Had she died by friendly hands, then the Black-Robed Nun would’ve gone down as one hell of a cruel joke.

Thankfully, neither Maria nor Phoenix were amateurs. Holding back just enough power for contingencies had long become second nature to seasoned warfighters like them. In that split second—when the sudden quake plunged the chamber into shadow and their target vanished—both of them instinctively turned their blades toward each other!

Yet instead of clashing, both the Black-Robed Nun and the Flame Warrior twisted away, redirecting their weapons' arcs mid-swing. Their steel cut through the ambiguous gloom, the collision narrowly avoided—only the sharp, resonant ring of crossed blades filled the air.

Using that instant, Maria slid back, withdrawing behind Phoenix.

“Don’t pursue!”

She caught a glimpse of him turning, eyes filled with frustration, just as he was about to lunge into the depths. The residual shockwaves of the earlier blast still pulsed through the ground. Cracks now laced the ceiling above. Maria quickly raised her voice to halt him.

Such a perfect situation, undone by a single unexpected explosion—Maria couldn’t help feeling a knot of irritation twist in her chest.

But emotion was emotion, and reality was reality.

She knew—chasing recklessly now would be unwise. With the room plunged into darkness beyond the reach of Phoenix’s radiant flames, the enemy—Captain Moll, no doubt—could melt into shadow at any moment. And without her precise perception leading the way, the environment was simply too dangerous for further engagement.

“….”

Phoenix advanced two steps before freezing. Calm returned to his face as logic took over. He turned, watching as the Black-Robed Nun quietly retrieved her blade from the floor. What had seemed like a certain capture had slipped away—thwarted by something as chaotic and stupidly timed as an explosion.

Still, it hadn’t been a total loss.

But the ever-prideful Phoenix could hardly tolerate letting prey escape before his very eyes. His expression darkened as he scanned the fractures webbing across floor and ceiling, trying to deduce which lunatic had just broken the silence of their carefully coordinated operation.

The impact… it had been like standing next to a cannon blast.

“You felt it too, didn’t you? Something in his body…” Maria murmured, gesturing for the two disoriented support agents—Tyr and Ralph—to start clearing the field. A creeping, visceral dread still clung to her chest, left behind by that presence. Something wasn’t right.

“Mmh. No doubt about it.”

Phoenix nodded grimly. That overwhelming hatred for life, the sheer degree of defilement and blasphemy—there was no way it was power from a normal Abyssal Pactbearer. No, that had come from a far more polluted origin. For someone who was merely Iron-ranked, that degree of corruption should’ve been impossible to contain.

They shared a look. Unspoken understanding passed between them.

“We need to move,” Maria said after a pause. “Reach out to the command chamber with divine spells—find out what just happened out there. We can’t fight blind. That blast… I don’t care if it was friend or foe, it’s too risky to stay here without information.”

They’d already failed once because of that unexpected detonation. Would they survive a second time?

Maria wasn’t willing to bet her life on luck.

“Thanks for holding him down earlier,” she added, turning slightly and flashing a rare smile at Tyr and Ralph. “Without your help, that wouldn’t have gone nearly as cleanly. I’m counting on you again.”

The two support agents—still visibly shaken—nodded. They lacked the rank, but their bravery had earned her genuine respect.

…

LOWER DISTRICT, SURFACE STREETS

“Serve the gods with all your soul—tremble, and be devout… Revere the fire that sustains all life. Without it, what could ever flourish? In revering fire, we revere ourselves. Praise… the Sun!”

Chanting the words from her iron-forged scripture with fervor, the Steel Nun—Sister Dolores—swung her enormous greataxe in divine ecstasy.

The weapon, brutal and unwieldy in lesser hands, danced weightlessly in Dolores's grip. Her single-handed sweeps carved gales through the tainted air. Every arc of that axe shredded through the masses of Root of Man, turning them into ragged scraps of sinew and gore.

No matter how twisted, how bloated, or how many of the Abyss-born abominations blocked her path—none survived her advance.

Clad head to toe in iron, even her gauntlets forged of steel, Sister Dolores moved like a sanctified war engine. She bulldozed through the Lower District without once stopping to consider resistance or terrain. It didn’t matter what lay ahead.

Crush. Grind. Annihilate.

Any heretic, any blasphemer that stood against the divine—she would exterminate them all.

“Only fire can cleanse you!!”

SLAM.

She shut her scripture with a deafening clap.

All around her, the world had already crumbled into ruin. Limbs and offal blanketed the ground in grotesque layers. The scene resembled a massacre so cruel, it could only be the work of something not quite human.

A righteous slaughter.

Sister Dolores had long served as the Church’s primary frontline executioner—deployed wherever heresy festered. Fueled by unwavering devotion to the Sun Gods, she unleashed miraculous violence wherever she went.

“Scurrying vermin! Filthy and foul!” she cried, her voice thundering across the ruins. “My Lord is merciful—to allow even you the gift of flame!”

She drew a crystal bottle from her belt.

It glimmered faintly—a translucent glass vial, filled with a special golden liquid. When it shifted, it shimmered like sunlight rippling across water.

Skill: Blessed Fire Oil

(Originally mundane, this oil was sanctified through relentless prayer. It now responds to its wielder’s divine will, unleashing sacred fire on command.)

Passive: Hatred for Evil

(You harbor a burning, uncontrollable hatred for all deemed wicked. This hatred allows you to lock onto evil-aligned foes, unwavering in pursuit. The deeper your conviction, the more fuel you give to your wrath. March on, Steel Nun—until your own hatred consumes you.)

Dolores smeared the holy oil across her axe, coating its edges with reverence.

She surveyed the carnage around her, breathing in the stink of death and sanctity. Every enemy had been obliterated. Just like every other mission, she had delivered both iron and fire upon the unworthy. But still—it wasn’t enough.

No. It would never be enough.

She could feel it.

More heretics, more abominations festered below. The stench of their foul existence clung to the sewers beneath her boots. Her flesh crawled with the need to purge them.

FOOM!

The instant she finished anointing her axe, it erupted into flame.

But this was no ordinary fire—it was divine whitefire, burning brighter than any torch or pyre. The flame danced in total silence, cold to all warmth, yet radiant with sacred judgment. Every droplet that fell hissed against the stone and vanished without smoke.

This was not the fire of comfort.

It was the fire of punishment—forged by gods to burn the unworthy.

Raising her weapon high, Sister Dolores turned her gaze toward the underground.

The next instant—

BOOM! A column of white fire surged skyward, rupturing through the street and down into the sewer complex. The explosion tore open the land itself, cracks spiderwebbing across a hundred-meter radius.

The purge had only just begun.