.”
At Rauzel’s order, pollen rose from all the flowers of the divine domain.
“A wind is coming! The wind of the Celestial Canopy carries the pollen of the God of Bloom!” Wenzel shouted.
Eleonore and the others immediately reacted. As a green wind blew fiercely through the domain of flower beds, the group chased after the pollen and leaped into the current.
“Fleeing...is winning!” Zeshia shouted, holding up a peace sign as the God of Demise swiftly became a speck in the distance.
“You cannot flee,” he spoke solemnly, before, in a single leap, he appeared on a branch closest to Ennessone.
“Enne!” Eleonore shouted.
She yanked their magic link, and the Withered Blade just barely grazed Ennessone’s head. The firedew wind carried them away at rapid speeds, but Anahem kept up with the current by leaping from branch to branch.
“This god really is something else... How does he chase us without Fless?” Eleonore asked.
“Will he...catch up?” Zeshia asked, clutching Enharle as she eyed Anahem’s movements through the trees.
“Don’t worry,” Wenzel said. “There’s only one branch he can jump on here.”
They were approaching a single large branch, but in a moment a figure clad all in white was already standing on it, and in another moment launched off the branch straight at Ennessone.
“It’s over,” Anahem said.
“Yes. We’ll have to save our discussion for another occasion,” Wenzel replied.
She blocked the Withered Blade mid-swing. With no footing below him, Anahem had no choice but to fall.
“Kill, Guzelami.”
As he was falling, Anahem threw the Withered Blade up in one last struggle. It flew straight at Ennessone, but Eleonore was able to cast a barrier of artificial sources to deflect the scimitar.
Anahem thus fell, growing further and further away as the wind continued to carry them away.
Eleonore held up an index finger. “Nobody likes a persistent man!”
But just then—
“Big sis Zeshia!” Ennessone screamed.
Eleonore whirled around to see a fabric wrapped around Zeshia’s neck.
“Urk... Agh...”
She tried to cut the fabric with Enharle, but it was unable to be sliced. The material was filled with the god’s order—the God of Demise’s unwrapped turban. From the end of the cloth dangled Anahem, glaring at Ennessone with a murderous glint in his eyes.
“You will not escape.”