Dreados froze.
For the first time in the battle, his senses betrayed him. He could no longer feel Beily's presence. A sudden emptiness clawed at his chest, and his eyes briefly flicked away.
That was all the opening Katos needed.
BAM!
A vicious punch collided with Dreados's jaw, snapping his head sideways.
KNEE!
Katos followed with a brutal knee to the face, his voice a guttural growl as he mocked, "Pay... a...ttention."
CRACK!
He slammed Dreados's head into the shattered stone floor. Dust exploded outward. Dreados writhed, muscles straining to break free.
"Ooh, Dreados," Katos purred, his voice thick with sadistic pleasure. "I'm having the time of my life. What could you possibly be thinking about? Your comrades? Your family?"
Dreados growled, lips curling as he began to rise—only to be met with resistance.
"So much anger," Katos continued, pressing down harder. "It's not good for you."
With a snarl, Dreados slammed his elbow into Katos's ribs and leapt away.
But Katos wasn't done.
He launched after him mid-air, catching Dreados by the arm. They crashed back down, locked in a violent grapple, stone shattering beneath their weight.
Katos twisted, trapping Dreados's arm in a lock. "Where do you think you're going?" he hissed. "You were so eager to kill me before. What changed? You're not going anywhere."
Dreados screamed—and dislocated his own arm to break free.
With his right arm still functional, he slashed downward—his blade almost severing Katos's right leg at the thigh.
Katos screamed in agony.
Before the sound faded, Dreados shifted his dislocated arm back into place with a sickening snap, then landed hard, stomping into the ground. The force cratered the floor as he let loose a thunderous battle cry.
Then—he struck.
His sword cut through the air, glowing with pure wrath, and slammed into Katos's chest.
BOOM.
Katos was launched like a cannonball, limbs flailing helplessly. He hurtled across the battlefield and smashed into the silver wall that marked the very edge of the ruin. The metal groaned and dented inward, but did not break.
A ten-mile-wide crater formed where the strike had landed. Tremors rippled outward. Cracks spiderwebbed across distant fields. Ruins shook. Walls split open. Factions still fighting on distant fronts stumbled as the shockwave rolled across them like a divine quake.
---
Elsewhere—near the black-cloaked man.
A canyon tore open before him, the ground collapsing as if the world itself had flinched. The man barely moved, holding Valerius aloft by the head—his body dangling helplessly.
"You expect me to believe you don't know?" the man said, voice calm, almost bemused. "Perhaps this will change your mind."
He walked to the edge of the newly formed chasm, holding Valerius over the yawning darkness below.
Valerius trembled. "Please… please, I don't know anything! I swear!"
---
Far beneath the ruin—
Something stirred.
Something ancient.
It had felt the tremors. The wrongness in the land. The fracture of peace. The presence of unwelcome guests.
For the first time in thousands of years—
It opened its eyes.
Bright. Glowing. Green.
A humanoid machine—tall and imposing—stood frozen in a dark chamber of tombs and forgotten coffins, its limbs fused to the stone wall like a statue. The green core in its chest pulsed to life.
It moved a finger.
Then a hand.
Then it ripped its arm free.
Its head tilted. Its optics scanned the room.
Then—it leapt.
Straight through the ceiling. Up—floor after floor, like a thunderbolt. Until—
CRASH.
It burst through the second floor like a meteor, landing in the midst of the battlefield.
Thirty metres tall. Humanoid. Armoured in black. Its glowing chest pulsed with energy.
It raised its head and looked around.
"You dare desecrate the land of our king?" the machine spoke, its voice deep and echoing.
Its chest opened—glowing with searing green light.
FZZZAAAAAAM!
A beam of raw energy exploded outward, disintegrating everything it touched. Men. Beasts. Weapons. Stone.
The battlefield became a graveyard in an instant—charred ruins and vaporised corpses.
Then—more.
All across the second floor, machines burst from below. One after another, ancient sentinels clawed their way from the ground, awakening to the chaos above.
---
Among the Ignir forces—
Panic.
The beasts had already overwhelmed them. Now, machines descended like judgment incarnate.
