April 4th, 933, Seventh era. Dawn crept over Aerion's sky, not with its customary resplendence, but veiled in a somber, leaden grey that seemed to press down upon the city. In the eastern quadrant, where the sun's radiant ascent was anticipated, peculiar, swirling cloud formations roiled, their underbellies stained with streaks of crimson, like blood seeping across a bruised canvas - an ominous portent of a day far removed from tranquility. From an indeterminate source, sudden gusts of wind swept through the city, carrying not the crisp, invigorating breath of early morning, but a stifling, viscous atmosphere, thick with the faint, unsettling metallic tang of rusted iron and an almost imperceptible, yet distinctly unpleasant, foulness. Within the small apartment, Henry stirred from his slumber, a vague, unsettling premonition clinging to him like the morning's oppressive air. Though the explicit memories of the Sanctuary Enclave had been largely erased, his Mystic Sense, an intrinsic part of his being, remained. This particular morning, it seemed to be thrashing in a silent, internal tumult. The vibrant, emerald green currents of the Lifestream were no longer visible to his inner sight, but he could perceive a pervasive chaos within the ambient energy, the ordinary flows of aether roiling with an unfamiliar instability, imbued with a somber, shadowed quality. The Sanctuary Seal, nestled against his left breast, which had lain quiescent for many days, now throbbed with a few faint, disconcerting pulses, an ill-defined discomfort he could not articulate or understand. Sophia, too, awakened with an unrefreshed countenance. "I slept poorly last night, Henry," she confessed, her voice laced with a lingering weariness. "I kept dreaming of colossal black shadows engulfing the city, and of piercing, terrified screams." Meanwhile, within the hallowed, ancient walls of the Estath Cathedral, Archbishop Ralph was engaged in the solemn ritual of early morning prayer. As the initial sacred invocations left his lips, the white doves, habitual denizens of his oratory windowsill, erupted into a frantic, panicked flurry within the chamber. They beat their wings desperately against the stained-glass panes, their bodies thudding against the vibrant depictions of saints and angels, before plummeting to the stone floor, rigid and frozen in a final, silent scream of terror. Simultaneously, the grand candle upon the main altar, which had burned steadily through countless vigils, abruptly sputtered and died, though not a whisper of a draft disturbed the sanctity of the room. Archbishop Ralph faltered, his customary gentle expression hardening into one of grave concern. He distinctly felt a chilling, malevolent aura, subtle yet undeniable, seeping into the sacred space - a profound desecration of this holy sanctuary. Throughout the sprawling eastern district of Aerion, ordinary citizens experienced an unnamable disquiet. Dogs, usually quick to bark at any passing shadow, whined fitfully in the alleyways before falling silent, burrowing deep into the darkest, most secluded corners. The flocks of sparrows that typically filled the dawn with their cheerful chatter from the rooftops were conspicuously absent, their familiar chorus replaced by an unnerving silence. The air seemed to thicken, to congeal, making each breath a conscious effort, instilling a pervasive, anxious restlessness in the hearts of the populace. These were subtle omens, easily dismissed amidst the burgeoning haste and clamor of a city stirring to life. But to those with heightened sensitivities, to Rankers accustomed to perceiving the subtle currents of energy, they were unmistakable harbingers of a gathering storm. And that storm, in its terrible haste, did not keep them waiting. Archbishop Ralph stood resolute before the altar, attempting to gather his spiritual focus, to dispel the encroaching sense of foreboding. Suddenly, the massive, heavy oak doors of the cathedral burst violently inward with a deafening crash. Five figures, cloaked in voluminous black garments that concealed their faces in deep shadow, advanced slowly into the nave. They made no effort to mask the malevolent aura of their power, an almost physical wave of dread preceding them. The figure at their head, the tallest of the group, radiated the dense, suffocating dark aether of a Rank 6. The four who followed were scarcely less formidable; all were clearly Rank 4, one perhaps even teetering on the precipice of Rank 5. An invisible pressure descended upon the sacred space, causing the remaining candles to flicker erratically before being snuffed out, plunging the vast hall into a deeper gloom. The leader slowly raised his head. Faint light caught an angular, gaunt face, but it was the preternatural, blood-red intensity that blazed from his sockets, dominating the gloom Dark, engorged veins pulsed visibly at his temples, twitching erratically. A cruel, predatory smile stretched his lips, revealing a set of elongated, serrated teeth. "How utterly delightful! The illustrious Archbishop Ralph himself, I presume?" he intoned, his voice a hoarse, grating rasp, like rusted metal grinding against stone. He clapped his hands slowly, mockingly. "You live up to your reputation as one of the four most powerful figures governing this eastern expanse of Aerion. A truly admirable aura you possess." "If you gentlemen have merely come to offer confession to an old servant of the church," Archbishop Ralph responded, his voice maintaining its gentle cadence, betraying no fear, though his irises now held a wary, calculating light, "surely such a formidable contingent is unnecessary?" "Ha ha ha! I had no inkling that, in addition to your renowned strength, you possessed such a keen sense of humor!" the Bloodluster roared, his savage laughter echoing through the cavernous cathedral. "But today, we have not come to seek absolution. We have come to... dispense salvation, in our own unique fashion!" "Since you have graced us with your presence," Archbishop Ralph stated, his voice beginning to acquire a chilling edge, "it would be remiss of us not to offer a fitting reception. Let us 'interact' for a while, shall we?" No sooner had the words left his lips than the air around Archbishop Ralph seemed to ripple. From the four corners of the grand hall, four monks in white robes, each wielding a staff that glowed with an inner light, silently materialized, their powerful Rank 4 auras flaring to life. Behind each of these figures, three more mage-monks, their aether signatures clearly indicating Rank 3, also appeared, forming small, incredibly solid battle formations. Simultaneously, the great main doors of the cathedral slammed shut with a resounding, heavy thud.