Bam! Bam!
It erged like a wound torn into the world.
From the black fog, it stepped.
Not large—at first glance. Barely thrice the size of a human.
But it dragged gravity with it.
The ground didn't quake with footsteps. It shrank beneath them.
Even the other demons froze. Lower grades hissed and dropped flat on the ground, their heads pressed into the dirt in involuntary submission.
One lesser demon snarled in confusion and leapt toward the figure.
The Grade Three didn't raise a hand.
It simply looked at the attacker.
And the creature detonated mid-air — not by spell, not by magic circle, but by sheer essence pressure. Its insides crushed in, bones imploded. Black gore sprayed out in all directions.
A silence fell over the entire northern front.
Arielle took one step back.
Even from this distance, she could feel it — not a pressure like Damien's, not that sharp, controlled killing intent.
This was sothing else.
Sothing broken.
A creature without focus. No goal. No army loyalty.
It was wrong. Arielle had never seen anything like it.
Aquila flared her wings, body tensed and growling low like a lioness in a cage. Her instincts scread at her to retreat. But she stood her ground.
Aquila had faced Grade Three demons with Damien but this demon was nothing like any Grade Three demon she had faced.
The Grade Three's skin was not skin at all—it was stretched black mbrane that shifted like oil, marked with tangled spirals of red essence. Its arms were too long. One dragged behind it. Its head was bent at an unnatural angle — and still, its eyes glowed with a cold clarity.
Not rage.
Not madness.
Detachnt.
It saw no difference between demon, soldier, beast, or mage.
Everything was fodder.
And then it moved.
Not walked.
It slid.
In a blink, it was in the middle of a mixed cluster — half demons, half human frontliners — and with one sweeping motion of its jagged, fluid limb, it cleared the field.
Vwooooshhh!!
Both sides evaporated.
Flesh was rended from bone.
Magic circles shattered under its steps. Barriers buckled.
The front line shattered as soldiers scattered in every direction, screaming, trying to reorganize. Even high-ranked Dunters and elite casters stumbled.
The beast tilted its head sideways, like a child studying ants.
Then it turned.
Toward the center ridge.
Toward Arielle.
She couldn't run.
Her legs refused.
Not from fear — but fatigue.
She had pushed too far. Aquila stood in front of her now, wings raised, feathers sparking with magic strain. The griffin's breath ca in hard, rumbling gasps.
Still, she stood.
Arielle clenched her fist around her dagger. "If this is it…"
Aquila shifted.
"Then it dies with us," the griffin finished.
The creature closed in.
The air behind Arielle seed to twist.
Like reality had blinked.
And then the Commander stepped forward.
Kraaa!!
A thunderous crack split the battlefield — like stone breaking in the sky. Not from magic.
From arrival.
One instant, he had been on the far flank issuing orders.
The next, he was here — standing ten feet in front of Arielle, cloak billowing in the windless air.
Tall. Composed. His armor bore no insignia, but essence rolled off him in sheets. Deep green robes woven with runic thread, armored pauldrons that glowed faintly with set-in enchantnts, and a long staff slung across his back.
Next to him appeared his beast — a towering, golden-eyed creature that looked like a fusion of elk and shadow. Its antlers curved like blades of obsidian and glowed at the tips. Mana radiated from its chest like a beacon.
The commander turned his head slightly.
"You've done well," he said to Arielle.
She blinked. "You—do I know you?"
"I'll take it from here."
Then he walked forward.
The demon stopped for the first ti since its ergence.
The battlefield paused again.
This ti, in anticipation.
Two apex entities.
One, chaos in humanoid form.
The other—the shield of Greshan.
The demon struck first.
Its arm morphed into a blade of jagged tendons and curved inward, lashing forward like a whip.
The commander didn't flinch.
He raised a single finger.
A magic circle ford mid-air — one layer. No chant. No wind-up.
The tendril struck the circle—and rebounded like it had hit a mountain.
Boooom!!
A shockwave tore through the ridge, sending fighters sprawling.
The commander narrowed his eyes.
"I see," he murmured. "You're not feral. You just… don't care. It's like you're void of emotions."
The beast roared.
And then—the battle began.
The air split as the two collided.
The demon warped forward, becoming shadow, only to re-erge behind the commander with a downward cleave aid for the spine.
The commander sidestepped.
No waste of movent.
He drew his staff from behind his back, and with a single flick, a pulse of green light burst from its tip.
The demon reeled.
Its chest scorched and slightly caved in. Its mbrane cracked.
Then the commander vanished—flash stepped—appearing mid-air above the creature and slamming a palm into its face.
Boooom!!
An explosion of pure force essence rippled outward, tearing a crater into the ground below.
The battlefield shook.
Kraaaaa!
Trees snapped in half.
Even Skylar screeched from the distance, circling higher to avoid the clash radius.
Arielle fell to one knee from the pressure. She looked up, eyes wide.
That wasn't just a commander.
That was a master-tier essence user—soone with higher-level spells laced into his movent.
No flashy magic.
Just control.
Pure, terrifying control.
The beast recovered, hissing, and raised its arms—
Only to be blasted backward by the commander's beast, now glowing with purple-black light. The creature galloped into the fray, antlers trailing energy arcs, and gored the demon through the ribs.
Black ichor splashed.
The demon shrieked—not in pain.
In recognition.
This was no longer a one-sided slaughter.
The two forces clashed again and again—essence colliding, creating shockwaves that split boulders and scorched the sky.
Boooom!!
Every impact drew eyes.
Even the remaining demons pulled back from the periphery.
No one interfered.
Because this wasn't a war anymore.
It was a duel of titans.
Arielle breathed slowly, hand over her heart, her limbs quaking from strain.
Aquila lowered her wing protectively around her.
They both knew it. This fight would decide more than the ridge.
It would decide if any of them lived through the night.
User Comments
0 comments from readers