After a moment of hesitation, Maximilian's face hardened with determination. What choice did he have? If he were captured, his death would be humiliating and pointless. Better to drag his enemies down with him.
"Take all of me—my blood, my flesh. I offer everything in exchange for vengeance!" he declared, his voice resolute.
If there had been any alternative, he wouldn't have unleashed such a terrible being. But the rebels had left him no choice.
[Then the pact is sealed. So, you wish for the death of all those outside? How fortuitous—those are precisely the kinds of creatures I despise. Perfect.]
The entity glided toward Maximilian, shedding its crimson robes to reveal a massive, shifting void. Within the abyss gleamed sharp, monstrous teeth.
As the gaping maw consumed Maximilian, a wave of malevolent energy erupted, flooding the chamber. The ancient god, now wearing the emperor's form, let out a triumphant roar that shook the air.
"What a delightful world this is!" it exclaimed, its voice dripping with malevolence.
The royal palace of the Pamir Empire, in stark contrast to the empire's desolation, was famed for its breathtaking beauty. Silver spires soared into the blue sky, as if piercing the heavens, their intricate carvings gleaming under the sunlight with an air of majesty. Despite the sweltering heat, the well-tended gardens were filled with blooming flowers and countless fountains.
The sheer number of fountains operating in the barren highlands of Pamir alone was a testament to the emperor's extravagance. Yet, this beautiful palace was far from peaceful.
The expedition stationed outside the emperor's bedchamber trembled at the ominous energy that now engulfed the entire palace. What began as a faint disturbance radiating from the chamber had grown, spreading a sinister aura throughout the grand structure. Black shadows rippled and churned in the air.
This dark energy carried with it the echoes of those sacrificed by the emperor—wails of despair, pain, and terror interwoven with the remnants of the emperor's own cries and fears.
Michael, standing at the forefront, immediately understood what had transpired. The emperor had sacrificed himself completely to draw forth the power of the otherworldly god. The energy emanating now was among the strongest he had ever sensed—surpassed only by the first otherworldly god that had once possessed Michael's body.
The formidable warriors among the expedition fell silent, their faces grim as the oppressive aura deepened. The silver spires of the palace were gradually consumed by the growing shadows.
"What is happening…?" one soldier whispered.
"The emperor must be making his final desperate move," another replied, his tone heavy.
Michael's expression hardened as he shouted to the expedition, "Everyone, evacuate! The palace must not be destroyed!"
The initially startled expedition quickly heeded his command, retreating in unison. They exchanged glances, their movements coordinated as they began to withdraw. They were confident in their ability to confront the ominous energy and emerge victorious, but not within the confines of the palace.
After all, their prize—the very object they sought—lay within the palace walls. If they fought here and the palace crumbled, it would be a pyrrhic victory, leaving them with nothing. Fighting outside would also give them the advantage of summoning aid from their magical beasts.
Their footsteps were urgent as they descended the ornate marble staircases and passed gilded walls, now shrouded in darkness. They clicked their tongues at the sight of the once-pristine statues now tarnished by shadow.
"Such a shame… these beautiful works of art," one murmured.
"Indeed… such a waste of, er… priceless beauty," another lamented.
The expedition regrouped in a corner of the grand courtyard, the once-vibrant fountains now eerily silent. The absence of flowing water gave the scene an unfamiliar and foreboding stillness.
The towering colonnades of the courtyard provided the expedition some cover as they prepared for the battle ahead. Knights in ancient armor sharpened their silver blades, while mages gripped their staffs, murmuring incantations in preparation.
Anita tended to those injured during their skirmishes with the imperial guard, her gentle hands working swiftly. Beside her, Ismahal stood protectively, his gaze scanning their surroundings for any threats.
Michael, maintaining his composure, called Marcus and Miaomiao to his side. "Do not attack unless absolutely necessary," he ordered. "We'll wait and seize the opportunity."
The seasoned warriors nodded in understanding, their expressions resolute. Marcus and Miaomiao, their curiosity piqued, approached Michael, their sharp eyes gleaming. The magical beasts also returned to their masters, nuzzling close for reassurance.
All eyes turned toward the Radiant Expedition, now emerging from the palace. Their late arrival and opportunistic timing were a source of irritation to the other factions, but this time, they served as a convenient distraction.
The warriors smirked subtly, suppressing their disdain. The Radiant Kingdom's zealots had a reputation for rushing toward anything associated with otherworldly gods like mad dogs. Undoubtedly, they would launch an attack, saving everyone else the trouble.
The sky darkened as the ominous energy enveloping the palace thickened, shrouding the entire city of Famillian in a suffocating veil. Terrified residents locked their doors and hid, their fear compounded by the eerie stillness.
The blazing heat of the sun faded rapidly, replaced by a chilling cold that seeped into the air. A strange silence descended over the capital as black mist coiled and writhed around the palace, growing thicker with each passing moment. The flowers and grass that had adorned the gardens with vibrant colors withered in an instant, and the remaining water in the fountains turned an ominous black.
A trembling vibration cut through the eerie stillness, signaling the arrival of something foreign and malevolent.
At last, the doors of the palace creaked open, and measured footsteps echoed ominously. The figure that emerged was clad in regal splendor—a gold-embroidered robe and a magnificent crown perched atop his head, radiating an air of nobility.
Yet Michael, along with the other warriors, immediately sensed the truth. This was no emperor. The power emanating from the figure was unmistakably that of an otherworldly god, and the entity made no effort to conceal it.