Othric Von Sanguine hovered like a green sun in the skies of Sylvastein.
His journey here had been a blip. One moment, he was addressing a Cardinal of the Heliarch clan and the next, he saw his grandson being swallowed by a sea of darkness.
His action had bathed the entire stronghold in green light. Regardless, no one could take their eyes off him in the sky. Not the people of Sylvastein, not even the army of darkness below. He had only just appeared, yet the world had stopped.
There were no whispers, however, the thoughts of the people spun. This... this was a presence the people were familiar with.
Absolute power. The one that made them want to bow and submit.
The power of a Zenith.
The hearts of the people began pounding. Joy, excitement, hope. He was here. The giant of the west. The eternal Blood Sovereign was here.
But none of the people were given time to rejoice before a shudder ran through their bodies.
They felt it, the overwhelming, seething anger that drenched the city. Their blood became warm, bodies hot. Hearts pounded.
No one needed to be told, they could feel it. Something was coming.
Othric’s eyes were fixed on Malakai in his arms. A wave of emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time assaulted him.
He had promised himself never to allow what happened to Valerian repeat itself. He had promised to protect this boy.
Yet, he had been seconds away from losing him to the same darkness that took Valerian from him.
Othric’s green eyes flashed red. A shudder swept through the entire fortress. He raised his gaze to meet the pair of eyes in the sky.
The pair of eyes blinked. And as though recognizing his foe, the sky between it tore open, revealing a smile.
"I am the exalted being responsible for the attack on your world. We have come for the life essence he possesses."
Othric sent another glance at Malakai.
"Surrender it, and I will make your deaths painless."
The words blurred out in Othric’s ears. While the being spoke, he had turned towards the stronghold. Observing.
Earlier, he had been too focused on Malakai to notice the devastation.
Each stronghold formed inside the dome was proof of humanity’s growth. It was an achievement, a thing of celebration.
Sylvastein was one of such strongholds. Newest in the west. With a population of millions, all under his control. His protection.
But millions had been lost, the population cut down. The walls of the stronghold were crumbling. It was on the verge of collapse.
He had failed. As a clan head, and as the overlord of the west.
Though Othric’s expression didn’t even so much as flicker, every single soul in Sylvastein felt it.
The Blood Sovereign was seething.
And so, as the being above went on and on about surrendering and giving up his grandson, Othric only uttered one question.
"Do you... do you have a physical form?"
The pair of eyes blinked, a bit taken aback by the weird question.
"Unfortunately, there wasn’t nearly enough death to support my real self. This is only a fraction of my power."
It went silent for a moment.
"But I can see the need. You wish to see my magnificence in person to understand the futility in your struggle. I will humor you."
The blanket of darkness that smothered the skies suddenly began to converge, folding into itself.
The vast eyes and gaping mouth shrank, condensing until the mass reshaped into a towering figure.
A large, devilishly handsome man formed, broad-shouldered, every feature sharp and regal, as though he’d been carved straight out of a fantasy world. His presence radiated danger that seemed to threaten life itself.
A small smile graced the being’s mouth.
"Now do you understand? Resisting is fut—"
A sudden roar of force tore the heavens apart.
Before the being’s words could fall, Othric’s fist was already buried in his face.
A rushing gale screamed outward, ripping across the stronghold.
But the punch did not stop there. More force surged through it, as though ten thousand fists had struck in the same instant.
The being’s body tore backward, vanishing in a streak of black and green.
He shot past the stronghold in a blink, hurtling across the horizon. In his wake, forests split in two, boulders shattered to dust, mountainsides cracked.
His body skipped across the land, each impact carving craters.
At last, he slammed into the distant earth, the ground splitting open like it had been struck by a falling meteor. Dust and ruin billowed upward in endless rings. Google seaʀᴄh novelꞁire.net
From within the wreckage, his deformed face lifted. Darkness writhed and coiled from it, desperate to stitch his features back together.
Through the haze, a single thought thundered in his mind.
A flash of green split the haze. An iron grip clamped down on the writhing darkness that was his head.
His neck jerked, stretched, and strained under the sudden force. A gale of wind blasted the ruin apart, and his barely formed eyes locked on the figure now holding him.
Blood and vita boiled off him in storms, raging like oceans set aflame. His eyes burned, sharp enough to pierce eternity.
The word barely left his mouth before he was wrenched backward. His body tore back, the rush of wind behind him booming like rolling thunder.
He glanced back just in time to see the vast dome that covered that part of the planet rushing close.
The impact shook the earth for kilometers, but the dome itself did not so much as tremble. His head caved in against it, exploding in sprays of darkness that clawed to reform.
But there was no respite.
Othric’s arms became a storm. Fists rained down like a gatling gun, every strike detonating in deafening booms.
The blows caved his chest, split his ribs, and drove craters into his form.
"Your kind has always been foolish."
The man burst into smoke, his form unraveling, darkness spreading in waves across the night air. Othric stopped his barrage.