Lord of the Truth

Chapter 1512: Hell on Earth

A few hours earlier—

SHWOOOOSH!

The blue Purgatory Flame erupted violently, devouring Robin’s body in its entirety. In a single instant, the azure blaze engulfed him, from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head, cloaking him like a shroud of divine judgment.

”GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

Robin’s scream ripped out of his throat like a jagged blade, shredding the silence, piercing the air, a howl so sharp it could splinter the ears of anyone who dared hear it. His hands clawed at his skull, fingers digging desperately into his scalp as though he could tear the pain away by force.

This was not his first brush with fire. He had known the sting, the searing torment, of sitting atop burning logs in the early days of his training under the Major Law of Fire. He had endured smoke filling his lungs, embers scorching his skin, and thought he had mastered the agony of flames. But this—this was something beyond torture. This pain was alien, divine, unbearable.

For the first time, Robin truly felt the edge of nonexistence brushing against him. It was not the fire of flesh. It was the fire of erasure.

”AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

The strength in his legs collapsed. He toppled to the floor, writhing in spasms. His body twisted uncontrollably, rolling and thrashing like a man struck by lightning a thousand times over. He slammed against stone, convulsing, his screams blending with the crackling roar of the azure inferno.

From the first moment he had seen it with Crixus, Robin had recognized it. The Purgatory Flame—the dreadful fusion of Fire and Purity. A law unlike any other, one that did not burn wood, flesh, or stone, but something deeper. A law that hunted imperfection itself, a fire that consumed corruption, pollution, and every trace of the unclean.

It was Neri’s creation. The weapon she had forged and entrusted to the Beast King Crixus—a last, desperate safeguard against the demons. It was never meant to kill all of them. No, she had designed it as something greater: a message.

The demon who merely saw the Purgatory Flame would tremble.

The demon who merely felt its presence would flee.

The demon who touched it would die screaming.

Neri had gambled everything on that terror. She believed that through Crixus’ legend and this flame’s dread, the northern lands would never be touched by demonkind.

”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Robin slammed his head into the floor with all his might, over and over again, desperate to crush his skull into unconsciousness, to escape this endless torment. But the flame offered no mercy, no respite.

SSSSHHHHHHHHH!

Through the azure blaze, another force seeped forth. A sinister darkness began to ooze from Robin’s pores. Tendrils of foul miasma poured from his skin, boiling out of him like smoke from a dying furnace. The instant the vapors met the flame, they ignited, fueling the Purification like oil to fire.

WHOOOOOOOSH!

Robin’s soul shuddered. He felt it—his essence ripped from his body, hurled upward, then slammed back inside. A monstrous form revealed itself within his awareness: a colossal beast-shaped cloud of shadow, vast enough to blot out the heavens, thrashing and clawing violently against the flame.

He felt it battling for dominance, felt it trying to tear his humanity apart, to drag him into the abyss of corruption. His will wavered, battered beneath the storm of agony.

”AAHHH—AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHHH!!”

Madness seeped into his scream. Laughter, cracked and poisoned, bubbled between his cries. His body, burning and broken, lurched upright. Still ablaze, Robin hurled himself at the cavern walls. He smashed his fists, his forehead, his shoulders against stone, pounding again and again until half the cavern crumbled into ruin.

Yet even in his frenzy, some flicker of awareness remained. His feet carried him away from where his guardians lay, his destruction steered elsewhere by a sliver of reason.

SHHHRRRRIIIIIIILLLLZZZZZ!

The Purgatory Flame had stripped his skin raw. His flesh blackened, blistered, and shriveled, until his body resembled a mummified corpse. The stench of charred meat filled the cavern, mingling with blood that sprayed from his body, thick with the black taint of corruption.

SKRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!

A shriek tore out, not from his lips but from within him, reverberating in the pit of his soul.

And then—something stranger still.

”HAAAAAAAHHH///”

Robin’s jaw stretched wide, opening further than humanly possible. A torrent of shadow erupted from his mouth. It was like a stormcloud torn loose, a choking smog spilling into the air. It poured from his nose, his mouth, even his eyes, until he was nothing but a vent for pure corruption.

SHWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!

The azure fire flared brighter, latching onto the black smoke as though it were divine kindling sent from above.

The miasma writhed as if alive. It twisted and curled, shrieking voicelessly as it tried to escape. It circled Robin, clawing desperately, writhing in agony as the Purgatory Flame closed in.

If such corruption were to escape unchecked, it could cover the entire western region in darkness. But no matter how much it thrashed, it could not break free.

”Khghhh... khhhhkkhhk!!”

Robin gagged, his throat closing, his body spasming violently. The black mass continued to pour from his body, choking him. His lungs burned, his air stolen. He suffocated, eyes wide, watching his own soul-fire clash against the malignant storm that refused to die.

Failing to escape, the black cloud turned on him instead. It surged forward violently, slamming into his head with a sickening impact.

