The Extra's Rise - Chapter 827

827: Infernal Armis (2) 827: Infernal Armis (2) The palace’s strategic command center converted to a crisis room in minutes.

Holographic panes ringed the walls, each streaming scrying and satellite feeds from the impact zone.

Readouts crawled; alarms throttled between amber and red.

At the center of every view lay the same impossibility: the Infernal Armis planted in a crater that straddled the border and ran deep into Savage Communion lands.

Space around it kinked and drew tight, as if a predator were flexing claws through reality.

“Seriously, what the fuck is that?” Kali said.

The air near the artifact rippled in non-Euclidean pulses that made the eye want to look away.

“A Mythical-grade artifact,” I said, tracking stress lines that didn’t belong to any known metric.

“One of seven that drift the seams of space-time.

They surface where the walls between worlds thin.” Mythical-grade artifacts aren’t made in any single world and they don’t obey local ceilings on power.

They rewrite the ceiling.

Jin stepped to a diagnostics panel, eyes quick.

“Sensors are saturating.

The arrays can’t fix its coordinates because it isn’t fully in-frame.

It’s here, but skewed.” “Accurate,” I said.

“Infernal Armis doesn’t just emit power; it changes the rules around itself-like a Gift scaled to terrain instead of flesh.” Rin, quiet beside her parents, kept her voice careful.

“Is it safe to approach?” “Extremely unsafe,” I said.

“Not like a trap-like a judge.

It’s selective.

Anyone who tries to claim it faces trials designed to kill the unworthy.” Meilyn watched the logistics feeds in the corners-roads, rivers, air lanes.

“What trials?

Combat?

Command?

Resolve?” ‘Carnage,’ Luna whispered along our link, the word as old as scraped stone.

‘It is the artifact of carnage.

Its trials measure what you will break to get what you want-how long you endure, how much you destroy, whether you ever stop.’ I drew breath to translate when the graphs on three displays spiked together.

The pressure field reorganized around a new center; even the room felt a small lurch as if the building had shifted.

“No,” I said.

“It’s choosing.” Valen’s head cut toward me.

“Explain.” “It’s selected a candidate,” I said, watching the funnel pattern stabilize.

“One person has been admitted to its trials.

The shell is forming.” Luna’s certainty struck like a bell.

‘Arthur-another signature is braided through the field.

The Heavenly Demon’s power.

Stronger than before.’ Cold moved under my ribs.

That presence shouldn’t be anywhere.

If it threaded the selection, we weren’t watching a claimant-we were watching a calamity germinate.

“We move now,” Valen said.

“Strike teams to the rim.

If we can reach-” “You can’t,” I said, shaking my head.

“During selection, a Mythical’s shell is absolute.

You could empty the continent’s arsenals and leave a scorch mark.

Push too hard and it pushes back.” Kali’s anger flared, clean and controlled.

“So we sit here while someone grabs a worldbreaker?” “My plan was to leave the Communion’s cleanup to you,” I said, not hiding it.

“Take Stella home, handle what I’ve deferred.

The Armis changed the board.

If the Heavenly Demon is involved, the consequences don’t fit inside borders.” ‘I’m not Radiant yet,’ I thought, tasting the edge of it.

‘If someone walks out of those trials with demigod leverage, can I meet them as I am?’ Doubt is a luxury.

Responsibility isn’t.

“I’m not calling legions into a shell they can’t cross,” I said.

“I’m calling the people who can stand in front of this.” Meilyn glanced over.

“Who?” “The ones who’ve stood with me when impossible stopped being a metaphor.” I turned on my phone and called.

Cecilia answered first, warmth cutting distance.

“Arthur?

You feel wound tight.

What happened?” “Infernal Armis,” I said.

“Selection underway.

Possible Heavenly Demon entanglement.

I need you here.” “No debate,” she said.

“Leaving now.

Tell me what I can use in transit.” The second link caught Rachel mid-page.

“Let me guess: a problem no one has language for.” “Worse,” I said.

“Second Calamity worse.” “I hate that you can say that straight,” she muttered, already moving.

“Coordinates?” Seraphina came on with frost-clean calm.

“Containment before contact.

I’ll arrange passage.” Reika’s presence arrived like a steadying hand.

“I’m with you.

What do you need?” “Stability and clarity,” I said.

“You anchor both.” Rose’s voice was brisk.

“I’m assembling assets-medical, logistics, extraction.

Give me windows.” “Hours,” I said.

“The trials might not grant us that.” The phone dimmed.

Jin studied me.

“Five of them.

Are they that strong?” “Yes,” I said.

“And stronger together.” Rin stepped forward, her new aura weighting the air.

“What about us?

Don’t sideline the continent when the threat is on our soil.” “You can do what only you can,” I said.

“Hold the lines.

If the claimant turns outward with Armis in hand, we’ll need coordination, speed, and morale.

That’s you.” On the main wall, the crater’s pillar gathered itself, tightening brighter and taller.

The shell completed-an invisible chrysalis that thickened air and bent sense.

Even the instruments began to lie politely.

“How long for your allies?” Meilyn asked, eyes never leaving the feeds.

“Soon,” I said.

