CHAPTER 53 – SUMMONING AN AIRCRAFT CARRIER
HIRAYA MISTELTEIN
Above the towering arches of the Demonic Cathedral, a massive blue magical circle shimmered into existence, its ethereal glow contrasting sharply with the dimly lit surroundings. It pulsed with power, casting intricate patterns of light onto the ancient stone walls below. Every eye in the cathedral turned upward, drawn to its mesmerizing dance of arcane energy.
Maggie's face contorted in a mix of disbelief and anger, her eyes widening as she took in the sight. "I knew she was planning something!" she spat, her voice dripping with frustration, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.
In contrast, Johnny's crimson hair seemed to darken, mirroring the storm cloud forming over his expression. His brows drew together in a deep furrow, and his jaw tightened audibly. With a swift, decisive motion, he raised his hand, commanding attention and respect. As if on a silent cue, fifty dragonoid priests, their eyes glowing with anticipation, hoisted their spellbooks, focusing their energy with practiced precision. Their collective gaze was fixed, not on a single target, but split between two: half aimed their magic at me, while the other half directed their potent spells toward the enigmatic masked figure standing defiantly amidst the unfolding chaos.
"Attack!" Johnny's voice echoed with a chilling authority that filled every corner of the cathedral, his command slicing through the tension like a knife through butter.
With a deep, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate the very foundations of the cathedral, the masked man drew upon an unseen reservoir of power. His palms radiated a blinding light, their glow intensifying with each passing second. With a deafening clap that echoed like a thunder, he slammed his hands onto the cold, stone floor. As if responding to his call, a colossal blue magical circle materialized beneath him, its intricate patterns mirroring the celestial design suspended above.
"Summoning Spell!" The words erupted simultaneously from our lips, a declaration of impending power that reverberated through the crumbling cathedral.
In a heartbeat, the very air seemed to ignite, a cataclysmic explosion tearing through the Demonic Cathedral with an unrelenting fury. Stone and mortar disintegrated in its wake, the once-imposing structure reduced to a chaotic ruin of dust and debris. A thick shroud of smoke billowed outward, obscuring visibility and casting a pall of darkness over the surrounding landscape. And then, emerging from the dissipating haze, a colossal aircraft carrier materialized, its steel hull gleaming ominously in the aftermath of destruction.
The deafening roar of the descending aircraft carrier threatened to consume everything in its path, and I found myself frozen in its looming shadow. Just as despair gripped me, a surge of energy emanated from the masked man, a desperate attempt to shield me from imminent doom. "Lightspeed Accel!" His voice echoed with a raw urgency, propelling him forward in a blur of motion.
With remarkable speed, he closed the distance between us, his arms wrapping around me with a protective embrace. In a mere moment, we were propelled a hundred meters away from the cataclysmic collapse of the Demonic Cathedral, the ground shaking beneath our feet as the world around us crumbled.
Exhaustion washed over him like a tidal wave, and he sank to his knees, his once-mighty form now diminished by the toll of his efforts. Fingers trembling with fatigue, he reached up to remove his cyberpunk mask, revealing a face that belied his youthful appearance. His silver hair, devoid of its usual vitality, appeared pallid and drained. Deep blue eyes, once filled with determination, now shimmered with signs of weariness, their brilliance dimmed by the unmistakable symptoms of mana deficiency.
Gasping for breath, each inhalation a struggle, he managed to utter a strained whisper, "Gah…hah… hah…" his voice tinged with a vulnerability rarely seen. It was none other than Lysander, who was disguising as Alris this whole time.
Concern etched across my features, I approached him slowly, each step echoing with a sense of urgency. "Are you okay?" My voice carried a note of genuine concern, the weight of the moment pressing upon us both.
Forcing a weak smile, Lysander managed to rasp out, "I’m… fine," though the quiver in his voice betrayed the toll his actions had taken.
Reaching into my pouch with a swift motion, I retrieved a mana potion, its shimmering contents reflecting the ambient light. Holding it out to Lysander, I couldn't suppress a note of admonishment. "You should have listened. We needed to share the mana burden of that Summoning Spell. Bringing an entire aircraft carrier into existence was a feat far beyond one person."
Lysander's lips curled into a wry smirk, a hint of mischief dancing in his weary eyes as he accepted the potion from my outstretched hand. With a determined nod, he raised the vial to his lips, downing its contents in a single, decisive gulp. "You know I'm an Erudite, right?" He paused, catching his breath, "Besides, your raid strategy played out flawlessly. Well done."
