For a moment—just a moment—hope flickers in their eyes.
Then the dust clears.
And Varkas stands there.
The only sign that he was even hit—thin, shallow scratches across his arms and chest.
His golden eyes burn with excitement. "Now that… that actually tickled."
Elaine stares in disbelief. "No… no way…"
As the golden light fades, dust and debris swirl through the air. Soldiers squint through the haze, waiting—hoping—to see their enemy fall.
But as the dust settles, a massive, unmoving silhouette emerges.
His eyes gleam with something between amusement and disappointment. His fur, once pristine, now bears faint scorch marks. A thin, almost imperceptible cut decorates his cheek, a single drop of dark blood trickling down.
He touches the wound absentmindedly, then chuckles. "There's still more?" His deep, rumbling voice carries across the battlefield, filled with quiet mockery.
Walric feels his stomach drop. He can see it in the others—the exhaustion, the creeping despair. Even with their strongest attacks, they've only managed a scratch.
Elaine stumbles back, her hands shaking around her sword. "We… we gave it everything."
Orin grits his teeth, sweat dripping down his brow. "That monster is still standing like it was nothing."
Jupus, despite the pain in his ribs, forces a smirk. "At least we made him bleed. That's something, right?"
Walric grips his sword tightly. His body is screaming at him, his muscles burning with exhaustion. He refuses to let it show. "We're not done yet," he growls.
Then, the air shifts.
A deep, resonant hum echoes across the battlefield.
The ground trembles as an invisible force pulls at the air itself, drawing all mana toward a single point.
Every soldier, every monster—every living being on the battlefield feels it. A force beyond comprehension, an oppressive weight pressing down on their very souls.
Walric's eyes widen. "The Mage Tower…"
High above the battlefield, the towering spire hums with raw, concentrated mana. The sky above it darkens, swirling with storm clouds. But this is no ordinary storm—streaks of violet lightning arc across the heavens, twisting unnaturally as if alive. The very air vibrates, charged with an immense, terrifying energy.
Selian staggers, his breath hitching. "They did it… The Tier 5 spell is complete."
Varkas watches the tower, eyes narrowing slightly. "Oh?"
The hum intensifies. Arcane symbols blaze into existence across the surface of the tower, ancient runes pulsing with unimaginable power. Mana is no longer merely being drawn in—it is being devoured, sucked into a singularity forming at the tower's peak.
A voice, deep and resonant, echoes across the battlefield.
It is not a single voice, but many—layered, overlapping, the synchronized chant of dozens of mages speaking as one. The words are ancient, older than kingdoms, a language of pure magic.
"In the name of the first flame, in the shadow of the abyss, we call forth the judgment of the heavens."
The sky darkens further. The swirling vortex above the Mage Tower expands, stretching across the battlefield. The very fabric of reality groans under the pressure of the spell. Lightning does not merely strike—it coils and writhes, seeking form, growing denser with each passing second.
Varkas's amused expression falters ever so slightly. He does not fear magic, but he recognizes power. And this… this is something else.
The chanting continues, rising in intensity.
"By the blood of the ancients, by the will of the stars, we unshackle the wrath long bound."
The ground quakes violently. The air itself becomes difficult to breathe, as if all the mana in the world is being funneled into one singular point.
Walric forces himself to stand despite the weight pressing down on him. His fingers tighten around his sword. "This… this is beyond anything we've ever used before."
Elaine stares up at the sky, sweat rolling down her temple. "I've read about Tier 5 spells, but to witness one…"
Selian, still on the ground, manages a weak, knowing grin. "Not just any Tier 5 spell… this one is destruction incarnate."
Above the tower, the vortex of lightning begins to take shape—a colossal spear, formed of pure, condensed mana. It crackles with terrifying power, its very presence warping the sky around it. It is not fire, nor ice, nor light—this is something primal, something far older than mortal magic.
A weapon of annihilation.
The final words of the chant echo like a divine decree.
The moment the words are spoken, the spell is unleashed.
For a fraction of a second, time itself seems to stop. The world holds its breath. Then—
The battlefield is drowned in blinding light. The impact is unlike anything ever witnessed before. The sheer force of the descent fractures the very ground, shockwaves rippling outward with the force of a thousand storms. The city trembles as buildings crumble under the weight of the energy released. Soldiers are flung back like leaves in a hurricane.
And at the center of it all—Varkas.
A deafening, defiant sound that echoes through the chaos.
The Oblivion Spear strikes.
A blinding explosion engulfs the battlefield, swallowing everything in its path. The shockwave expands outward.
For long, excruciating seconds, the world is nothing but light and fury.
Thick smoke blankets the battlefield. The once-proud streets are reduced to molten craters. The land itself is scarred, burned black by the sheer force of the spell.
The silence is deafening.
Walric stares at the destruction, his breathing ragged. The battlefield—no, the very land itself—is unrecognizable. The sheer force of the spell has carved a massive crater into the earth, its edges still glowing with molten heat. The air is thick with ash and mana residue, distorting everything like a mirage.
He swallows hard. His hands tremble.
This… this is what a Tier 5 spell is.
He finally understands.
The reason he has never broken through. The reason so few ever do.
It's not a matter of talent. Not a matter of training.
It's because Tier 5 spells or skills is beyond human.
Even standing near it, witnessing it with his own eyes, he can feel it—this power doesn't just require mastery. It requires something else entirely. Something more.