“Saki, you felt that too…?” The tug crept under his skin like a thorn in frost.

Adrian clenched his teeth, drew the +21 Dark Sword, and faced the throb like a wolf testing a trap.

“Yeah. A pull from the normal plane, like a hook in deep water. Do we refuse?” Her voice skimmed the air like a quiet bell.

Saki pushed aside her blanket; worry for his wounds pooled around her like a mist before dawn.

Whoever it was, in their state they shouldn’t accept it, even if it could drag them from this dull Void days early, like a rope over a well.

“…But it’s already got me.” He let out a bitter smile, a crack in stone. Silver-white sigils bloomed on his chest like frost, the Church’s mark.

This kind of summons, once it snags you, you don’t shake it; even Adrian couldn’t snap it, because only a semi-artifact can haul space like a net.

Otherwise he could wait for the control room to fail and drift into silence in the Void, like a candle blown out in a gale.

He didn’t know why the Church had called into the dark, but he, Saki, and Lilith were names for the blacklist; stepping out meant a storm at the Church’s gates.

Succubus, bearer of a Relic of Original Sin, and a name they didn’t even dare to say—three shadows braided like night.

With a planar invasion at hand, Adrian didn’t want more waves on an already broken sea.

“No helping it. I’ll reset the coordinates. Saki, take Lilith to the Elven Forest. Take this; someone will guide you,” he said, steady as a stake in sand.

He plucked a green leaf from his storage ring; life surged from it, almost tangible, like spring sap made visible. He handed it over and stepped back like a wounded man fleeing smoke.

Saki tucked the leaf away with slow care, her “Be careful” light as a feather landing.

“Please. Who am I? I’m Adrian~” His grin cut through the gloom like a slit of sun.

He tapped the +21 Dark Sword; a silver-white spatial array wrapped him like a cocoon, linking to the normal plane. He fed it a clean coordinate, a compass point in a storm.

Light flared like lightning at arm’s length, and Adrian vanished from the control room; the compass spun wild, the needle whirring like a cyclone, the target veering a hundred thousand miles off. By the time the Church traced it, Saki and Lilith would be ghosts in the Elven Forest.

“General! The Book of Divine Authority has found a presence in the Void. It answered. Do we drag it out?” The priest’s shout beat the air like a drum in fog.

He worked a clay tablet that looked nothing like pages, its edges worn like river stones.

Behind him stood a grim, ironclad middle-aged man, a mountain in armor, scarred by wind and sand.

“Drag it out. I want to see what crawls on this line.” He drew his blade; a clear silver cross lay on the guard, bare as bone. No ornaments—only a cloth wrap stained a quiet, dark red.

His battle aura gathered like wind before a storm. Demon or ghost, whatever came through, he had faith he’d cut it to dust. He was here to learn who opened that door; life or death didn’t matter.

A black-robed cleric began to speak, but when he saw the rosary coiled on the general’s wrist, he swallowed his words; his flail sank like a reed in rain, and the others lowered theirs too.

The general ignored them, eyes nailed to the ring of priests; the spatial ripples swelled like a skin of water about to rupture—something was coming.

“Tch. Seriously, the Church’s methods are trash…” Silver glare burst like a shattered mirror, and in the priestly circle stood Adrian, hooked from the Void.

He rubbed his shoulder, wincing; old pain flared, a coal in ash, almost birthing new pain—bad luck in a bad wind.

Before he could move, a keen blade kissed his throat like ice; a burly shadow shouldered past the priests like a bull through brush and loomed over him.

“Yo, isn’t that General Reynor? Long time no see…” His voice was a knife with a smile.

“Blasphemer! You?!” Reynor’s boot hammered Adrian’s chest like a ram; he seized his collar and hauled him up, eyes promising to eat him alive.

Priests heard “Blasphemer” and screamed, scattering like leaves in a gust. From the ranks, the Cardinal watched, stone-faced; the word itself twisted the crowd like a spell. Only the black-robed clerics didn’t flinch.

“What good is grabbing me? The Mage’s Domain is what you should care about. You dragged all this steel here for a reason, right?” Adrian’s taunt rang across the canyon like a thrown pebble.

He stood across the gorge; trigger the Domain’s barrier and the road would open. The Church’s grand host lay stranded in the desert by that veil; holy arts couldn’t crack the Mage’s Domain. The Book was for this very moment—find someone to open the way. Too bad they fished up a Blasphemer.

“Hmph. I can kill you first, then tend to the Domain. The divine legacy is still on you. I can’t wait to flay you, sinner.” His words were hooks and salt.

Their grudge wasn’t a knot one slash could untie; it was a rope soaked in years.

“G-General! Look!” A priest trembled like a hare; Reynor’s anger surged like heat. He turned to bark, then froze as thunder stilled—his veteran eyes widened.

“Lord above…” The Mage’s Domain, sealed a century, shattered like ice. A torrent of Arcane Power burst like a broken dam, and through the breach came four winged figures wreathed in holy light.

For the devout, this sight alone was worth death. A hymn rolled across the sky like silver bells in snow. They looked like angels, the envoys of God, yet they bowed toward the collapsing Domain, waiting for the true main act to descend.

Soldiers dropped to one knee like wheat before wind. Priests folded hands, murmuring scripture, tears beading like dew. The holy light burned too bright for mortal eyes; save the Cardinal, the black-robed clerics, and Reynor, no one dared lift their gaze.

This was a host knit by faith; to gather them, show faith; to shatter them, show a miracle.

And the awaited figure came at last.

Solomon walked the empty air in robes of gold and crimson, great wings of light beating like slow tides. He held an ancient tome; even without the halo, he felt like a legend made flesh—noble, sacred, and distant as a star.

Even Reynor blanked for a heartbeat. As a Church general, he’d seen holy men of every stripe; but this innate holiness was a first in his life.

“Fast work, Solomon.” Adrian looked up and sneered, flint striking spark. He hadn’t thought that space collapse would kill Solomon, but he hadn’t expected him to don sanctity again in mere days. Had he even foreseen the Church mustering here like stormclouds?

Either way, the ground under Adrian was mud. Those four “angels” were surely four Demon Lords. He was wounded. Unless he drove the Relic of Original Sin—and now wasn’t the time.

“No need to bow, children of man. I come only to proclaim good news.” Wrapped by four “angels,” Solomon descended into the ranks. He folded those wings; holy light bore up the tome; his smile warmed like spring as he opened his hands to the kneeling priests and soldiers.

The Church held its ground for a reason. Holy light felt balanced, gentle, a hearth in winter; Solomon’s manner drew tears from the bowed like rain from a swollen sky.

Reynor set Adrian down, yet he didn’t kneel. He watched Solomon like a hunter watching a river’s skin; his gut said nothing here was what it seemed.

He barely had time to study; Solomon was already upon them. Facing all five, Reynor finally felt it—the pressure fell like a mountain.

“Sinner, so here you are.”