The Spellbounds were exhausted. Their breaths came in gasps. Their auras flickered.
Jeron Hevier, the Fourth Spellbound, raised his arm.
"Carve a path for the King!" he roared.
Jeron stepped forward, urgency in his voice. "We've secured the princess. You must fly away with her, my lord."
But King Gozay stood firm, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield. "I will not abandon my soldiers. Their lives are bound to mine. If they stand and bleed, so shall I."
Jeron spun his hands into the air, calling forth a massive tornado that swept through the beasts. Then—he compressed.
Both arms closing inward, the whirlwind compressed into a glowing white orb of air extremely dense.
He hurled it.
FWOOOOOM!
The sphere sliced through the air—then detonated at the centre of the horde.
KRAKKA-BOOM!
A white-hot shockwave tore through beast after beast, flinging limbs and flames in all directions.
Jeron's voice thundered over the battlefield:
"The path is clear! MOVE!"
The scattered remnants of the Ignir forces drew closer to the Black March, stumbling through smoke and ruin—only for the terrain to tremble again.
CRACK.
A machine exploded upward from deep below the ruin, smashing through rock and stone. It landed hard, rising to its full, towering height. Thirty meters of ancient, armoured menace—its black steel limbs groaning, its green core glowing like a furnace of death.
Maloi's eyes widened in disbelief. "Jeron...? What is that?"
The behemoth took a single step forward—then another. Each one echoed like a war drum. The ground cracked beneath it.
Heinzel's voice turned sharp. "It's huge..."
Then—whirring. The core in the machine's chest lit up, flaring with blinding emerald light.
Heinzel's eyes went wide. "Oh no. Oh shit—OH SHIT. That thing has so much mana—"
He moved on instinct.
"GET OUT OF THE WAY!"
He hurled himself at Maloi, tackling the royal officer just as the machine fired.
ZAAARRRRM.
A beam of pure destruction carved through the ruin.
Everything in its path—man, beast, stone—was disintegrated.
The machine pivoted, sweeping its death-ray through the battlefield. Sixty percent of the Ignir forces vanished in an instant. Screams were cut short. Armour melted. Lives ended.
Heinzel and Maloi lay on the ground, coughing in the dust, eyes wide in horror.
Two leg stood beside them—It was all that remained of Arthur Suspain—the 7th Spellbound.
From the knee up, he was simply gone.
Eliana saw it from afar. Her eyes welled. She covered her mouth in a silent scream, trembling as the world shattered around her.
The machine's chest glowed again.
It aimed—directly at the Elf King and his daughter.
Gozay's eyes locked on the blast forming. He moved instantly, stepping in front of Eliana, arms wide as a summoned a shield of Ice.
But it was too late.
Or it should have been.
CRACK.
A massive rock smashed into the side of the machine's head.
Lizzy.
She hurled it with all her strength, and the machine's aim veered—just slightly.
The beam fired.
SSSZZZRAAAAAAAMM!
It missed the King and Princess by a breath, carving a molten groove into the ceiling. Debris from the first floor above began to collapse, raining chunks of ancient stone down onto the battlefield.
Anisa sprinted beside Lizzy, both women bracing for the falling ceiling—but neither moved from their position. They stood their ground.
Then—Marie Synclary, the 6th Spellbound, flew overhead.
She raised her hands, and with a mighty shout, summoned a hailstorm of gigantic boulders, each the size of houses.
She hurled them at the machine in rapid succession—one after another.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The giant reeled from the barrage, its legs digging trenches into the stone floor as it tried to resist the onslaught. Its arms crossed in front of its core, shielding its weak point.
Far, far away—across broken fields and shattered ruins—near the silver wall at the very edge of the ruin.
Omfry moved.
Kneeling in the rubble, blood dripping from his gut wound, one hand pressed to the floor.
He inhaled.
Then flexed.
CRACK.
His abs tensed, muscles like braided steel knitting together as the wound sealed—closed by raw force of will.
He rose.
Eyes blazing.
Voice low and furious.
"Beily... for your sake... I will slaughter them all."
He Stepped on the silver wall behind him—used it as a brace—
AND PUSHED.
