Chapter 360: Destruction Prologue (Part 3)

  Aimee was exchanging magical attacks with three mages from The Radiant Citadel. A transparent water curtain surrounded her; though it seemed fragile and thin, the fireballs and lightning from the three mages struck it without any damage, completely unable to break through this barrier. She, in turn, waved her hand and fired a Divine Ice Arrow, blasting a mage's head into a pile of shattered ice fragments on the ground.

  The elemental magic of the Tower of Fangs was still so pure and sharp. As the personal disciple of a water magic grandmaster, her magic was far beyond what an ordinary mage could match. The remaining two mages had no fighting spirit to begin with, and, surrounded by swordsmen, fled outward with the crowd.

  Aimee gestured within the water curtain; muttering indistinguishable sounds, she then waved a hand at the fleeing mages, and the grand elemental fluctuation unique to a high-tier spell suddenly burst forth.

  A chorus of screams rang out around the mages. The moisture in the air instantly condensed around him into a massive ring of ice spikes. The formation of this ring was not hindered by the flesh in the slightest; on the contrary, because there was more water in the body, it condensed larger and faster, rising abruptly. As soon as the ice ring formed, it shattered, and the more than ten swordsmen around the mage were also torn apart, flesh and blood flying everywhere. The two mages at the center were unharmed, but before they could recover from their shock, another patch of cold air condensed above their heads into a massive ice spike, smashing their skulls to pulp.

  Aimee, who had cast spells consecutively, did not pause in the slightest, acting on instinct. She immediately sensed Ethan, the strongest and most vital person nearby, and immediately turned to look at him.

  Her originally fair and delicate girlish skin was now so white it was almost transparent; one could even see the muscle fibers and the outline of her bones beneath. Although all the blood in her body had been drained along with her life force by Soul Devour, she had not withered; something else, something with more power, was supporting her flesh. She turned her head to gaze at Ethan. In her eye sockets were no longer the large, watery eyes, but two burning fires of necromancy.

  This clever, pretty, outwardly gentle but inwardly strong little girl was now a Wight. Dozens of ugly, terrifying zombies and skeletons clustered around her. She, with her fair, transparent skin, looked like a flower of the dead blooming amidst rotting corpses.

  She was just a teenager, you could even say a little girl. To save Ethan, she had single-handedly made a deal with two Necromancers, running back and forth, maneuvering left and right with the resolve to die. She had accomplished something that even the most seasoned warriors or most resolute adventurers might not have been able to do. The great battle at The Radiant Citadel could be said to have been sparked by her efforts. And in the end, in the surging, chaotic turbulence, no one even noticed how she was caught and killed by Inham's magic, dying silently, unknowingly, as inconspicuously as a speck of dust.

  Ethan hurt. A heart-wrenching pain was, in fact, a kind of numb trance. He didn't even notice the cold, icy vapor condensing above his head. Not until the cold air spread to his face, turning all the liquid in his flesh into spikes that burst and tore his skin, and was about to spread to his eyes and into his skull, did he react instinctively, his Battle Qi flaring.

  With a crisp clang, his Battle Qi repelled the ice on his face along with the surrounding cold air. A small piece of the skin on his face flew off with it. Fortunately, the cold air hadn't enveloped his eyes, or his eyeballs would have flown out too.

  Aimee's gestures flew continuously. Ice spikes condensed from the cold air appeared one after another around Ethan, stabbing at him wildly. A Wight's body was indeed more suitable for the flow and condensation of magic than a human body. The aura of The Black Star permeated the space, granting infinite power to all undead creatures.

  The fleeing crowd around them did not stop, and no one paid attention to this place. The battle here was just an inconspicuous small ripple on the entire battlefield, already pulled to the very rear by the flow of escaping people. All orcs and humans were fleeing for their lives. More and more undead monsters were continuously devouring and tearing them apart, and then the boundless dark aura would turn them into undead. Everywhere were screams, explosions, and flying flesh and blood, but what flew even more were bones and rotting flesh.

  After dodging two or three times, Ethan stopped dodging, because he knew it was meaningless to continue. With that numb pain still in his heart, he opened his palm. A scorching, massive fireball formed in his hand and, roaring, charged towards Aimee.

  The Divine Ice Arrow Aimee had just fired was silently swallowed by this fireball. Amidst a colossal boom, firelight shot into the sky. The water curtain, which had easily withstood the magic of others, could only show the same fragility as its appearance in the face of this fireball. It was shattered along with Aimee's surrounding zombie and skeleton guards, consumed by the flames. Although the spell was crude, in terms of pure magical destructive power, Ethan was indeed not someone an ordinary mage could match.

  After the explosion, only Aimee remained, staggering to her feet. Although she was still preparing a spell in her hands, Ethan had already rushed in front of her, his hand placed before her. Although in the next blink she would be turned into a cloud of dust, her small, pretty, transparent face remained devoid of joy or sorrow, the necromantic fires in her eye sockets burning unwaveringly.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  His heart ached. Just as the magical power in Ethan's hand was about to erupt wildly, a loud shout accompanied by the sharp sound of splitting air came from the side.

