Chapter 29 - Behind the Sunlight

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The spirits gathered with a sinister intensity, their ethereal forms weaving together to create a colossal wave of fire that flickered and danced with an otherworldly glow. The air crackled with the palpable energy of their malevolence as they closed in on Alfons. Their voices, a cacophony of tormented souls, echoed through the fiery maelstrom, each scream and howl blending into a symphony of chaos.

As the flames rose higher, the spirits contorted their spectral features into grotesque expressions of rage and amusement. Faces twisted in scorn, they hurled curses and insults at each other with an unholy fervor. The laughter that emanated from their ghostly forms echoed eerily, a blend of mockery and mirth that sent shivers down the spine of any witness.

"A truly accursed sight. Are these all the unfortunate ones you've slain, Igorus?" said Alfons with a smirk, as he descended into the pit of the scorched spirits.

Igorus stood with his arms crossed, observing the abyss he had just recreated with an icy gaze. Hundreds of thousands of damned souls writhed beneath the feet of Alfons, yet...

All managed to grasp this final moment, succeeding in submerging themselves within this torrent of death. Ankostra, her lips parting with an eerie grace, opened her mouth as she spoke, and a violet hue radiated with unimaginable fury, casting an otherworldly glow upon the desolation. The air quivered with the intensity of their collective anguish.

 The spirits, now drenched in the violet glow, twisted and contorted with an insatiable hunger that manifested in their tortured expressions. The very essence of the realm seemed to shudder under the weight of their collective misery, creating an atmosphere charged with a macabre energy that transcended the bounds of the living and the dead.

"Truly a divine technique," echoed Alfons' voice beyond the tumultuous surges.

"Hmm?" reacted Igorus, surprised, as he had assumed that only the ashes of Alfons could remain in this realm.

The tumultuous waves of fire from the spirits began to subside, gradually unveiling Alfons in clear focus. He stood resolute, his left arm adorned with an emerald-hued shield, a stark contrast to the fading inferno around him. The ethereal glow of the shield reflected the remnants of the supernatural tempest, emphasizing Alfons' unwavering presence amid the spectral chaos.

"So, this is your magic," remarked Igorus, visibly impressed.

"This is Armor number 1. I possess a total of nine such armors. The Mirtas Armor is the one I've activated now. And, I must add, this is the weakest among them," Alfons declared as he stepped on air and surged in the opposite direction against the waves of fiery spirits.


With each calculated movement, Alfons cleaved through the undulating mass of spirits, creating a visible path of disruption in this ethereal chaos. The spirits, torn asunder by his presence, swirled in disarray on either side of his advance, like a tempest yielding to the force of a determined wind.

As Alfons approached the violet flames emitted by Ankostra, the air itself seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly intensity. The flickering violet hues danced and played upon the contours of his armor, casting an eerie glow that highlighted the intricate details of the mystical protection. 

"Mirtas! Bestow upon me all your power!"

Alfons clad himself entirely in the Anglo-Saxon-style armor, the vivid green stripes intricately adorned every surface, forming a mesmerizing pattern that seemed to pulsate with an otherworldly energy. The yellow tail of the horse, flowing gracefully from behind the helmet, added a touch of godly elegance to the ensemble, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost alive. The armor, a fusion of historical design and arcane craftsmanship, exuded an aura of ancient power and resilience.

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