"We're alive… oh, sweet mercy, we're alive!"
A woman fell to her knees in the dust and clutched her children tight. Around her, the stunned silence of the crowd broke into a chorus of weeping and hysterical laughter. The shadow of death had passed, blown apart into a rain of gore that now slicked the cobblestones.
"Do not lower your guard!"
Provost Joseph's voice cracked like a dry twig. He stumbled forward and wiped a fresh trail of blood from his chin. His legs shook from the backlash of the shattered Daos Seal but he forced himself to stand tall.
"The barrier is down."
He gestured frantically to the perimeter. "The blast disoriented the Lesser Tumors, but they will recover. They smell your fear and your blood. We are exposed!"
"Provost!"
THUD.
Three figures landed between the civilians and the encroaching darkness. Runiar unravelled his steel-hard hair, while Yohan and Fennalin took defensive stances.
"Rest, Provost Joseph," Runiar said without looking back. His eyes scanned the rubble where twisted shapes began to stir. "We will hold the line. Gather your strength and cast the barrier again."
Joseph nodded gratefully and sank back to the ground. He closed his eyes to meditate and gather the scraps of his depleted Gospel.
He knew his limits. As the Provost of Church Number Twenty-Seven, he was not a war god like Lamar or a surgical executioner like Kirill. His gift was preservation. In the Convent's eyes, a Church was not judged solely by the number of monsters it slew, but by the number of souls it returned home.
A squad of berserkers might cleanse a village but leave no one alive to inhabit it. That was a failure. Joseph's high survival rates were the reason he wore the badge of a Provost, even if his offensive capabilities were laughable compared to his peers.
But today, defence was not enough.
WHOOSH!
Nine black shapes descended from the sky like judgments sent from on high. They landed in a perfect semi-circle around the survivors. Their boots hit the ground with a heavy, synchronized rhythm that silenced the whimpering crowd.
These were not ragged survivors. Their black and white coats were pristine. Their weapons were polished. They radiated an aura of lethal competence that chilled the air.
Church Number Nine had arrived.
Hindar, Meldov, Bralmur, Targellan, Vornak, Helmir, Dravos, Keldran, Sorvak.
Above them, hovering on the back of a giant bird made of glowing white scripture, was Provost Kirill.
The young Provost looked down at the chaotic battlefield with eyes that held no pity, only calculation.
"Keldran, Sorvak, Dravos. Secure the civilians. Establish a perimeter and ensure no contagion spreads."
"Sir!" The three Apostles saluted and moved immediately to herd the survivors.
"Helmir, Vornak, Bralmur," Kirill continued. "Clean sweep. Dispatch the remaining lesser Tumors. Hunt down any strays that fled the blast zone. Leave nothing but ash."
"With pleasure," Vornak grinned and drew a pair of serrated daggers.
"Targellan, Hindar, Meldov," Kirill ordered. "Locate the core of the Sarx Effigy. Destroy it before it can sprout another limb."
Meldov cracked his knuckles. "Consider it done, Boss."
"I will handle the big one."
The Apostles responded with a sharp "Yes, sir!" and scattered instantly. They moved with the efficiency of a machine; gears turning in perfect harmony to grind the enemy into dust.
From his high vantage point, Kirill watched his unit work for a brief second before he drifted his gaze to the Beast Tumor.
The monster was recovering from the destruction of its Meat Sword. It shook its massive head and roared in confusion.
Kirill thought.
'It was a close call. Abandoning the Holy Destriers halfway and using my Gospel to fly the rest of the distance was reckless. The exhaustion is already clawing at my lungs. But if we had ridden the horses all the way, these people would be meat by now.'
He stared at the towering abomination.
'Possession Magnitude… at least 8.0. Maybe higher. It has fully integrated with its host's biology, and then some. This exorcism will not be quick.'
His thoughts drifted to a certain grey-bearded heretic.
'Zareth… you better stay put in your cage. If you die before I get there, I will drag your soul back from hell just to kill you myself.'
Kirill raised his right hand. The chain of his kusarigama rattled as he aimed the sickle at the Beast Tumor.
"Hey, ugly."
The Beast Tumor froze. Its many eyes swivelled upward and locked onto the small, floating figure.
SCREEEEE!
The monster shrieked. The sound was a command.
Below, the disoriented horde of lesser Tumors snapped out of their stupor. They looked up at Kirill and snarled.
BOING! BOING!
Dozens of them leaped from the rooftops and the streets. They launched themselves into the air like a swarm of locusts, claws outstretched to tear the flying Priest apart.
Kirill didn't flinch. He didn't even look at them.
He simply whispered one word.
"Scatter."
The massive bird of scripture beneath his feet disintegrated.
POOF!
It separated into hundreds of smaller, dove-sized birds made of glowing text. They did not fly away. They sought targets.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
The birds collided with the mid-air Tumors. Upon impact, the holy text detonated. Explosions of white light filled the sky and turned the leaping monsters into a fireworks display of blood and burning flesh.
Kirill fell through the smoke of the explosions. He fell with style. Gravity took him, but he controlled the descent.
"I'm coming for you."
He adjusted his grip on the chain. He dove straight toward the Beast Tumor's face.