Divine
1354 Words
Fire bled through the collapsing wall like molten veins, the stone melting and cracking as the Devil dragged its broadsword in a slow, deliberate arc. Every step it took thudded like a hammer striking the church’s spine.
The Lord pushed himself up, breathing hard, ignoring the dizziness clouding his vision. His A- Strength and A- Agility were shackles tied to his limbs, turning every movement into a weighted struggle.
The Devil pointed its blazing broadsword at him again.
“STOP RUNNING, LITTLE SOLDIER!”
It swung.
The Lord dove aside, the heat grazing his arm like a furnace blast. His Evasion (Advanced) barely saved him, but even so, he hit the floor hard, coughing from the smoke.
I need a weapon. Anything.
His gaze flicked across the rubble.
A broken halberd head.
A shattered spear shaft.
A fallen loyalist’s shield burning at the edges.
None good enough to kill with, but maybe good enough to stall.
The Devil charged, molten feet leaving burning footprints. Its speed, despite its massive size was shocking.
“Fast brutes are annoying,” the Lord muttered, rolling just in time.
The broadsword slammed down.
BOOM!!!
Stone exploded. A crater formed where his head had been.
The Lord snatched the broken spear shaft and jammed it upward toward the Devil’s knee joint.
CRACK!
The wood burst into flames instantly.
The Devil laughed, leaning forward.
“YOU THINK KINDLING WILL SAVE YOU?”
It grabbed the Lord by the throat.
Heat surged through his skin, searing, blistering.
The Lord hissed through clenched teeth, gripping the molten wrist with both hands, even as his palms burned.
Pain can be used.
Pain forces precision.
He lifted his knee sharply and drove it into the Devil’s elbow joint, one of the few places not fully reinforced by the magma plates.
CRACK!
The Devil snarled, grip loosening just enough for the Lord to drop and roll away.
His throat burned. His palms were raw. His strength was dropping.
The Devil raised its sword again, the blade glowing white.
If that strike landed, he would be erased.
The Lord’s eyes darted, searching, scanning, until he saw it:
A fallen Divine Descendant’s corpse, still clutching a short, thick-bladed machete.
A perfect weapon Not because it was strong…
…but because it was disposable.
The Lord sprinted.
The Devil roared and gave chase.
He snatched the machete from the corpse’s grip—
—and the Devil was already on him.
The broadsword came down in a brutal vertical s***h.
The Lord didn’t block it.
He stepped inside the strike, close enough to smell burning brimstone from the Devil’s chest.
His machete carved across the Devil’s wrist.
SPLATTER!!!
A spray of molten blood—liquid fire—splashed the ground, burning holes into the stone.
The Devil howled, staggering.
The Lord pressed the advantage.
Strike. Retreat. Evade. CoCounter.
He did his dance of desperation.
His debuffed body screamed in protest.
His lungs burned.
His vision blurred.
But he kept moving.
Kept cutting.
Kept surviving.
The Devil swung wildly, its movements less coordinated now. The Lord ducked a horizontal s***h, rolled beneath the Devil’s massive arm, and slashed across the exposed underside of its elbow.
CRUNCH!!!
The magma fissures deepened.
Two more hits would disable the arm completely.
But he didn’t get the chance.
The Devil kicked him.
The Lord flew several meters, crashing into a stone bench. Pain rattled every bone in his body, he felt something c***k.
The Devil charged.
The Lord forced himself to stand, raising the machete defensively—
—but the Devil didn’t swing the sword.
Instead, it grabbed him again, both molten hands squeezing, trying to crush his ribs.
White-hot agony fired through the Lord’s body.
The Devil leaned in, voice boiling and hateful:
“YOU SHOULD HAVE FLED, SOLDIER. NOW BURN.”
The Lord coughed blood… and smiled.
“You talk too much.”
He raised the machete—
—not to stab the Devil—
—but to stab its lava-soaked forearm, deliberately piercing the cracks he had created.