BAAAAAAM!

”Pffhh—!”

Blood spattered from his cracked skull, crimson dripping over the scorched remains of his skin. Even with most of his flesh burnt to ash, the blow still rattled him, driving home the magnitude of what he faced.

But the Purgatory Flame had already wrapped him in its embrace. His body, his soul domain, all were enveloped in azure fire. It blocked the corruption’s path, refusing to allow it back inside.

And yet—the dark cloud tried again. Writhing. Screaming. Clawing against its fate.

The battle of blue and black raged on.

BAM!BAM!BAM!

”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!”

The pounding never ceased. It thundered inside his skull, cracked through his chest, hammered his arms, legs, elbows, even his very fingertips. The corrupted force clawed desperately to return to him, to force its way back into his body.

Each impact shattered him further, breaking bones one after another until he was little more than a heap of splinters and agony. His joints popped, split, crushed, until every corner of his body was ground beneath the endless assault.

”No... ahhh... no, please... stop... please—let it stop, let it all STOP!!”

Robin’s burnt and ruined throat pushed out the words like broken glass. His voice was nothing but the faintest rasp, a murmur on the edge of silence. His movements dwindled to almost nothing, his limbs twitching weakly before collapsing into stillness.

His body could no longer obey him—pain had seized every command, locking him inside his own cage of torment. He could not lift a finger. He could not turn his head. Yet still the blue fire burned. Still the pounding raged.

BAM!BAM!BAM!BA—!

The struggle dragged on mercilessly, minute after minute stretching into eternity. For almost an entire hour the corrupted force battered against him, battering until every bone in his frame was reduced to fragments the size of rice grains.

His skeleton had collapsed inward, a shattered lattice of dust. And still the darkness refused to yield.

But with every passing moment, the Purgatory Flame carried out its grim duty. Every heartbeat saw the azure fire consume more of the corruption, saw the dark cloud diminish, wither, lose ground. Each breath was another nail in the coffin of the miasma. Until at last... after an eternity of shrieking resistance...

It vanished.

SHHHHHHWWWWWWOOOOSH!!

The flame did not stop there. It raged on, merciless, for ten minutes longer, burning what little was left, scouring the very essence of Robin’s body. Every impurity was obliterated. Every stain dissolved.

The corruption that had once clung so fiercely to his flesh was reduced to smoke and ash. When there was finally nothing left to consume, the flame too flickered, dimmed, and faded into silence.

For the first time in over an hour... the cavern knew quiet again.

Robin’s body was gone. Or rather—what remained of it was no longer recognizable as flesh. He was charred black, brittle, cracked. Even his lungs, his eyes, the organs within had been burned away. The corruption of the specters had not simply ravaged his soul domain—it had poisoned his physical shell as well. And now, by the fire’s hand, that body had been utterly cleansed.

Cleansed... into nothing.

If a stranger walked into the cavern at this moment, or if Wade and Malak were to awaken and open their eyes, they would not recognize Robin. They would see only a husk. His remains, scorched into the same shade as the cavern floor, had become indistinguishable from stone. He was flattened, pressed into the ground by an hour of merciless battering, his form beaten and burned until it almost fused with the earth itself. To the eye, he had ceased to exist.

And yet...

Somehow, impossibly, through some miracle defying reason, Robin’s soul sense still flickered.

He was alive.

”...”

Robin extended his fading awareness outward. It swept over the cavern, then turned inward to himself... and what it found was ruin. It was impossible for him to move, not even a fraction of an inch. Impossible to form words, even within his throat.

The phrase ”half-dead” was often spoken of those who hovered at death’s door. But for Robin... that would have been a kindness. His condition was beyond that. He was less than half, a fragment of a fragment clinging stubbornly to life.

BZZZZZT!

Suddenly, the silence cracked. A radiant gate of pure white and gold tore open in the air beside his broken form. From its shimmering threshold stepped a familiar soul creature—one of the very few who had survived the massacre of his domain, and the only one who had not been grievously maimed.

Pythor.

Step.Step.

The soul creature moved with a calm, steady pace. Without hesitation, Pythor bent to his work. First, he retrieved the scattered banners Robin had kicked away in his agony, placing each one back into its precise position with patient care. From the ring discarded on the ground, he drew forth a handful of glittering Energy Pearls, arranging them on the stone floor in a deliberate, intricate formation.

SHWOOOOOOSH!

The triple-layered array activated, light blooming across the cavern like a breath of hope.

Then Pythor turned back to his master. He moved slowly, reverently, as if handling sacred remains. With careful claws, he scraped what little flesh still clung to the stone, peeling Robin’s broken body free piece by piece. His touch was gentle, cautious, not to harm what was left. He gathered his master’s remains and dragged him, inch by inch, into the array’s protective embrace.

Only when Robin was fully within did Pythor stop.

He stepped back.

And then he simply stood there, silent and still.

Watching.