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. From the transepts on either side, more than fifty elite soldiers of the Cathedral's Sacred Guard, resplendent in consecrated armor and bearing holy weapons, advanced with disciplined silence, their ranks led by three grim-faced Rank 4 captains, forming an unyielding, encircling perimeter. "It appears this old pastor has prepared a most thorough welcome for our 'interaction', wouldn't you agree?" the Bloodluster sneered, his confidence unshaken by the formidable display of force. "How long have they been lying in wait? They must have maintained constant vigil, day and night, to protect your venerable person, yes? But... do you genuinely believe that such a meager, fragile force can impede our progress? Are you not, perhaps, placing an unwarranted degree of faith in your own capabilities, Archbishop?" As he finished speaking, the Bloodluster's form suddenly erupted with a terrifying surge of dark aether, exponentially more potent than before. The oppressive, frigid aura of a true Rank 6 Bloodluster exploded outwards, forcefully suppressing the aether of every other individual within the cathedral. Lower-ranking gasped, finding it difficult to draw breath, their minds reeling, their own power feeling as if it were being violently siphoned away. "I shall revel in this exquisite festival of blood!" The Bloodluster's entire frame trembled with an almost orgasmic excitement, as if only now, in this moment of impending slaughter, could he truly unleash the feral, bloodthirsty core of his being. "I sincerely hope you all prove resilient enough to satiate my hunger!" On the cathedral's pulpit, Archbishop Ralph no longer maintained his gentle facade. He drew himself up to his full height, and the formidable aura of a peak Rank 5 powerhouse burst forth with overwhelming force. Pure, incandescent light aether radiated from his being, coalescing into a brilliant halo that pushed back against the Bloodluster's oppressive darkness. But this was not the extent of his power. His aether continued to surge, moving from its initial state of suppression, now matching, then striving to overcome the Rank 6's oppressive presence. Suddenly, a subtle yet profoundly significant shift occurred in the flow of his aether. The light energy emanating from him seemed to concentrate, to intensify, imbued with a purity and an authoritative power that transcended its previous state. Around the Archbishop, aether continued to flood outwards like a torrential river, his aura now far exceeding its earlier manifestation, pushing beyond the known limits of Rank 5. The Bloodluster, who had been reveling in his own might, abruptly sensed the change. He faltered, the blood-red fire in his eyes flickering with astonishment and a dawning, incredulous realization. This was... Rank 6! "I must express my gratitude for your earlier commendation," Archbishop Ralph declared, his voice no longer gentle but deep, resonant, and imbued with a profound authority. "However, there is one matter in which you were mistaken. I am not one of the four most powerful individuals in East Aerion. I am... one of the two most powerful!" "Such masterful concealment!" the Bloodluster snarled, his initial exhilaration now replaced by a heightened vigilance and a burgeoning anger. "You have indeed prepared meticulously for this encounter. But... you still hold yourself in too high esteem, old man!" As he spoke, he drew a bizarre weapon from behind his back: a large, metallic implement, over a meter in length, its hilt wrapped in dark, rough animal hide. The weapon's body was curved like a scimitar, but its edge was a horrifying array of jagged saw teeth, designed with the brutal purpose of inflicting the most gruesome wounds imaginable. This was the Blood Saw, an infamous and dreaded weapon. Archbishop Ralph's aura now stood in direct opposition, fully matching the Bloodluster's oppressive might. In the impending clash between these two Rank 6 titans, all others present, regardless of their Rank 4 or Rank 3 capabilities, were relegated to the role of unwilling spectators, or perhaps, disposable pawns on a deadly chessboard. The assembled monks and soldiers of the Sacred Guard instinctively fanned out, creating a wider perimeter, ceding the vast central expanse of the cathedral to the two colossal powers. Every soul held its breath, retreating further, acutely aware that the slightest movement from either combatant would instantly ignite a cataclysmic battle of terrifying proportions. Meanwhile, in a shadowed alcove just outside the Estath Cathedral, a figure clad in the dark attire of a Bureau investigator moved with incredible swiftness, heading towards the military command headquarters of East Aerion. It was Cole. The moment he had sensed the explosive eruption of two distinct Rank 6 auras from within the cathedral, he had recognized that the situation had escalated far beyond their initial darkly predictions. He had to report this dire development to General Zalogr - the Demigod, the ultimate military authority in East Aerion, without delay. BOOMMMMMMMMM! A deafening explosion ripped through the sacred silence of Estath Cathedral, the shockwave reverberating across a vast swathe of the city. The magnificent stained-glass dome high above the nave shattered into a million glittering fragments, raining down like a deadly, crystalline deluge. Archbishop Ralph and the Bloodluster had officially, irrevocably, engaged in combat. The first exchange of blows, though brief, unleashed such devastating residual energy that the surrounding soldiers and monks, despite their own considerable power, were unable to withstand it. They were forced to scatter further, seeking more secure positions from which to engage the remaining four enemy. In an instant, the area surrounding Estath Cathedral, a place usually defined by its solemnity and serene tranquility, had transformed into a raging, chaotic battlefield. And the ancient, venerable church, for centuries a symbol of faith and peace, now stood as the terrifying epicenter of that destructive, encroaching storm. Simultaneously with the cataclysmic explosion at Estath Cathedral, numerous other locations throughout East Aerion erupted in violence. Loud detonations, piercing screams of terror, and the sickening crunch of collapsing buildings echoed from multiple districts. Hordes of feral creatures, wild beasts seemingly driven mad by dark enchantments, alongside shadowy, malevolent entities summoned from some unknown abyss, suddenly materialized in the heart of the unsuspecting city, unleashing a wave of unmitigated horror and death upon the civilian populace.

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