SHHHHHAAAAA!!
The blade melted almost instantly but the brief resistance caused the Devil’s overheated arm to rupture.
BOOM!!!
A geyser of molten fire exploded.
The Devil staggered from the explosion of its own shattered arm, molten blood spraying across the ruined church floor. It shrieked a sound that rattled the cracked pillars and made even the Redeemers flinch.
The Lord tried to push forward to finish it but the Devil moved faster.
With its remaining arm, it grabbed him by the torso.
“DIE!” it roared.
Then it hurled him.
The Lord crashed into the altar with brutal force. The entire stone slab shattered, sending dust and fragments exploding into the air.
The Devil, enraged and wild, charged.
Its molten footsteps shook the church. With every step, heat blasted forward like a desert furnace. Loyalists screamed and scattered. The priest fell to his knees, whispering terrified prayers.
The Devil didn’t stop.
It raised its massive broadsword—
—and brought it DOWN.
But not on the Lord.
On the statue of Sur.
BOOOOM!!!
The stone icon of the Golden God cracked from crown to base.
A second strike.
A third.
The statue split open.
A metallic clang rang out as something fell from the hollow inside—
—a long object wrapped in ancient cloth and gold threads.
The Lord’s breath stilled.
He knew that presence.
He knew that shape.
“A Divine Blade,” he whispered, eyes narrowing.
The Devil bellowed, stomping forward, fury blazing.
The Lord rolled, dodging a molten stomp by inches, and sprang toward the fallen relic. He snatched the wrapped blade and tore the cloth away.
A beautiful, deadly sword emerged but its surface was dim. Its divine glow long extinguished.
“Unawakened…” the Lord muttered. “Its Divinity is dry.”
The Devil thundered toward him.
No time.
The Lord gripped the cold hilt and poured his C+ Divinity into the blade.
Nothing.
The Devil’s shadow grew over him.
He pushed harder—
Divinity flowing like fire in his veins, spiraling into the weapon.
Still nothing.
The Devil raised its broadsword, magma dripping off the tip.
“YOU ARE FINISHED, SOLDIER!”
The Lord grinned in defiance.
“You should’ve killed me earlier.”
He let out a roar and unleashed a surge of Divinity into the blade.
This time—
FLASH!!!!
Light detonated from the sword.
Divine. Pure. Blinding.
The Devil staggered back, covering its face as holy light scorched its magma armor. The church illuminated like dawn had exploded inside it.
The blade awakened.
Its runes lit like stars.
Its hilt hummed with sacred power.
The Lord rose, gripping the now-shining Divine Blade.
Divinity pulsed through him, slow, painful, and barely enough—but enough to bring the sword to life.
The Devil charged one last time, molten fury pouring from its body.
The Lord dashed forward, slipping past its wild strike, his movements sharp and deadly
With a single, precise thrust
SHHHKKK!!!
He stabbed the awakened blade straight through the Devil’s molten chest.
Divine light surged out of the wound.
The magma shell cracked.
Fire spewed from the fissures.
Then—
BOOM!!!
The Devil’s massive body collapsed, molten layers falling away like melted stone, until only a small, trembling, very soldier lay inside.
“Just an ordinary Divine Descendant” the lord smirked
No monster.
No mighty demon.
“He must have been molded by some Redeemer rituals” The Lord concluded
The Lord pulled the blade free, divine light dimming but still alive in his hand.
He stared down at the fallen soldier and murmured:
“So that’s it. Not a demon. Not a beast. A man turned into a weapon.”
Around him, the church fell silent.
Then the whispers began—
“The Saviour…”
“He awakened a holy blade…”
“Sur… Sur has sent him…”
“Look! A miracle!”
The priest collapsed in awe.
“Carry him! Tend to his wounds!” the priest cried. “Protect the Saviour!”
Hands lifted the Lord, reverent and shaking, as he allowed himself to be carried away.
- Writer