The intricate details of our audacious raid plan unfolded in my mind. Originally, the blueprint had been straightforward: use me as bait to pinpoint the elusive main headquarters of the Neo Arcadians. But in a moment of bold inspiration, I'd proposed an unprecedented twist—utilizing a Summoning Spell to strike the heart of our adversaries when they least expected it. Yet, I was well aware of the spell's limitations: it could summon only a singular object, a constraint that could have jeopardized our mission.
Enter Lysander. His unparalleled abilities as an Erudite from the future granted him a mana reservoir few could comprehend, capable of materializing an entire carrier ship with astonishing ease. While the initial plan had allocated a portion of my mana, Lysander's indomitable will and raw power had shouldered the spell's immense weight, even employing the Lightspeed Accel to ensure our survival against overwhelming odds.
As the dense smoke began to dissipate, the imposing silhouette of the aircraft carrier emerged, its colossal form juxtaposed against the shattered remnants of the once-majestic Demonic Cathedral. From its expansive deck, a flurry of activity erupted as harriers and choppers took flight, their blades cutting through the tension-filled air, conducting a meticulous aerial reconnaissance of the devastation below.
With precision and discipline, Imperial soldiers poured forth from the carrier's belly, their boots hitting the ground with calculated intent. Gripping their assault rifles with unwavering focus, they advanced in formation, the rhythmic cadence of their footsteps punctuating the eerie silence that had settled over the battlefield.
"Advance! Advance!" The commanding voice of an Imperial officer echoed across the desolate landscape, galvanizing his troops into action. In a synchronized assault, gunfire erupted, the sharp crack of rifles echoing like thunderclaps as they targeted the remaining terrorist forces, who, against all odds, had survived the initial onslaught.
In a dance of deadly precision, soldiers wielding gleaming swords and menacing axes carved through their adversaries with ruthless efficiency, their blades glinting ominously in the fading light. Meanwhile, those adept in the arcane arts unleashed a symphony of elemental fury, hurling fireballs and conjuring ice spears that pierced the ranks of their foes, leaving destruction in their wake.
Above, the Imperial aircraft roared in a cacophony of firepower, their guns blazing as they rained down a relentless barrage upon the retreating dragonoids. The once formidable terrorists faltered, their ranks thinning with each passing moment, a grim testament to the overwhelming advantage held by the Imperial forces.
Yet, amid the chaos and cacophony, an abrupt, searing pain lanced through my mind, a harbinger of a threat yet unseen.
A sharp, debilitating pain surged through my skull, causing me to wince and clutch my head in a desperate attempt to quell the agony. From the depths of my mind's eye, a haunting vision materialized—the ethereal form of a deceased goddess, her presence enveloping my consciousness in a shroud of otherworldly energy.
A melodic, feminine voice resonated within the confines of my thoughts, its timbre echoing with an ancient power that transcended mere mortal understanding.
"Ich am thou, and thou art ich. Thou art the Oracle destined to guide the Dragon Lords, the harbinger of humanity's impending reckoning."
As the words reverberated through my mind, the spectral visage of Goddess Exceria materialized before me, radiant and resplendent in her divine majesty. Her cascading golden locks flowed like liquid sunlight, cascading gracefully to her knees, framing a visage of timeless beauty. Porcelain-white skin, flawless and unblemished, contrasted with the sharp, elven contours of her ears, a testament to her celestial lineage.
Yet, it was her crimson eyes that held me captive, not with wrath or fury, but with a profound sense of compassion and pity, their depths revealing millennia of wisdom and sorrow. She was adorned in a gown of purest white, its ethereal fabric shimmering with an inner light that defied description.
With a grace that belied her ethereal form, the Dragonoid Saint extended her right hand toward me, a gesture laden with significance. As our palms met, a searing, burning sensation coursed through my hand, binding me to a destiny far greater and more perilous than I had ever imagined.
Amid the haze of pain and vision, a familiar voice pierced through the fog, calling my name with a note of urgency. Lysander's firm grip on my shoulders jolted me back to the present, his azure eyes clouded with concern and inquiry. "Hiraya! Are you alright?"
Blinking away the remnants of my disorienting experience, I offered him a shaky smile, attempting to alleviate the worry etched across his features. "It's just a sudden headache," I managed to utter, my voice tinged with a hint of fatigue.
