Chapter 772: Burn Her Out
In the unknown territories of the north, a voice like stones grinding in the deep earth boomed.
“These damned insects from another world. What is their endgame?”
The speaker was Mokka, an Abyssal Devil Ray, whose words resonated from deep within his gut with a thick, benthic tremor. In this form, his body was perhaps only thirty feet long, a far cry from the colossal beast Alexander had described. Clearly, Mokka possessed the power to alter his size.
“They are shifting their forces south,” came a rich, throaty reply. “Towards the coast. They seek defensible ground.”
A pause, laden with contemptuous amusement. “Or perhaps they have dealings with the creatures of the deep and seek the protection of the Sea Folk.”
The speaker was Sphinx, a Dark Sphinx and, more remarkably, a she-lion among Archlords. She was a vision of wild regality. Her powerful torso was crisscrossed by a harness of black leather and dull gold, leaving her muscled shoulders and midriff bare.
A battle-kilt of hardened leather plates was cinched at her narrow waist, and from behind it, a long black tail ending in a tuft of coarse hair twitched and swayed with predatory impatience. Her gaze was fixed on the southern horizon, as if her eyes could pierce the very clouds and look into the abyssal trenches of the sea.
“The Sea Folk can barely protect themselves,” Mokka rumbled, dismissing her second theory. He had his own quiet contacts with a certain power in the Trident Sea Region and knew the truth of it. The great houses(tribe) of the ocean were mired in their own endless wars. “They have no charity to spare for these land-crawling pests.”
“Then it’s territory they want,” Sphinx mused, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “A foothold by the sea, to drag this out until the great feast begins. Heh heh heh… one must admit, their mysterious Archlord has a certain cunning.”
She chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. Mokka, whose tastes were as alien as his form, was utterly unmoved by her feral charm.
“Did you call me all the way out here just to make haste to rescue that little strumpet, Selinda?” Sphinx purred, her eyes narrowing. Selinda was the name of the Shadow Banshee Archlord, and when two rival queens were brought into proximity, sparks were bound to fly.
“We act on the Master’s command,” Mokka stated flatly, his great body turning towards the south. “We are to unite. We are to take this continent. We will give the outsiders no quarter.”
He was not driven by any affection for Selinda, but by the cold calculus of command. To ignore this threat was to invite disaster.
“Oh, relax, old long-tail. The banshee queen won’t die so quickly,” Sphinx drawled. “Besides, consider this: if we rush in and save her from this otherworldly Archlord, what’s to stop him from turning his army on our lands next? A little pressure on Selinda, the loss of a little territory… might that not be beneficial for her neighbors?”
Her laughter echoed, sharp as broken glass.
The continent was only so large. The arrival of a new Archlord with a formidable army meant a new power would carve out its own domain. That was inevitable. The will of the mighty being they both served was to unite and drive out all enemies. That will was absolute.
However, there was always room to maneuver in the execution. One could, for instance, slow the pace of reinforcement. Delay, just a little.
Let the Shadow Banshees bleed the enemy forces dry. Or one could, in the chaos, quietly seize a few parcels of the banshees’ land. Such were the thoughts swirling in Sphinx’s treacherous heart—to profit from a neighbor’s misfortune without overtly breaking the rules.
“Sphinx. Do you mean to defy the Master’s will?” Mokka’s voice dropped, losing its tremor and gaining a deadly edge. “The south cannot be lost. Selinda cannot be allowed to fall. If you delay, I will report your insubordination to the Master myself.”
Mokka was a true believer. He would not countenance treason. He would go to Selinda’s aid, and Sphinx would go with him.
“This is an opportunity, Sphinx,” he pressed, his tone shifting. “We cannot miss it. The three of us… united… we can crush this Archlord’s avatar and devour his army.”
Sphinx’s mocking smile finally faded. Mokka was right. It was an opportunity. A rare one.
After a long, tense silence, she stretched like a great cat. “Very well, Mokka,” she sighed dramatically. “Have it your way. Let us go and rescue that little witch from her troubles.”
…
Deep within the Shadow Banshee’s territory, the arrival of Orion and Alexander had not drawn out Archlord Selinda. She remained hidden.
“If she will not come out,” Alexander’s voice, cold as the void, sounded at Orion’s ear, “then we will burn her out.”
Orion watched as Alexander produced a scroll that seemed woven from captured starlight. Next came a heavy sacrificial brazier of obsidian, intricately carved. Finally, he placed a single, flawless gem of purest light beside it.
Alexander tore the scroll. Reality groaned as a vast magical formation bloomed across the sky, its lines of power spreading to cover the heavens as far as the eye could see.
He then began placing common offerings into the brazier—dried herbs, animal bones, shards of iron—in a precise, arcane sequence. When the last item was placed, Alexander bit his own thumb and began to draw runes in the air.
Golden blood, impossibly bright, flowed from the wound. The runes he painted hung in the air like living things, a script of pure light, before diving into the void. At the same time, the offerings in the brazier dissolved, vanishing like snow in a furnace.
Orion stared, his expression hardening. Alexander’s avatar, a being at the peak of the Legendary tier, bled with the golden ichor of the divine. Most Archlords could not claim such vitality.
As the golden runes vanished, the formation in the sky began to tremble. The lines and symbols shimmered, fading, not into nothingness, but melting together, coalescing into searing, golden scars upon the firmament.
The Scars of Heaven. They grew wider, their light growing more intense with every passing second.
“The Rite of Sacred Radiance,” Alexander announced, his voice carrying not just to Orion, but across the entire landscape, a clear message for their hidden foe. “The circle is complete. Holy light will fall from these rifts. It will scour this land. In its brilliance, all shadows will perish. All darkness will be unmade.”
Orion said nothing. He watched the golden wounds in the sky, waiting to see what manner of destruction they would unleash.
Suddenly, a single beam of immaculate light lanced down from the highest rift. It struck the earth like a spotlight on a celestial stage, a pillar of gold imbued with a terrifying, holy power.