He spread his arms wide, his gaze blazing with an intensity that seemed to ignite the very air around him. "The souls of mothers serve as the fuel; their children, the spark of rebirth! Sacrifice after sacrifice, generation upon generation, what we forge is not mere blood and tears, but the Crown of Truth itself! Their suffering is inevitable, their deaths glorious! To create the perfect witch, to grasp the ultimate power—everything is worth it!"

Haviel’s breathing grew erratic, his speech accelerating as his eyes shone with a twisted mix of reverence and madness. "You don’t understand, do you? These mortals, these lowly, pitiful creatures, are nothing but stepping stones beneath our feet! When the Witch Project is complete, souls will break free of their chains. Truth will dominate all things, and even the gods will kneel before us! And I—Haviel—shall be the one to open the gates to the new epoch!"

Suddenly, his laughter erupted, sharp and grating, like a blade screeching against glass, sending shivers down the spines of everyone present. His gaze fell upon Vera, alight with fervent obsession and greed. "Look! Behold! The perfect bloodline, the purest soul! It’s all within my grasp! This moment, this destiny—I’ve waited far too long for it—far too long!"

Then, without warning, he crushed the skull in his hand. A piercing wail echoed from it, spreading in all directions—a signal for his ritual to begin. The cry signified that the vile concoctions he had secretly planted within the people of the nearby village were activating.

Soon, this place would become a playground for the undead, a symphony of death and despair.

Or so he thought.

Time ticked on. Seconds stretched into minutes. And yet… nothing. The anticipated transformation did not come. The scene outside remained cloaked in ominous mist, obscured from view, but within the estate, everyone exchanged puzzled glances. Nothing was happening.

"This… this is impossible!" Haviel’s voice cracked, his face contorted with disbelief and rising panic. "Why isn’t it working?!"

He whirled toward Lorwenkai, his voice trembling with equal parts confusion and dread. "It’s the holy water! Is it your damn holy water? No, that can’t be! I inspected the holy water you sold—I even drank some myself! It was nothing but ordinary water! How… how did you do this?!"

Lorwenkai stood with his arms crossed, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. His eyes gleamed with a predatory amusement as he regarded Haviel like a jester who had completely botched his performance.

"Haviel, oh Haviel," Lorwenkai drawled lazily, his tone dripping with mockery. "You’ve truly outdone yourself this time. Ten years of meticulous planning, countless sleepless nights, and what’s the grand result? A skull, a shout, and a ritual so unimpressive it feels like a budget magic show. Honestly, are you summoning the forces of darkness or auditioning for the circus?"

He raised a hand and began ticking off imaginary points on his fingers. "Oh, but wait! That’s an insult to magicians—at least they know how to leave the stage with dignity. You? You’re just here to declare, ‘Hi everyone, I’m useless!’ Honestly, I’m moved. Shall I give you a round of applause?"

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Haviel’s face turned a ghastly shade of blue, his lips trembling, unable to form a coherent retort. Lorwenkai, however, was far from done. "Ah, yes, the infamous holy water you tested. You drank it yourself, didn’t you? Such trust in your own tongue! If only I trusted the goddess as much as you trust your own taste buds. But alas—" He took a deliberate step forward, leaning in slightly, his eyes piercing like blades. "Truth often hides where you least expect it. The holy water was a decoy; the containers were the real deal! You thought you were the hunter, Haviel, but from the beginning, you were nothing but the prey. So, tell me—how does it feel to be outsmarted?"

Straightening up, Lorwenkai gave Haviel a patronizing pat on the shoulder, as though comforting a child who had lost a game. "It’s alright. Failure is the mother of success. Too bad for you, though, because time’s not on your side anymore. Aren’t you supposed to be the harbinger of vengeance for the Tower of Truth? Come on, do something. Entertain me a little longer."

He took a step back, his laughter ringing out, light and mocking. "Don’t worry, I’ll slow down the taunts this time, give you a moment to catch your breath. Now then, show me—what other cheap tricks do you have left?"

"You arrogant fool! I’ll kill you!" Haviel’s fury reached its breaking point, his sanity snapping like a frayed string. He raised his staff, gathering energy for a devastating Saint-Tier spell.

But against Lorwenkai, whose casting required no incantations, he was hopelessly outmatched.

"Saint-Tier Divine Spell—Holy Coffin!" Lorwenkai’s voice rang out, calm and decisive.

Crack!

A shimmering outline appeared around Haviel, and before he could react, radiant panels of light converged, snapping together with a resounding thud to form a glowing coffin that trapped him inside.

"High-Tier Divine Spell—Twelve Scepter Light Prison!" Lorwenkai’s command was sharp, and instantly, twelve radiant scepters manifested around the coffin. Like spears, they drove into the holy prison, piercing Haviel’s writhing form within.

A blood-curdling scream echoed, but then, silence fell. All that remained was the coffin, glowing faintly, bristling with the twelve scepters—like a porcupine of divine light.

"Lilith," Lorwenkai called out, glancing at Vera, "Go read his memories."

Lilith’s voice, filled with exasperation, echoed from Vera’s body. "Do you think I’m immune to holy light? That guy’s glowing brighter than a festival lantern! No thanks, I’d like to keep my demonic essence intact."

"Then what do you suggest?" Lorwenkai asked, raising a brow.

"At least open a gap in the coffin!" Lilith flitted out of Vera’s body, reforming into her true shape—a petite succubus with a wry smile. "This whole thing’s overkill. Just let me at him."

Lorwenkai considered for a moment before waving a hand. The front panel of the coffin disintegrated, revealing Haviel, barely clinging to life. His body was riddled with punctures from the scepters, his vitality flickering like a dying flame.

Lilith smirked, floating over to Haviel’s trembling figure. She reached out, her delicate hand clasping his head. "Ah, mortals and their foolish obsessions. They mistake curses for blessings, poison for salvation."

Before she could delve further, Lorwenkai’s expression abruptly darkened. "Lilith—pull back! Now!"

But it was too late.

Haviel, who moments ago had been on the brink of death, suddenly convulsed violently. His eyes flared with an unnatural light, his body erupting with surges of chaotic energy.

"No! Stop!" Lilith cried out, recoiling just as Haviel’s entire being began to glow, his form cracking apart like a shattered porcelain doll.

And then came the sound—a resonant, soul-piercing scream. Not of agony, but of something far worse.