His gaze lingered on me for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as if assessing the depths of my well-being. "If you're not feeling up to it, stay here," Lysander suggested, his eyes momentarily drifting to survey the ongoing chaos of the battlefield beyond. "I'll keep watch, ensure you're safe until you're fit to rejoin."
A mischievous glint flickered in my eyes, and I mustered the strength to inject a playful note into my voice. "How chivalrous of you, my knight in shining armor." I punctuated the remark with a teasing wink, noting with amusement the subtle flush that colored his cheeks.
His response came as a soft murmur, laden with a hint of seriousness, "If you have the strength for flirting and jokes, maybe you have the strength to go back to the battlefield."
Drawing a deep breath, I allowed weariness to overtake me, sinking onto the soft embrace of the grass beneath, my voice carrying a note of playful exhaustion, "Just a moment's rest, Lysander. Just a moment."
A sense of foreboding gripped me, the weight of impending revelations bearing down on my thoughts, when suddenly, the heavens roared in agreement. A blinding bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the battlefield with an ominous glow, heralding a declaration that echoed with chilling clarity.
"Activating Vesryn Pulse!"
The very air seemed to tremble in response, a deafening explosion resonating from the heart of the conflict. A shockwave rippled outward, sending Imperial soldiers sprawling in a chaotic dance of disarray and destruction.
From the swirling maelstrom of smoke and debris emerged a formidable silhouette, its immense stature casting a shadow over the beleaguered battlefield. A majestic dragon, its scales glistening with a verdant hue, unfurled its wings in a breathtaking display of power. Each feather seemed to shimmer with an ethereal light, while razor-sharp talons gleamed ominously in the dimming light. It was Maggie, transformed into her fearsome Harpy Dragon form, a force of nature unto itself.
Above her, commanding the skies with an aura of relentless determination, hovered Johnny Wolvesbane. His Dragon Knight form was a spectacle to behold, his physique augmented by bulky werewolf limbs that radiated raw power and unyielding resolve. Together, they stood as a formidable duo, their presence casting a shadow over the battlefield, a stark reminder of the challenges that lay ahead.
CHAPTER 53 – SUMMONING AN AIRCRAFT CARRIER
HIRAYA MISTELTEIN
Above the towering arches of the Demonic Cathedral, a massive blue magical circle shimmered into existence, its ethereal glow contrasting sharply with the dimly lit surroundings. It pulsed with power, casting intricate patterns of light onto the ancient stone walls below. Every eye in the cathedral turned upward, drawn to its mesmerizing dance of arcane energy.
Maggie's face contorted in a mix of disbelief and anger, her eyes widening as she took in the sight. "I knew she was planning something!" she spat, her voice dripping with frustration, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.
In contrast, Johnny's crimson hair seemed to darken, mirroring the storm cloud forming over his expression. His brows drew together in a deep furrow, and his jaw tightened audibly. With a swift, decisive motion, he raised his hand, commanding attention and respect. As if on a silent cue, fifty dragonoid priests, their eyes glowing with anticipation, hoisted their spellbooks, focusing their energy with practiced precision. Their collective gaze was fixed, not on a single target, but split between two: half aimed their magic at me, while the other half directed their potent spells toward the enigmatic masked figure standing defiantly amidst the unfolding chaos.
"Attack!" Johnny's voice echoed with a chilling authority that filled every corner of the cathedral, his command slicing through the tension like a knife through butter.
With a deep, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate the very foundations of the cathedral, the masked man drew upon an unseen reservoir of power. His palms radiated a blinding light, their glow intensifying with each passing second. With a deafening clap that echoed like a thunder, he slammed his hands onto the cold, stone floor. As if responding to his call, a colossal blue magical circle materialized beneath him, its intricate patterns mirroring the celestial design suspended above.
"Summoning Spell!" The words erupted simultaneously from our lips, a declaration of impending power that reverberated through the crumbling cathedral.
In a heartbeat, the very air seemed to ignite, a cataclysmic explosion tearing through the Demonic Cathedral with an unrelenting fury. Stone and mortar disintegrated in its wake, the once-imposing structure reduced to a chaotic ruin of dust and debris. A thick shroud of smoke billowed outward, obscuring visibility and casting a pall of darkness over the surrounding landscape. And then, emerging from the dissipating haze, a colossal aircraft carrier materialized, its steel hull gleaming ominously in the aftermath of destruction.
