"Sol Invictus!"
The cry rolled through the Inner Sanctum like a storm of thunder that resonated throughout the bones of everyone within. The golden light flooding from their armor and weapons flared brighter as they rushed into formation and transformed their once rowed stance into one of a golden phalanx that consisted of thirteen rows, with their weapons transforming into long spears within seconds to accommodate their formation.
"Fuck 'em!" the cadets roared, surging forward to meet the paladins. Most, however, had no intention of clashing head-on – the quicker ones slipped aside, letting the undead brutes from the undead army that had fought beside them on Floors Six and Seven thunder past. The ground trembled as the undead brutes charged past their nimble allies and took the lead, tearing across the marble and charging towards the formation of paladin-like living battering rams with their equally massive shields guarding their forms.
Deacon's grip tightened on Echoform Reliquary as he broke into a sprint. He hadn't realized how distracted he'd been until seven or so people rushed past him. Damn that old man, Deacon grumbled at how easily he'd been drawn into the Pontiff's speech.
Also… why did it sound so familiar? Deacon asked himself with furrowed brows.
As the Paladins of Azul covered a third of the Inner Sanctum, they halted, shields rising as they tightened their ranks. And in perfect synchronicity, the front line of the paladins interlocked their shields together, forming a seamless wall of sanctified steel – intending to meet the undead head-on as if any other option would've been unthinkable.
When the undead brutes and armored cadets crashed into the Paladins of Azul, the sound was pure chaos and was nothing short of cataclysmic.
Hundreds of undead brutes and heavy warriors roared out in defiance as they bashed their shields against those of the paladins – preventing them from trying to push forward. The collision locked both sides in place—neither yielding, neither breaking.
Within seconds of stabilizing themselves after the clash, the Paladins surged as one, bashing their shields forward in perfect unison to force the undead back – further supplemented by the holy power enveloping their forms. But the horde met them with equal ferocity, pressing forward, roaring, straining against the gold and white wall that refused to give an inch.
The undead roared, pressing forward with raw strength, and the Paladins responded in perfect unity – shields braced, formation locked tight. For every step the undead gained, the Paladins would shove them back two more, using their perfect synchronicity and holy empowerment to their fullest.
Ducking under a wild stab of a spear as he drew closer, Deacon's boots skidding against the now grimy marble flooring as he tried to formulate the next plan of action.
Above the noise, he could hear Sam's voice shouting something about raising barriers to defend from above, but it was drowned out instantly as the battle intensified.
To his right he could see several cadets that were wielding one-handed weapons and no shields along with several similar undead army soldiers who've looked and decided that brute force alone wasn't going to cut it, as right now they were no better than sitting ducks with how the Pontiff kept launching waves of fire that would get held back by the continued efforts of the mages.
With a shared shout, they used their allies' shoulders as springboards and leapt high into the air, vaulting over the front line of paladin shields in an attempt to breach their backline.
Deacon almost shouted for them to stop; phalanx formations prevent attacks like that! However, before he could, they already leaped off the shoulders of their allies.
Just as the agile attackers began their descent, the second row of Paladins moved in unison as the long spears in their hands vanished in bursts of light and were replaced by holy-imbued tower shields that they raised above their own heads and the heads of those in the front row.
The rogues landed atop them, taking in stride the sudden shield roof above the front and second line of soldiers they now stood above, and rushed to enter the third line.
However, just as they leapt into the air, a sharp, twisting pain knifed through Deacon's gut. Flashes tore across his mind – screams, faces, a crowd of people overlapping the cadets and undead now soaring toward the third line of Paladins.
For a split second, the images merged, moving in perfect sync like scenes from some old, broken film reel.
And then – a dozen gleaming spears thrust upward all at once.
The impaled screamed as blood arced through the air, mirroring the flashes of images that had just torn through his mind. The spears withdrew, and their bodies slid off in sickening unison, hitting the marble floor with wet, heavy thuds. The moment they fell, the upper shield line shimmered, then reset – ready for the next wave.
Bile surged up Deacon's throat. He clamped his jaw shut and swallowed hard, forcing it back down, the acid burning his tongue.
"… Fuck me," he muttered as the acrid stretch stung his nose, and his throat and upper mouth continued to sting. "What the fuck was that?"
The Paladins of Azul braced again, golden shields locking into position, their formation reforming seamlessly even as the undead slammed into them with maces and axes. Above them, the Pontiff's voice carried like a sermon across the battlefield.
"You cannot unmake the dawn, heretics," the Pontiff boomed, raising his staff and forcing more holy mana into his flames that began to devour the Manashields, the undead mages and mage cadets conjured up to protect the undead army and their Party members. "The Sun does not yield to those lurking in the shadows."
