Chapter 388: Path of Stone and Blood

The pain in Luke’s belly was a living thing, sharp and steady, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Heat radiated outward from the wound, and each breath felt like a blade passing through his ribs. The stone beneath him was cold and unyielding, smelling of iron, blood, and ancient rock. For a moment all he could hear was the hollow echo of his own groan braided with the wind’s rasp through the ruined hall.

The Midnight King ripped through the roof as if the ceiling were paper. A cyclone of dust and stone slammed down around them while the throne was wrenched free, dragged aloft with the creature until both vanished into the black above.

Jack dropped to his knees beside Luke, face taut, wand-tip already blooming green with healing light. His words came clipped, barely audible, focused as he wove the spell. Warmth spread beneath Luke’s skin like molten metal running through his veins. The pain did not vanish; it rearranged itself, ceded ground to an older, harder kind of strength.

“It’s over,” Evangeline breathed, voice thin. Her eyes were fixed on the hole in the roof where the archangel had just been, a jagged tear that still spat dust and sparks as though the air itself were burning.

Luke fought to make his limbs obey, fingers digging into the ground for balance before he finally forced his legs under him. The air seared in his lungs, cold and thick at once, but he forced himself up. Every muscle protested, but his mind sharpened. Desperation flared briefly and then cleared, leaving him cool and precise. Thoughts collided and reorganized inside him like gears. He replayed the battle in his head, scanning for the one thing he had missed, the single crack in the creature’s defense.

Erza had already moved to the center of the chamber. Dust drifted from the torn ceiling while she stared up into the void. The sickly light of her scythe caught the torch flames, jittering with tension.

“He’s still there,” she said, voice low. “Up high. The throne is pulling him back somehow. He’s trying to get free, but something holds him.” Her grip tightened; the scythe trembled in her hand.

Allison came forward on slow, uneven steps, favoring a limp. The pain showed in her gait, but her posture was steady.

“You were going to become a host?” Jack asked without taking his eyes off her.

“Of course not,” she snapped, then turned away.

Silence settled over them like a weight. Faces were drawn and exhausted. Evangeline looked like someone staring through the room into another place entirely.

“I have to tell you two things,” Luke said, stepping to the center so everyone could see him. His boots sounded hollow on the stone. “First: the mask, my mask, gave me immunity to that statue-form skill. It won’t turn me to stone.”

Luke met their eyes, letting them absorb the fact, then pressed on. He needed them clear, focused, ready for whatever came next.

The realization hung in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore. It was too much of a coincidence, and Luke knew it. But there was no time to debate why, not with the enemy still loose.

There was something else he’d noticed about the archangel.

“Erza,” Luke said, eyes fixed on the vaulted ceiling, “you told us that starting at Rank E, HP begins to regenerate like mana, that the body gains a natural healing factor, a constant regeneration. That’s right, isn’t it?” His voice was steady, but edged with an urgency that scraped the air.

She kept her gaze on the open wound in the ceiling, the scythe steady in her hands. “Yes. It’s the first step toward divinity,” she replied.

Luke turned to Anne and Jack. “You’ve got to have seen it, the same thing I did.”

They exchanged a look. It lasted only a moment, but it was enough; everything clicked into place.

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“The king… does not have… a healing factor,” Anne said, each word thinning at the end.

“It’s not that he doesn’t have one,” Jack corrected. “It’s that it doesn’t work. The disease prevents it.”

“Exactly,” Luke said. “That rot is eating his body. He can’t regenerate what he’s lost. He can’t heal because of it, so the missing parts are being replaced with stone.”

Half of the archangel’s body was putrefied, eaten away from the inside. Torn skin revealed darkened bone and the dull sheen of sections replaced by stone. Even part of the skull was bare, a face that no longer belonged to the living.

“The creature is Rank D,” Mason said in a low voice. “Its healing factor should be even stronger than an E-rank’s.”

“Maybe he can’t recover from the burns you gave him,” Evangeline said.

“Or from the acid Luke poured on him,” Allison added.

“And the dagger I put in his good eye. I don’t know if the stone helps him see, but at least I blinded one eye.” Luke said.

The silence that followed felt thicker than the air itself. For a moment each of them let fear turn into calculation. Luke breathed deep and looked up. Now they would find out whether the monster would keep replacing flesh with stone or continue rotting like that.