The deafening roar of the descending aircraft carrier threatened to consume everything in its path, and I found myself frozen in its looming shadow. Just as despair gripped me, a surge of energy emanated from the masked man, a desperate attempt to shield me from imminent doom. "Lightspeed Accel!" His voice echoed with a raw urgency, propelling him forward in a blur of motion.
With remarkable speed, he closed the distance between us, his arms wrapping around me with a protective embrace. In a mere moment, we were propelled a hundred meters away from the cataclysmic collapse of the Demonic Cathedral, the ground shaking beneath our feet as the world around us crumbled.
Exhaustion washed over him like a tidal wave, and he sank to his knees, his once-mighty form now diminished by the toll of his efforts. Fingers trembling with fatigue, he reached up to remove his cyberpunk mask, revealing a face that belied his youthful appearance. His silver hair, devoid of its usual vitality, appeared pallid and drained. Deep blue eyes, once filled with determination, now shimmered with signs of weariness, their brilliance dimmed by the unmistakable symptoms of mana deficiency.
Gasping for breath, each inhalation a struggle, he managed to utter a strained whisper, "Gah…hah… hah…" his voice tinged with a vulnerability rarely seen. It was none other than Lysander, who was disguising as Alris this whole time.
Concern etched across my features, I approached him slowly, each step echoing with a sense of urgency. "Are you okay?" My voice carried a note of genuine concern, the weight of the moment pressing upon us both.
Forcing a weak smile, Lysander managed to rasp out, "I’m… fine," though the quiver in his voice betrayed the toll his actions had taken.
Reaching into my pouch with a swift motion, I retrieved a mana potion, its shimmering contents reflecting the ambient light. Holding it out to Lysander, I couldn't suppress a note of admonishment. "You should have listened. We needed to share the mana burden of that Summoning Spell. Bringing an entire aircraft carrier into existence was a feat far beyond one person."
Lysander's lips curled into a wry smirk, a hint of mischief dancing in his weary eyes as he accepted the potion from my outstretched hand. With a determined nod, he raised the vial to his lips, downing its contents in a single, decisive gulp. "You know I'm an Erudite, right?" He paused, catching his breath, "Besides, your raid strategy played out flawlessly. Well done."
The intricate details of our audacious raid plan unfolded in my mind. Originally, the blueprint had been straightforward: use me as bait to pinpoint the elusive main headquarters of the Neo Arcadians. But in a moment of bold inspiration, I'd proposed an unprecedented twist—utilizing a Summoning Spell to strike the heart of our adversaries when they least expected it. Yet, I was well aware of the spell's limitations: it could summon only a singular object, a constraint that could have jeopardized our mission.
Enter Lysander. His unparalleled abilities as an Erudite from the future granted him a mana reservoir few could comprehend, capable of materializing an entire carrier ship with astonishing ease. While the initial plan had allocated a portion of my mana, Lysander's indomitable will and raw power had shouldered the spell's immense weight, even employing the Lightspeed Accel to ensure our survival against overwhelming odds.
As the dense smoke began to dissipate, the imposing silhouette of the aircraft carrier emerged, its colossal form juxtaposed against the shattered remnants of the once-majestic Demonic Cathedral. From its expansive deck, a flurry of activity erupted as harriers and choppers took flight, their blades cutting through the tension-filled air, conducting a meticulous aerial reconnaissance of the devastation below.
With precision and discipline, Imperial soldiers poured forth from the carrier's belly, their boots hitting the ground with calculated intent. Gripping their assault rifles with unwavering focus, they advanced in formation, the rhythmic cadence of their footsteps punctuating the eerie silence that had settled over the battlefield.
"Advance! Advance!" The commanding voice of an Imperial officer echoed across the desolate landscape, galvanizing his troops into action. In a synchronized assault, gunfire erupted, the sharp crack of rifles echoing like thunderclaps as they targeted the remaining terrorist forces, who, against all odds, had survived the initial onslaught.
In a dance of deadly precision, soldiers wielding gleaming swords and menacing axes carved through their adversaries with ruthless efficiency, their blades glinting ominously in the fading light. Meanwhile, those adept in the arcane arts unleashed a symphony of elemental fury, hurling fireballs and conjuring ice spears that pierced the ranks of their foes, leaving destruction in their wake.