The holy flames surged forth as they increased in their intensity and began gnawing away at the magic like acid eating flesh. The mages buckled, their barriers flickering and snapping under the weight of it before finally bursting apart in shards of dissipating mana.
"Fuck," Deacon hissed, his eyes narrowing against the blinding gold as the holy flames roared above his head.
Not having a place to escape from, Deacon smashed his left fist into the Paladin's shield in front of him with all his might.
The blow resounded with a heavy boom that reverberated through his arm and sent the paladin staggering back half a step as the marble beneath his heels cracked – yet the paladin held his ground with his shield still raised high.
Deacon clicked his tongue. "Come on."
He shifted his stance, boots screeching against the slick marble, and drove another punch into the same spot. Then another. And another. Each hit landed like a hammer strike—sending shudders through the shield's golden surface until faint cracks spiderwebbed across the indent of his fist.
But before the damage could even deepen, the shield flared and a pulse of golden light rippled across its surface, and a split second later, the cracks sealed themselves and the indent of his fist vanished – the shield was now fully repaired.
"Of course it can do that," Deacon spat under his breath, ducking sideways just as a spear lunged toward his head. He felt the wind of it graze his hair before he twisted back and delivered yet another blow to the paladin's shield as his mind raced to think of a way to breach into the phalanx the paladins were in while he was in his current position.
He twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding a second strike before lunging forward again, slamming his fist once more into the incredibly durable shield that was etched with a self-repair enchantment on steroids.
"Fuck this is just like that earth mage's…" Deacon muttered to himself before trailing off as a realization dawned upon him.
"Oh," he muttered under his breath. "I forgot I could do that."
Cocking his arm back, Deacon flooded mana through his body, forcing it to surge into his left arm as he began imprinting the magic circles he'd pictured into it. He slammed his fist into the Paladin's shield one last time.
Flame Mine.
As the impact of his fist rang out and the faint golden glow of regeneration began to spread across the shield's surface again, a surge of crimson magic circles flared to life behind it. The Paladin, struggling to keep the shield upright, froze in shock as he was face-to-face with the concentric magic circles displayed in front of him.
"Boom," Deacon intoned as he kicked away from the paladin in front of him and covered his head with both arms, seconds before the Flame Mine activated.
The explosion tore through the air with a boom that drowned out even the Pontiff's chanting. The shockwave sent Deacon flying backward, boots skidding across the marble as the paladin, meeting a similar fate, was blasted backward into his comrades.
However, unlike Deacon, who was caught by the person behind him and quickly back on his feet, the Paladin's body jerked violently as a long spear from five rows back punched through the back of his neck, pinning him against the body of the Paladin behind him.
"Got you," Deacon muttered, forcing air back into his lungs as the ringing in his ears faded, as he saw a gaping hole in the shield formation the paladins had – something that did not go unnoticed.
"Gap's open!" someone from behind barked, already surging forward.
The two undead brutes flanking Deacon moved in without a word. Twin snarls ripped out as they smashed their shields into the weakened line beside the fallen Paladin before finally being able to grab the edges of their shields and pull them away – widening the gap within the wall to the point where four to five warriors could easily plunge through.
"Go!" Deacon shouted.
The light and medium warriors didn't need to be told twice, as they immediately began pouring into the opening in the formation of the paladins and began tearing them apart, all the while shouting out praises to Deacon for blowing himself up.
Shaking his head to get rid of the lingering ringing, Deacon darted forward to join them, Echoform Reliquary shifting in his grip to be in its dual short sword form.
Now holding his dual short swords, Deacon cast Flame Armament atop them both as he passed through the first line of paladins and joined his comrades in carving their way into the center.
Sidestepping a stab from a sword, Deacon parried the spear of a paladin with his first blade, brushing it aside while his second buried itself into the soft seam between the man's gorget and pauldron.
As he twisted the blade and pulled it out, Deacon paid the paladin crumpling to the ground nary a thought and instead twisted on his heel to bury his first blade into the visor of the paladin who tried to stab him seconds ago.
Moving like liquid fire, short swords flashing through the confined space as more Paladins turned toward him. He ducked a swing, caught the edge of another's shield with his heel, and drove both flaming blades through the slit of the helm.
"Come on then!" Deacon heard the person covering his back shout out as he pulled his right short sword free and slammed his boot into the corpse's chest to send it flying backward. "Let's see how long the Sun lasts before it burns out!"
He lunged forward, slashing through the chestplate of another paladin. Deacon quickly finished him off and officially found himself in the middle of the paladin's falling formation, and for the first time, the Paladins' immaculate discipline faltered as hundreds of cadets surged into their formation and began to tear them apart.
The Pontiff, watching from his throne, slammed his staff against the marble, fury crackling through his voice. "Do not yield! Hold your ground! General Obi, join them!"