BOOOOOOM.
He vanished.
A sonic boom tore across the ruin as Omfry became a red blur—moving at speeds beyond comprehension.
Mach 3000.
His body tore through the battlefield like a wrathful comet, red energy trailing in his wake. The air bent around him, compressed to the brink of collapse and—ignited. He didn't dodge anything—he went through everything.
Stone? Gone. Walls? Gone. Beasts? Obliterated.
Wherever Omfry passed, nothing remained.
He was a force of nature.
The machine that had devastated the Ignir forces stood directly in his path.
It didn't matter.
Omfry's eyes locked on it. His muscles tensed. His right fist drew back—tight and blazing, glowing with the heat of every emotion he had buried.
For Beily.
He punched.
CRAAAAAAAAACK!
His fist slammed into the machine's core.
AND KEPT GOING.
Omfry burst straight through it—his fist ripping through the chest reactor like wet paper.
The green core exploded, and with it—the machine was torn apart.
But the punch didn't stop there.
The shockwave of that single blow was cataclysmic.
It tore through the battlefield like a hurricane of annihilation.
Everything in its radius—beast, debris, enemy—was vaporised.
Entire stone ridges collapsed. Entire sections of the battlefield disappeared in a tidal wave of destruction.
Only a handful survived.
The Spellbounds.
The King.
The Princess.
Because they had not stood in the punch's path.
The rest of the Ignir army? Gone.
Scorched. Broken. Forgotten.
As the dust settled, all eyes turned to the crater at the heart of the battlefield.
And they realised the truth.
Omfry's comrades often whispered that Dreados was the strongest in the Black March.
But now—they knew.
Omfry wasn't just strong.
He was the strongest man in the Black March.
---
But Omfry wasn't done.
That devastating punch had only been the beginning.
Within the rubble, amidst flame and ruin, his blood boiled—not with rage, but with clarity. He remembered the pain. The ones who had humiliated him. The one who had broken his mind for a brief, tormenting instant.
Now… they would pay.
Less than a second after his initial impact, Omfry vanished from sight.
He stepped off the air as though it were solid ground, tearing through the battlefield at speeds beyond comprehension.
He reappeared—right in front of Lizzy.
To her, time had stopped.
Her brain couldn't process fast enough to even register his arrival.
In a single, smooth motion, Omfry drove his hands into her chest, piercing through flesh and bone with monstrous precision.
Two hearts. Uprooted.
He tossed them aside with brutal finality.
Lizzy's body remained in the, lifeless. At that speed, gravity did not exist.
He was already gone.
Anisa.
Before she could scream, Omfry was behind her. His hand swept across her neck like a blade.
He turned, locking eyes with his next target—Fenry.
Time didn't matter anymore.
Omfry moved like a thought—unseen, unheard.
He appeared beneath Fenry.
BOOM.
An uppercut collided with Fenry's torso.
And Fenry exploded.
Omfry reappeared a few meters away, his fists slick with blood.
Only now… time resumed.
Lizzy's body fell to the ground. Anisa'shead tumbled from her shoulders, landing silently among the rubble. Fenrys entire chest burst into flaming pieces of spirit essence. Fenry disappeared.
---
Across the field—
Gustein turned.
And saw him.
Saw Omfry—still, silent, standing in the wreckage.
The blood. The corpses. The gaping holes.
Their eyes met.
And in that instant, Gustein knew—something terrifying had just occurred. Something that had forever shifted the scale of power.
---
Eliana screamed.
Her voice cracked as she beheld Lizzy's body, two voids in her chest where her hearts had once beat.
She turned—Fenry was gone, as if he never existed.
Maloi looked down.
Anisa's head rolled to a stop at her feet.
She dropped to her knees. "No… no, no, no, Lizzy…"
She clutched Lizzy's body, trembling. Tears poured down her face.
Heinzel knelt beside her, speechless, placing a hand on her shoulder.
The King looked around, stunned.
Where once stood an army, only corpses remained.
"What happened here?" he shouted. "Tell me!"
No one answered.
Because no one could.
---
But Omfry wasn't slaughtering blindly.
