Evil Lord - Fire Aura

Since he intuitively grasped the immense power of the monster before him and sensed imminent death, his survival instincts were out of control. All noncritical senses were shut out as he quickly searched for a path to continued existence.

But before he could locate one, Jaldabaoth unleashed his powers.

“Perish. Burn in the fires of my rage until there’s nothing left of your life.”

Flames roared upward, and the heat wave hit Robby in the face. The terrible hotness dried out his eyeballs instantly, causing intense pain. The air entering his lungs through his throat felt like it was burning the inside of his body. No, that was simply the truth of it.

His skin burst, and the moisture it contained began evaporating. First, his epidermis was burning; next his subcutaneous fat, muscle, and nerves caught fire. The muscles and nerves of his arms and other areas with less fat heated up immediately. That caused the muscles to contract, and his body was about to assume a strange pose—but his skin stuck to the scalding hot metal of his armor, preventing it.

Once his clothes, skin, muscles, and fat had gone, his still pristine intestines fell out of his torso.

Human bodies are mostly water. For that reason, it takes a long time for the insides to char. In a fire, there is time for the insides to burn, but this magic heat created by Jaldabaoth’s flame aura moved with the demon, so it was already fading.

That was why the entrails came out perfectly pink, hardly changing color in the heat. A heap of burned corpses and sickeningly bright-colored innards floating in a sea of blood was enough to make anyone who laid eyes on the sight ready to vomit. It was truly a vision of hell abruptly made manifest in this world.

Leaving behind the charred corpses of Robby and the fifty-odd others who had spilled their fresh entrails, Jaldabaoth strode forward.

Jaldabaoth—a newly summoned Evil Lord Wrath—walked. That alone was enough to envelop the humans in his Aura of Fire and kill them.

***

But Francesc wasn’t athletic enough to avoid this clump of fallen runners.

He sprawled over the pile.

He was going to struggle to stand—but he wasn’t given the time.

The aura of flames with Jaldabaoth at the center had caught up to them.

Francesc wasn’t even able to scream.

Why do I have to…? The thought was erased instantaneously from his brain by the agony; he could only writhe in the pain enveloping him.

Francesc was fortunate. Why? Because he was able to die quickly.

Jaldabaoth didn’t stop. Crushing blackened human corpses underfoot, he strode across the field as if it were deserted.

***

The people collapsing as charred corpses drawing nearer frightened him, but he also had the hope that maybe he could be the one—maybe he could reach Jaldabaoth.

Gorka learned the answer physically.

Violent pain coursed through him.

It was impossible to approach the monster.

Gorka was broiled in flames at the same distance as those servicemen who were weaker than him.

That was when he realized—that to the monster, there was no difference between him and the civilians around him.

***

Volume 13, Chapter 7.3