The Battle's Turning Tide
The battlefield was a nightmare of fire, steel, and despair. The Supreme Troops, once proud and unshakable, now fought for their lives against an endless tide of Chaos creatures. From the mighty Warhead, cannons thundered, sending waves of destruction crashing into the enemy ranks. But no matter how many fell, more took their place—twisted, monstrous beings that seemed to rise from the very shadows.
The air was thick with the stench of blood and burning magic. Rivers of crimson flowed between the cracks in the earth, and the ground was littered with the broken bodies of the fallen. The cries of dying soldiers echoed like ghosts in the void, a chorus of agony that filled the hearts of those still standing with dread.
Zerich, his divine energy flickering like a dying flame, gasped for breath. His muscles burned, his vision blurred. "Now I understand," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "This is how they kill gods… They drain us, bit by bit, without us even realizing."
Beside him, Yoton roared in frustration, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. "This can't be happening!" he bellowed. "I'm a Ruler! These things shouldn't be able to touch me!"
Nealon, her face streaked with sweat and grime, turned to them, her voice urgent. "We have to retreat! If we stay, we die!"
Zerich's eyes flashed with defiance, but even he could see the truth in Nealon's words. He barked out an order. "Laxus! Status report!"
A soldier, his armor cracked and his face pale, responded. "Fifty thousand dead. A hundred thousand injured. Another fifty thousand… they're losing their divinity."
Nealon's heart pounded in her chest. "Sound the retreat!" he commanded. "Full withdrawal! Leave no one behind!"
As the troops began to fall back, Yoton turned to Nealon, her voice sharp. "Order the Warhead to cover us!"
The Descent Into Chaos
Nealon's signal had been the spark—the Warhead's massive air cannons roared to life, their concussive blasts tearing through the enemy ranks like a hurricane of destruction. The ground shook beneath the force of the explosions, giving the retreating troops precious seconds to escape.
Zerich's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Retreat! Every last one of you—GO, GO, GO! Move your damn legs or I'll leave you here to rot!" His face was twisted with fury and desperation, the face of a general watching his army crumble before an unstoppable horror.
For a moment, it seemed like they might make it. The surviving soldiers scrambled back, their boots kicking up ash and blood as they fled the carnage. The Warhead's cannons continued to pound the enemy, buying them time.
But then—
Yoton's voice, laced with disbelief, rang out. "Hey… are you all seeing this?"
Zerich's eyes narrowed. "The hell are they doing?"
Nealon's breath caught in her throat. "It's like… they're becoming one."
Before them, the remnants of the Chaos creatures—twisted, monstrous beings—began to merge. Limbs fused together, shadows coiled like serpents, and a grotesque, towering abomination took shape. The air grew heavy, as if the world itself recoiled from the horror being born.
Zerich's face paled. "This battle… this is what I didn't plan for. I thought they'd be easy spoils." His voice was hollow, stripped of its usual arrogance.
Yoton let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Ha! I can't believe it—the battle freak himself is actually afraid of the Chaos!"
Zerich's jaw clenched. "We can't win, Yoton. We need to leave. Now. The air… it's too heavy."
But it was too late.
The creatures had fully merged, their monstrous form solidifying into something far worse—something sentient. And then it spoke.
"You're not escaping from here." The voice was a chorus of nightmares, a sound that should not exist. "None of you are."
Nealon's blood turned to ice. "Impossible… it speaks."
The Chaos God raised its clawed hand, and the world obeyed.
"Let everything I see before me stand still until first light." Its words were a curse, a decree. "Come forth, Rishin."
Time itself fractured.
The spell washed over the battlefield like a tidal wave, freezing the Warhead mid-retreat. Soldiers locked in mid-step, their faces frozen in terror. The very flow of existence stuttered under the weight of the Chaos God's power.
Nealon's breath came in ragged gasps. "The troops… they're trapped in its spell."
Carel's voice was a strained whisper. "I can… barely move."
Zerich's rage burned through the paralysis. "There's no way in hell we're leaving here without killing that thing."
Yoton's grin was feral. "I know. Let's go, Nealon. Zerich—you stay here. Protect the Warhead with the few who can still move."
Zerich gave a sharp nod. "Sure."
Nealon's fingers curled into fists. "Alright. Let's go."
The two commanders leapt from the Warhead, their forms cutting through the frozen battlefield like blades through silk. The Chaos God turned, its many eyes locking onto them with unholy glee.
"Ahhh… I see you can still move." Its voice was a mockery of delight. "Well, that's no surprise. You are rulers, after all—the only race known as the Ultimate Existence."
Yoton's teeth bared. "This bastard mocks us."
Nealon didn't waste words. Her hands moved in a blur, arcane sigils igniting in the air as she began her chant.
"I call upon the sword and blood. I call upon the gates of the Underworld to consume all who stand in my way." The ground beneath him cracked, shadows writhing like serpents. "Come forth—Voidornor!"
But the Chaos God was faster.
Before Nealon's spell could fully manifest, the abomination's voice slithered through the air, its own incantation tearing reality asunder.
"I am death itself, and the Underworld cannot consume me." Its laughter was a symphony of madness. "Come forth—Flames of the Abyss!"
The collision was cataclysmic.
To Be Continued.