Apostles' War

Beneath the Cathedral, France – 12:37 AM

The Grinshade Lord stood tall upon the broken altar of the crypt, its many grinning faces writhing and laughing in discordant mockery. A thousand voices screamed, cried, and chanted like blasphemous hymns — each one a voice stolen from the cathedral's congregation.

From the shadows, lesser Grinshades surged like a tide. The air was thick with mockery and illusion, but the Apostles stood their ground.

Leon's iron circlet shimmered faintly as the sigil of Humility flared on the back of his left hand.

"[Echo of the Meek]," he whispered.

A silver wave rippled outward — empowering Elian and Enoch, weakening the overconfident swarm of Grinshades around them. Their masks cracked. Their movements grew sluggish, confused.

But the tide was unending.

Leon clenched his jaw, eyes burning with resolve. "No more holding back."

The simple iron circlet above his brow flared with golden light as a new skill awakened.

[Cloak of Nameless]

Leon vanished mid-step, not as a blur, but as a complete erasure of presence. The Grinshades stuttered, confused — their eyes darted, failing to detect him.

From the veil, Leon's voice rang like a quiet prayer:

"You laugh to be seen. I fight to be forgotten."

He struck — swift and unseen — and Grinshades crumpled as their masks shattered under the pressure of forced humility.

Meanwhile, Enoch had taken the front line.

Golden-threaded boots burned with holy fervor as the sigil of Faith flared. He leapt across platforms of radiant air, bounding over shattered pews and columns of stone.

"[Unyielding March.]"

Grinshades that came near faltered — their illusions dissolved beneath his unwavering stride. But even Enoch knew this wasn't enough.

He slammed both feet to the ground, and light surged upward — and from within him, a new skill has awaken. 

[Saint's Descent]

Golden footprints began to appear around Enoch, glowing softly, forming a protective dome of unwavering light.

"I believe in the light," he said. "And I believe in you, Elian."

Elian stood in the center of the chaos, trembling — not from fear, but from emotion.

Around him, the relics of two Apostles burned like stars. Their courage, their power, their unwavering belief — it all echoed in his chest.

And then…

The sigil on the back of his hand blazed like a nova.

White-gold flame spiraled upward as a radiant sword took form in his grip. The Seraphblade. Its edge hummed not with rage, but with mercy made manifest. Warm. Steady.

He stepped forward, blade in hand. The lesser Grinshades paused — momentarily stunned by its glow.

Leon's voice came from the shadows:

"That's the light we've been waiting for."

Enoch grinned and raised his fists.

"Now let's show them what Apostles are made of."

The Grinshade Lord shrieked, recoiling for the first time.

Elian raised the Seraphblade. "I won't run anymore."