Above, the Imperial aircraft roared in a cacophony of firepower, their guns blazing as they rained down a relentless barrage upon the retreating dragonoids. The once formidable terrorists faltered, their ranks thinning with each passing moment, a grim testament to the overwhelming advantage held by the Imperial forces.
Yet, amid the chaos and cacophony, an abrupt, searing pain lanced through my mind, a harbinger of a threat yet unseen.
A sharp, debilitating pain surged through my skull, causing me to wince and clutch my head in a desperate attempt to quell the agony. From the depths of my mind's eye, a haunting vision materialized—the ethereal form of a deceased goddess, her presence enveloping my consciousness in a shroud of otherworldly energy.
A melodic, feminine voice resonated within the confines of my thoughts, its timbre echoing with an ancient power that transcended mere mortal understanding.
"Ich am thou, and thou art ich. Thou art the Oracle destined to guide the Dragon Lords, the harbinger of humanity's impending reckoning."
As the words reverberated through my mind, the spectral visage of Goddess Exceria materialized before me, radiant and resplendent in her divine majesty. Her cascading golden locks flowed like liquid sunlight, cascading gracefully to her knees, framing a visage of timeless beauty. Porcelain-white skin, flawless and unblemished, contrasted with the sharp, elven contours of her ears, a testament to her celestial lineage.
Yet, it was her crimson eyes that held me captive, not with wrath or fury, but with a profound sense of compassion and pity, their depths revealing millennia of wisdom and sorrow. She was adorned in a gown of purest white, its ethereal fabric shimmering with an inner light that defied description.
With a grace that belied her ethereal form, the Dragonoid Saint extended her right hand toward me, a gesture laden with significance. As our palms met, a searing, burning sensation coursed through my hand, binding me to a destiny far greater and more perilous than I had ever imagined.
Amid the haze of pain and vision, a familiar voice pierced through the fog, calling my name with a note of urgency. Lysander's firm grip on my shoulders jolted me back to the present, his azure eyes clouded with concern and inquiry. "Hiraya! Are you alright?"
Blinking away the remnants of my disorienting experience, I offered him a shaky smile, attempting to alleviate the worry etched across his features. "It's just a sudden headache," I managed to utter, my voice tinged with a hint of fatigue.
His gaze lingered on me for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as if assessing the depths of my well-being. "If you're not feeling up to it, stay here," Lysander suggested, his eyes momentarily drifting to survey the ongoing chaos of the battlefield beyond. "I'll keep watch, ensure you're safe until you're fit to rejoin."
A mischievous glint flickered in my eyes, and I mustered the strength to inject a playful note into my voice. "How chivalrous of you, my knight in shining armor." I punctuated the remark with a teasing wink, noting with amusement the subtle flush that colored his cheeks.
His response came as a soft murmur, laden with a hint of seriousness, "If you have the strength for flirting and jokes, maybe you have the strength to go back to the battlefield."
Drawing a deep breath, I allowed weariness to overtake me, sinking onto the soft embrace of the grass beneath, my voice carrying a note of playful exhaustion, "Just a moment's rest, Lysander. Just a moment."
A sense of foreboding gripped me, the weight of impending revelations bearing down on my thoughts, when suddenly, the heavens roared in agreement. A blinding bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the battlefield with an ominous glow, heralding a declaration that echoed with chilling clarity.
"Activating Vesryn Pulse!"
The very air seemed to tremble in response, a deafening explosion resonating from the heart of the conflict. A shockwave rippled outward, sending Imperial soldiers sprawling in a chaotic dance of disarray and destruction.
From the swirling maelstrom of smoke and debris emerged a formidable silhouette, its immense stature casting a shadow over the beleaguered battlefield. A majestic dragon, its scales glistening with a verdant hue, unfurled its wings in a breathtaking display of power. Each feather seemed to shimmer with an ethereal light, while razor-sharp talons gleamed ominously in the dimming light. It was Maggie, transformed into her fearsome Harpy Dragon form, a force of nature unto itself.
Above her, commanding the skies with an aura of relentless determination, hovered Johnny Wolvesbane. His Dragon Knight form was a spectacle to behold, his physique augmented by bulky werewolf limbs that radiated raw power and unyielding resolve. Together, they stood as a formidable duo, their presence casting a shadow over the battlefield, a stark reminder of the challenges that lay ahead.
