Garden Of The Abyss

His eyes widened at that number, "One-tenth? You're kidding,."

"Unfortunately, Jonas tells no lies," Adelheid begrudgingly confirmed.

None of it was good news. Though they held a simple, yet powerful title of being the "Defenders of Gallvania", the small group looked defeated and exhausted.

This is terrible. What kind of luck is this to happen while I'm out here on a quest?...Is this luck? No, there's probably an explanation for why Belmon is doing this now, he thought.

"'Scuse me, but…" He interrupted Adelheid before she could continue, "is there a bathroom around here? It's been a bit."

Adelheid looked perplexed by his question, but Ansgar pointed him in the proper direction with his thumb, pointing towards the back of the vast cellar.

"Thanks," he nodded.

It was partly an excuse to give himself some space to process the information, but he truly did need to relieve his bladder as he traversed the dark, expansive cellar.

As he stood at the back of the dank cellar, away from the lanterns as he was left in the dark with the swaying cobwebs and the stench of fermenting wine–he blinked.

It was an action that was normally without any thought, not even recognized ninety-nine percent of the time, but for some reason, when he blinked that one time, it felt as if the air around him shifted.

…Damn, it's like all the exhaustion is hitting me at once, For Pete's Sake, he thought.

After zipping his pants back up from his brief duty, he turned back around to return to the small gathering, but stopped as the light of the lanterns had been whisked away.

It was now pitch-black, and suddenly–silent.

"Hey! You guys there?" He called out.

There was no audible response, yet he began to hear lightly-treading footsteps within the large, unlit cellar.

In the situation of the country, he was aware of what such abrupt silence could mean as he held his hand by his side, sparking sparse, awakening bolts of electricity between his fingers.

"Hey!...Say something!" He yelled out again.

As the footsteps became more frequent, growing closer though he couldn't see their sources through the darkness as some came from the other sides of the towering racks of wine, he became more impatient.

"Say something right now, or I'll attack!" He yelled out once more, hoping for any sort of response, "I mean it–! I'm not playing around! I'm not in the mood for games right now!"

He knew he wasn't going to receive an answer–but he needed to make absolutely sure, until the very last opportunity.

It's just like Ren described: Belmon strikes swiftly and silently; the atmosphere, the scenery, the air, it all shifts like a casually passing breeze. One moment everything is fine, then the next–they're here, he thought.

Just as he felt a presence rapidly approaching him from the front now in rapid steps, he unleashed his magical pressure, which manifested itself in an array of magenta electricity that gave light to the dank cellar.

It was a figure clad in black robes, etched with the design of a faceless maiden.

That's the symbol, all right, he thought.

"I'm in a bad mood tonight," he said, pressing a single foot forward, "Disappear."

Without lifting a finger, or so much as batting an eye, he unleashed a shock wave that torrent from his viscous magical energy, causing countless, small strands of his lightning to strike against the black-robed figure as they leapt towards him.

The moment the nonchalant counter propelled from his position, the Belmon cultist was sent back violently at a speed that shattered the sound barrier, slamming the figure against the farthest wall. They were embedded into it with their limbs contorted and shattered.

It wasn't any sort of spell, or anything close to a refined, purposeful usage of magic, but just simply an exertion of his true, unbound magical pressure. That alone was enough to be a murderous force.

I don't have any room for mercy against these guys. They killed Lucas, and they did so much to the ones I care about–I don't care if I have to be merciless, he thought.

After violently handling the first, another approached from his left, attempting to apprehend him as he simply snapped his fingers towards them, dodging a spear that the robed figure thrust towards him.

By the way they moved, and by the magical pressure they held, it was clear that the cultists were experienced mages, possessing strong reinforcement–though it didn't make a difference.

A spear–? He thought, perplexed for a moment.

It was too late for any thoughts though, as the snap of his fingers unleashed an unrestrained burst of lightning that moved so swiftly, and with such violence, that it sent the spear-wielding cultist into the leftmost wall, burning them in the process with the heat of the fulmination.

After effortlessly slaughtering the first two, he found himself lingering on the fact that the one he snapped away into death was wielding a spear.

He was momentarily distracted, causing a presence dashing from his front to sidestep him for a moment, reappearing behind him with a strong burst of mana emitting from the robed foe.

This one is fast, he thought.

Before the attack could be launched against his back however, he warped space, appearing behind them and swiftly swiping his hands, snapping the hooded cultist's neck in a seamless movement.

Even though it was a simple movement he made, the merciless nature caused by the twisting motion he made to their neck unleashed a brief shock wave that scattered the dormant dust of the cellar.

After seamlessly taking out the cultists, leaving the foundation of the home groaning from the endured stress of his brief, but powerful attacks, he looked down at the robed body that fell at his feet.

"...I wonder if they got caught by these guys," he muttered to himself.

If it's this infested with Belmon, and the population is already a large check of Belmon doppelgangers as well…this mission is over. I have to find Emilia and get back to the foundation–A.S.A.P. This isn't something that can be solved by blasting some guys…it's a web of knots so entangled that I honestly don't even know where to begin.

This might be a "Dread-level threat"...I'm not equipped for this sort of thing, he thought.

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