He turned to his comrades—scattered, bloodied, broken.
And he moved again.
A blur.
A crimson ghost.
Every beast threatening his allies was obliterated in a blink. Bones shattered, necks snapped, torsos crushed.
Omfry painted the battlefield with divine fury—and then disappeared into the smoke.
---
Meanwhile…
Gustein sprinted, his chest heaving, blood still wet on his cheek.
He dropped to his knees beside Anuel, who knelt protectively over Eryndor, with Ziraiah trembling beside her.
Ziraiah sat hunched over, her arms wrapped around her knees, her head bowed in silent grief.
"What happened to the others?" Gustein gasped.
Anuel didn't look up. "It doesn't matter right now," she said, voice tight. "Just heal him."
Gustein nodded.
He placed his hands on Eryndor's torn body.
Light surged.
Eryndor's missing leg began to grow back, cells knitting together, bone forming, muscle stretching, nerves reconnecting. His skull healed, his hair grew back.
But Gustein was pale. His breathing sharp.
Anuel noticed. "Gustein… are you okay?"
He smiled weakly. "Yeah. Just… a side effect of my ability. Nothing I can't handle."
After finishing the healing, he leaned against a wall and slumped down with a heavy exhale.
He glanced across the battlefield.
There, beneath the shadow of a boulder, was Jeriana.
Sitting. Motionless. Her head lowered.
Blood caked her face. Her left eye was gone. Her body broken. Her flame spirit… extinguished.
She didn't speak. She didn't blink.
She looked like a corpse waiting to catch up to death.
"How is she?" Gustein asked.
Anuel's voice cracked. "On top of getting beat and tossed like garbage… she lost her spirit."
Gustein sighed, shoulders heavy. "The sooner this nightmare ends, the better for me."
He stood slowly and walked to Ziraiah, who was still curled up, eyes red and empty.
He sat beside her, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"I'm sorry about your other brother," he murmured.
Then, with a wry smile: "At least you still have one. So cheer up."
Ziraiah turned her head toward him. Her gaze was slow, almost disbelieving—like she'd just heard something completely absurd.
"…What?" Gustein asked.
Ziraiah didn't answer.
She just lowered her head again, pressing her forehead into her knees.
And wept.
Gustein let out a dry, bitter sigh, leaning his head back against the stone.
"Just so you know," he muttered, eyes half-lidded, "if we make it out of this ruin alive… I sincerely hope I never see any of you again."
He glanced at Ziraiah and Eryndor, shaking his head.
"You kids are a damn curse on my life. I was thriving before I met you—comfortable, respected, hydrated. Now look at me: bleeding, drained, healing people for free."
He exhaled sharply, then added under his breath, "Let's just hope that portal guy finally pulls himself together… before I pass out."
Gustein sat slouched against the wall, his voice low, his tone dry but not without weight.
"It's sad, really," he muttered, eyes half-lidded. "Children like you… getting mixed up with people like these. Dangerous people. Trapped in a world you don't understand. No family. No way out."
He tapped his thigh twice with both hands, his gaze fixed ahead.
"If we actually make it out of this," he said with a hollow chuckle, "I might've offered to take you to Donesria. But…"
He shook his head.
"Last time I offered to take you somewhere, look how that turned out."
A long breath escaped him.
"I lost my waver. I lost my money. I lost my freedom. And you… just lost your brother."
He looked out at the battlefield, at the smoking ruins carved by Omfry's wrath. His jaw tensed.
"Maybe the Lord's trying to send me a sign."
He turned his head—and spotted them in the distance. Eliana, collapsed to her knees, holding what remained of Lizzy's body. Beside her stood King Gozay, silent, regal, sorrowful.
Gustein narrowed his eyes.
"Well, would you look at that," he muttered, his voice tinged with disdain. "The elf princess… and him."
Ziraiah said nothing. She didn't even look up.
Then—shouts in the distance.
Three figures sprinted toward them, waving frantically.
"Guuuys! Are you okay?" came Lisa's voice, breathless.
Daiel and Sumshus followed close behind, exhaustion etched across their faces.
Hope flickered—but only slightly.
---
To Be Continued...