Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 894 - 831: The Manifestation of a Deity
The City of Wandering floated alone in the sky, its once vibrant and bustling life silenced under the veil of dark clouds. Only the Arcane Eye continued to radiate its brilliance, like a steadfast beacon.
Beneath the city’s subterranean base, Morocoy gazed at the map model drawn within the Magic Well. The glaring white, like a festering wound, spread across the planet. Andrey Lich’s expansion was exceedingly effective, but this did nothing to ease the Dragon Priest’s expression.
Morocoy’s fellow Dragon Priests stepped out of shadow one by one, arriving at this assembly without any attendants, a tacit agreement.
"Not a soul remains. I still prefer this city the way it used to be," the Elf Queen remarked, observing the nearly wilting Flame Tequila she had once tended under a glass dome. With a flick of her fingers, the near-dead plant sprang back to life.
"The evacuation of the citizens was completed long ago. They’ve been relocated to other planes, waiting in silence for our victorious return," Morocoy retained a shred of humanity, nodding to the approaching White Dragon Priest, "How are your battalions recovering?"
"Ideal. Extraordinary. Absolutely brilliant! Our vanguard is performing exceptionally, and the Life Warlord is practically vacationing at this stage."
The Black Dragon Priest nodded in agreement, "The main forces have been preserved well—so well, in fact, that it feels insulting. While minimizing meaningless sacrifice is wise, we cannot overly depend on the dead."
Andrey’s relentless advance had everyone convinced they might sweep through anything in their path. The scale of the Undead Legion and the Flesh Crafting was so vast it seemed utterly unassailable.
"No, it won’t be that simple." Morocoy fixed his gaze on the magic network model, where frost-white markings were nearing the coordinates he knew so well. "They need to stop."
Suddenly, the entire expanse of the Cursed Burial Ground erupted in a quake. The ground tilted, explosions reverberated, and anguished wails of the undead poured through the air. The skeletal reconnaissance units were obliterated before they could relay any information. The surface of the burial ground shifted violently, revealing the aggressors’ attack just as the Liches atop it caught sight of their enemy.
A torrential downpour of Spear of Light struck, accompanied by thunder roaring against the defensive wards. A fraction of the collected deathly aura was vaporized. Lyle heard his own heartbeat, and the other Liches experienced similar physiological paralysis, as though something unnatural had frozen them. The tombstones on the burial ground’s outer walls crumbled, leaving the Liches face to face with their adversaries.
"Sheriu" wore that familiar smile, a thin frame standing before an organized legion. Tentacles squeezed through gaps in armor, pustules and fanged maws protruded from the seams of their gear, mutated Flame Giants, corrupted shield warriors, beings whose number of eyes exceeded double digits—all surveying their kindred through divergent perspectives.
"For... the Light..." Hollow cries echoed, repeating remnants of former oaths, the only words left in their consumed spirits. Even mere observation inflicted psychic strain. The Liches had no living cortical feedback system to process it, leaving the cold air to stir unique sensations deep in their souls.
Light and death, justice and evil. Their whispers ceased; they gathered Magic Power, chanted spells, and bellowed their resolve.
"For... the Light..."
"For Andrey!"
Through the torrent of Spear of Light, stepping over the Mark of Death, controlling monstrous creations of flesh, the Liches abandoned their calm demeanor, giving in to awakened chaotic instincts, and roared. Amid the mania of battle, they rediscovered a lost emotion: battle frenzy. They clashed headlong with swollen, corrupted Paladins, unleashing torrents of magic and spells on everything within their field of vision. Spirit Summoning Creations surged at the Flame Giants, using four robust, modified limbs to wrestle their fiery opponents’ wrists, while extra arms gripped molten heads. Yet, with a slight tilt of the Flame Giant’s massive frame, its descending headbutt landed like a missile on the creation’s body, imbued with fiery enchantment, instantly igniting the stitched beast’s melting innards to spill forth.
The Flame Giants led by the Infernal Battalion Commander remained formidable. Transformed by corruption, they were walking storms of war, leaving shattered bone in their wake. Only when the leaders or coalition members of large guilds intervened did the disastrous momentum slow. Meanwhile, apex combatants stayed their hands, knowing full well that the Sleeper had yet to reveal his trump card.
The Archchancellor hoisted his scythe, leading Lyle and the others as they stepped over the bodies of their comrades stitching themselves back together. There, the Sleeper watched them with a smile.
"They were humanity’s finest, the leaders of this era."
"They were once," the vicious scythe severed the corrupted knights beside Triton, their bodies shattered as the Archchancellor dragged out their souls, which should have been pure but were instead polluted with filth. Anyone with discernment could see their minds had succumbed to madness. Those desecrated hues were a corruption so extreme not even the most depraved Lich would ever create. Liches might modify souls for specific purposes, but never for the sake of gratuitous corruption.
The Sleeper escaped the Archchancellor’s strike, as tendrils formed from black mire dragged him backward quickly.
"Although your attacks are ineffective against me, being decapitated is never a pleasant experience." Stretching his arms wide, a swarm of tendrils surged from the dark slop, their movement directed only upward, toward the murky skies. Triton’s form dissolved like sludge, and within the dense ocean of writhing tentacles, a fragment of the divine essence was drawn from the planet’s core.
A vertical eye, connected to the ends of all tentacles, effortlessly bridged the gap between the clouds and the black mire—a wall, a mountain, a world’s barrier—all dwarfed by its enormity. Regardless of distance or time, each warrior bore witness to their true adversary, finally grasping the sensation of battling against this planet, against this world.
The Sleeper opened his eye, and an ancient voice resonated in the psyche of all who fell under its gaze.
[Your struggle is meaningless]
[Your apocalypse shall be unbearable]
[Wail to your heart’s content, your fate lies within the capricious stars]
"The god’s ’immune’ reaction has begun. Assemble all forces immediately and position every warrior in its ’eye’ line of sight."
"Giant Dragon! Yemotar!"
The storm tore through everything, twin wings stirring ash and thunder as the enraged father of dragons stormed toward the god. The Devourer Yemotar’s power lay beyond the constraints of combat roles, safeguarding the Dragon Father from triggering the Sleeper’s immune response. Yet, the fragmentary flesh of the god remained far too immense. Were Triton to spawn another fragment as rivalrous in power, there was little doubt this new inheritor would rise in rebellion, just like its predecessor.
[Angel, display my radiance]
The claws seized lightning, flaming breath roared, vaporizing instantly as the Angel emerged from the mire. Three heads responded, each differently. Despite appearing fractured and mentally unstable, the Corrupted Angel effortlessly extinguished the dragon’s fire.
[Leader of Light · Legion Angel · Dragon Scourge · The First Dissenter · Perfect Offering · Incarnation of Heaven...]
A plethora of traits layered upon the Corrupted Angel’s form. Even its residual aura was nauseatingly overpowering. It epitomized a supreme natural creation turned unnatural—a desecrated holiness, captured and tainted by the Sleeper. Mismatched forces that should conflict were disturbingly harmonized, becoming weighty and terror-inducing.
The Corrupted Angel’s divinity rivaled that of the creator.
One represented the planet’s will.
The other, an aberration born from the planet’s error.
Without reservation, Andrey Lich made the call to charge, fearing the Corrupted Angel, in a moment of fragmented insanity, might pluck [Dragon Scourge] from its chaotic pile of traits and perform a public display of slaughtering kings.
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