“But the artifact keeps its own calendar.” “Then we plan like we have minutes,” she said, “and act like we have days.” Valen moved to the central console.

Orders snapped out in a clipped cadence.

“Seal inner air lanes.

Raise the second shield quietly.

I want eyes, not trophies-no one crosses the shell without my word.

Alert the Twelve and the College.

Border forts: do not engage mass movement toward the crater; you will be outclassed.” “Civilians?” Kali said, flipping to municipal overlays.

“People are going to walk toward that light.” “Public messaging,” Valen said.

“Call it an atmospheric hazard.

Shelter-in-place for the counties under the plume.

Keep it boring.

Boring is safe.” Jin pointed at a harmonic map.

“Resonance spikes radiating from the Armis.

If you’re storing artifacts-especially Communion relics-quarantine them.

Crosstalk risk.” “Vaults locked, wards doubled,” Meilyn said.

I stepped to the projection and let other threads braid.

The Heavenly Demon’s echo wasn’t dominant; it threaded like a filament through the stronger weave of the trials.

Whoever the candidate was, they’d reached the doorway fast.

“Kali,” I said, “if the claimant clears even the first ring, we’ll feel it.

Expect directional blasts-power shaped to a will.

Keep our people grounded.

No balcony heroics.” “I know how to keep idiots alive,” she said.

“Do it,” I said.

“We’ll need them later.” A white surge pulsed across the feeds, a column of not-light spearing the sky.

The room stilled; even the noise of vent fans seemed to step back.

Through the link, Luna’s voice settled.

‘The crucible is lit.

The first gate opens.’ “Trials have started,” I said.

“We’re out of theory.” “Then outcomes,” Valen said.

“If the claimant fails?” “Backlash,” I said.

“Contained by the shell-mostly.

The rim will be bad.” “And if they succeed?” “They won’t emerge needing an army,” I said.

“They’ll be one.” Silence measured the meaning.

Meilyn broke it.

“We need layered responses.

If they turn into Communion territory, exploit the chaos.

If they turn toward us, fall back through prepared lines and bleed without committing command.” “Agreed,” Valen said.

“Draft me a withdrawal ladder that preserves civilian corridors.

We will not win a pitched field against an hour-old Mythical.” Kali flicked a look to Rin.

“Contingencies we don’t say out loud?” Rin held her gaze.

“If it comes to that, it comes to that.” “I’ll try to keep it from coming to that,” I said.

“Try faster,” Kali muttered.

Minutes stretched thin, clipped by fresh pulses from the crater.

The shell stayed inviolable, but its rhythm took on a heartbeat-slow, relentless.

Through other windows the human reaction began: specks moving along roads, then lines of them, then clusters.

Carts abandoned.

Faces turned to the pillar.

Pilgrimage, greed, faith, curiosity-mixed until they were a crowd.

“Close the nearest bridges,” Meilyn said.

“Slow them without crushing them.

Loudspeakers, volunteers, food stations-give them a reason to stop walking.” “Make it a festival?” Kali said, dry.

“Make it safe,” Meilyn said.

“Whatever works.” Cecilia’s signature flared on the horizon, clean and bright; Rachel’s heat rolled in like weather.

Seraphina arrived as a narrowing of margins; Reika softened the room like a breath finally taken; Rose’s logistics shadowed behind, precise and practical.

“They’re close,” I said.

Valen nodded once.

“We’ll hold the continent.

Go do what only you can.” The floor thrummed, a continuous low note like a bow dragging stone.

Ward-glass spidered, healed.

Far below, the vault swallowed a call that was not quite a sound.

“Arthur,” Jin said quietly, “if the Heavenly Demon is braided through this, don’t assume the trials are bound by any ethics you recognize.” “I’m not assuming,” I said.

“I’m preparing.” Kali stepped near and bumped my shoulder.

“Don’t die.” “I’ll disappoint our enemies,” I said.

“Disappoint me too,” she said.

“I’ll try.” The pillar brightened another shade.

The air tasted metallic for a breath, then cleared.

Instruments recalibrated and chose not to understand anything new.

On the feeds, a tide of people swelled and stalled against cordons that looked too thin, then held because a thousand small, ordinary acts reinforced them.

“Report,” Meilyn said to no one in particular and to everyone.

Voices chimed: bridges closed; hospitals ready; wards thickened; food lines set.

A continent knuckled down.

I watched the light, let Luna’s old knowledge thread through my own.

Mythicals don’t land.

They arrive.

They don’t crash.

They choose.

They summon exactly the sort of person you’d prefer stayed home.

“Whatever comes out of that shell,” I said, “meets us on ground we choose.

We adapt.

We don’t break first.” “Speak for yourself,” Kali said.

“I plan not to break at all.” The shell pulsed.

Somewhere within, a door that wasn’t a door opened, and a single will stepped through.

The world gathered itself around that choice like cloth drawn tight.

“The trials have begun in earnest,” I said softly.

“The axis is shifting.” No one argued.

There was nothing to argue.

The birth of the Second Calamity had started.

All we could do was prepare, hold, and meet what rose from that crucible with everything we had.

And far to the west, at the bottom of a wound where reality softened like glass, the Infernal Armis kept its silent vigil-choosing, shaping, inviting ruin to take a hand.