Klaus watched with a glint of amusement as Effie assumed a stance, muscles coiling with restrained power. Sunny, on the other hand, appeared to be rapidly descending into a quiet panic, frantically searching for his amulet.
It was easy to forget—given Effie's cheerful demeanor and laid-back nature—that she was a warrior forged in the fires of horror and hardship. Of all their cohort, she had survived on the Forgotten Shore the longest, outlasting monstrosities that had claimed many others. She'd roamed the cursed alleys of the Dark City alone, hunting Nightmares with nothing but her wits and strength. And why? Because the ruler of Bright Castle, scorned by her rejection, had made her a pariah. Anyone who tried to help her vanished.
But Effie had endured. She'd never bent the knee, never begged, never yielded. That alone was testament to her iron will.
Klaus, of course, knew all this. He had personally interviewed the survivors of the Forgotten Shore. Among them, Effie stood tall—matched only by Nephis and Sunny themselves in might.
Still, none of that mattered now. Klaus would've liked to sit back and enjoy the spectacle, but time was a luxury he couldn't afford. Pity.
As Effie stepped forward, preparing to pummel Sunny, Klaus threw back his head and laughed—an abrupt, almost mad sound that echoed through the temple and drew confused glances.
Then, with a mischievous grin, he called out:
"Hey, hey! When a man give challenge to three others, what does the third one do?"
Effie blinked in confusion, her face plainly saying, What in the abyss is this idiot on about? Then, after a beat, her eyes went wide, and she blurted:
"The third guy… farted?"
Before the absurdity of her answer had even settled, Effie vanished from her spot—only to reappear, frozen in place where Klaus had just stood.
A heartbeat later, the white-haired War Maiden—the one who had so proudly called herself Effie's mentor—made a strange choking noise.
Her eyes bulged wide with disbelief, bloodshot and frantic. From her neck protruded Klaus's crimson spear, the cursed weapon humming with deathly energy. With a wicked grin, Klaus raised the spear higher, cleaving the woman's skull in two.
Chaos erupted.
From Sunny's shadow, his dark destrier emerged with a snort of fury. Without hesitation, Sunny hurled the stunned Effie onto the beast's back. As the monstrous steed galloped away from the temple, Kai dashed after them, keeping pace with grim determination.
Outside, a horde of guards waited—but they had their own battles to fight now.
Inside, Klaus met the red-haired War Maiden's odachi with a vicious parry, sparks flaring. The plan had worked. The white-haired War Maiden—the most dangerous of the three—was dead. Yet Klaus felt a chill crawl down his spine. Elder Sekra hadn't moved. She hadn't even blinked.
Not good.
Klaus grinned savagely as he swapped places with another War Maiden, letting the red-haired warrior's odachi skewer her unfortunate sister. Then he roared:
"Sunny! The Awakened are yours! I'll butcher these vile whores myself! Follow the plan!"
Dancing through another exchange, Klaus soared into the air, eyes scanning the battlefield. The situation was precarious—but not hopeless.
Dodging a flurry of arrows, he bellowed again:
"Go all out! Do exactly as I told you!"
Sunny responded with a nod, melting into shadows.
Meanwhile, Klaus teleported again, sliding down a towering pillar and observing the battlefield like a predator watching his prey. His form shimmered, changing—his body lengthening, muscle and sinew reforming. His skin grew harder; his curves vanished. In moments, the beautiful demoness was gone. In her place stood a tall, lean man with burning eyes.
The black-haired War Maiden narrowed her gaze, spear raised in contempt.
"You tricked us... vile maggot."
Klaus smiled, all innocence. Below him, the floor cracked as something divine descended.
Hemera.
She burst into being—a celestial beast of impossible majesty. Her incandescent form burned with hues of gold, azure, and white. Ethereal wings erupted behind her, casting starlit sparks in every direction. Her flaming mane shimmered with colors no mortal eye could name, her eyes twin voids of divine fire.
Each beat of her wings summoned tempests of light and heat. Her talons gleamed like celestial blades, and her tail trailed radiant arcs of wind.
She glared at the War Maidens with disdain.
Klaus nodded, and the world shifted.
A tidal wave of light surged from Hemera, engulfing the hall. At that moment, Klaus swapped places with the red-haired War Maiden, hurling her directly into the heavenly maelstrom.
Crimson spear in hand, Klaus struck at Elder Sekra.
Their clash shook the air. Klaus phased through Sekra's counterattack, wrapping his arms around her from behind—and in a blink, they vanished.
They reappeared atop the Temple of the Chalice. Klaus looked down with glowing eyes, his gaze settling on the chaos below: Sunny, Effie, and Kai battling the remaining War Maidens.
They would manage.
His real concern stood before him now—Elder Sekra, unmoved and unshaken. A pillar of ancient might. Klaus grinned, crimson spear in hand.
"Let's dance, you decrepit witch."
Elder Sekra chuckled softly, her expression as serene as a mountain lake—eerily detached from the carnage unfolding below. Her composure, in the face of such chaos, unsettled Klaus more than any sword or ability ever could. With her eyes turned skyward, she spoke in a tranquil, reverent tone, as though the cries of the dying were merely hymns to her faith:
"Humanity is forged through strife. Agony is not a curse, but a crucible. The beloved goddess tempers us through pain."
Klaus leaned against his spear, a sardonic grin curling on his lips. He cocked an eyebrow at the old zealot, his tone dry and mocking.
"Ah, yes... I'm quite familiar with your doctrine. Bit of a scholar, actually. Your entire creed boils down to 'life's tough, so try not to die.' Profound, really." His smile sharpened. "But i start thinking about that after killing you."
Sekra's eyes narrowed ever so slightly—an acknowledgment of surprise quickly masked. That an outsider understood the tenets of the War God's sect so well was unexpected.
"But what you fail to grasp," she said, voice suddenly laced with venom, "is that I am not merely the most powerful woman in this sect. I am its finest torturer. I will make you pay for every blasphemous word with exquisite precision."
A fanatical glint lit up her gaze. She lifted her arms and laughed, mad and radiant.
"Praise be to the goddess for granting me the privilege of punishing this heretic with my own hands!"
As her words rang out, radiant light erupted from her like a nova, and behind her, hundreds of radiant nails bloomed into existence, suspended in the air like the swords of divine judgment. Klaus's grin faltered ever so slightly.
"Okay, grandma," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than her, "I may be a sinner, but at least I'm not touching myself in public over it."
Finding humor even in the absurdity of looming death, Klaus surged forward in a blur, intent on closing the gap. She had range, and that made her dangerous. He considered teleporting behind her, but quickly discarded the idea. Someone of Sekra's caliber would predict such a move—likely unleashing her cursed nails both at him and around herself as a preemptive counter.
The last time, he had succeeded in killing the white-haired war maiden through sheer surprise. But that tactic wouldn't work twice.
As if to confirm his fears, the nails descended like a divine storm. Klaus cursed and summoned a spatial barrier to shield himself, but the force behind the projectiles was monstrous—far greater than his defenses could endure. Old hag's essence output was higher than his because of difference in ranks.
Watching his shield buckle, Klaus turned intangible at the last second. The nails phased through his body harmlessly as the rooftop detonated in a roar of debris and shattered stone. When the dust began to settle, he was nowhere to be seen.
Above Sekra, Klaus appeared like a vengeful phantom, spear already descending in a deadly arc meant to cleave her in two. Yet Sekra met his assault with chilling grace, catching the cursed weapon mid-swing. Twisting, she used Klaus's momentum against him and drove her foot toward his gut with devastating precision.
But her victory was short-lived. Klaus, buoyed by the force of Bia, twisted his body mid-air and floated out of reach, avoiding the crushing blow by a hair's breadth.
Before she could press the attack, he vanished again, creating distance between them with a flicker of essence.
This was… troubling. Most of the Awakened Klaus had fought from the Kingdom of Hope were cannon fodder at best—weaklings playing as big shots. But this one? No. Elder Sekra was a different beast entirely. She was definitely Jet's equal, perhaps even more refined in her ferocity.
She regarded him with a dark smile, her expression almost amused.
"Pain is a blessing in disguise," she purred. "Don't resist it. Embrace it. Let it elevate you. Under my hands, you'll come to understand. Why not surrender? Accept the truth."
Klaus swallowed hard, adjusting the tattered remnants of his haori over his shoulders. He stared at her for a moment, then muttered under his breath with an awkward glance.
"Uhhh... please don't. I've already been violated enough for one lifetime."