  "Stop."

  Ethan dodged to the side to avoid the sword. He glanced over and saw that it was Talise. Not far away, a squad of swordsmen and priests was rushing towards them; it seemed she was leading this group to cover the retreat.

  "What are you doing?" Talise yelled at Ethan, but as soon as the words left her mouth, an ice arrow struck her chest. Although it couldn't penetrate the Radiant Battleplate, it covered her in a layer of ice and sent her toppling to the ground. When she turned and saw the necromantic fires burning in Aimee's eyes, she understood what had happened. Her eyes filled with horror, and she muttered to herself, "How could this be?"

  Ethan didn't argue with her. He got up and charged towards Aimee again. Except for those few top-tier old monsters, whether it was a Wight or a mage, without close-quarters guards, at this distance, they were no different from a target to him.

  "Wait. Stop." Talise's longsword blocked Ethan again, and then she rushed forward to grab him. Her voice and expression were completely hysterical. Ethan even suspected she might have gone mad. "How could this be? How could this be... Don't hurt her, there must be a way, there must be a way..."

  "Get lost." Ethan, forcefully suppressing the impulse to punch Talise's head into pulp, kicked her away. At the same time, a massive sheet of ice from Aimee flew past their heads.

  "Stop him, quickly! Save that little girl!" Talise shouted to the swordsmen and priests who had followed.

  But the swordsmen could also see the fire in the little girl's eyes. Just now, at least half of their companions had fallen at the hands of mages transformed into Wights. In the current situation, even the most loyal subordinates would probably not carry out an order to save a monster that was an undead, let alone the fact that they knew they were no match for that man.

  "Lady Talise, come to your senses. That little girl is already dead. That's just a corpse. The transformed monster is no longer human; it's impossible to save." The swordsmen were not stupid; they could see the reason for the knightess's abnormal state. "We should just escape. We can only hold the rear here for so long."

  The ground trembled. A massive skeletal monster trudted over, crushing the last squad of swordsmen at the rear as it approached from nearby. It was a monster resembling a crocodile but several times larger than a dragon. With every stomp of its huge, skeletal feet, swordsmen shrieked as flesh and blood flew, utterly powerless to resist, like ants and worms.

  Aimee suddenly turned her head to look at this massive skeletal monster, the necromantic fires in her eye sockets flaring brightly. The skeletal monster froze for a moment, the necromantic fires in its own eye sockets also flickering. It paid no heed to the remaining swordsmen and priests under its feet and strode towards them. Although no sound was made, a connection had formed between it and Aimee.

  Ethan paid it no mind, lowering his head and charging towards Aimee.

  "Aimee came here for you, to save you. It's because of you that she became like this... I'm begging you, please save her." Talise's voice was already choked with tears. For some reason, she no longer dared to step forward.

  "You think I don't know? You think I'm not heartbroken?" Ethan suddenly roared, turning his head towards Talise. His voice broke halfway, his vocal cords torn from his own exertion. Although he couldn't see his own eyes, he knew they must be bloodshot, red with boiling blood that felt as if it would burn.

  Turning to face the cold air shot by Aimee, Ethan didn't dodge but blocked it with his hand, while his other hand came to rest on Aimee's forehead. The feeling of her delicate but ice-cold skin and the heart-wrenching, piercing pain of a massive ice spike suddenly forming in his arm and bursting through his flesh intertwined, inseparable. Then, a torrent of fire-based magical power surged out. Aimee's small body was turned to ash in the raging flames.

  Ethan and Talise did not move again. Nor did they speak. They just looked at the dust scattered on the ground after she vanished. Only their gazes were different: one was a heavy, dense grief that had settled deep in his heart, something that could never be dissolved or dispersed; the other was a wound of frantic sorrow amidst despair and bewilderment.

  No matter how heartbreaking, no matter how painful, what is irreversible is irreversible. This world will not change what has already happened because of anyone's sorrow, so the only thing to do is what can be done.

  True strength is to face and bear sorrow, not to try to reverse it or be immersed in it, unable to break free.

  The two of them did not move, but Talise's subordinates around her would not stand still. Several swordsmen came forward to help Talise up and turned to run, while a few priests chanted their spells with effort, casting white magic at the massive skeletal monster that had already walked up to them.

  Only when it drew near could one see the true immensity of this monster. Even lying on its side, it was a size larger than the largest Behemoth. The monster paid no heed to the few light arrows shot at it by the priests. In this area shrouded by the dark aura, the power of white magic was pitifully weak. The Light Arrow, which specialized in destroying undead monsters, was now little different from a simple illumination spell. It raised a skeletal foot, stained with blood and flesh, and stomped down towards Ethan.

  The ground shook as if struck by a meteor. The priests and swordsmen all fell to the ground. Ethan had already leaped into the air. A fireball several times larger than his own body had already shot into the monster's giant mouth. Amidst a colossal boom, bone fragments and fire sprayed everywhere. A small half of the skeletal monster's head was shattered, and the rest was covered in cracks.

  A strange, mournful roar that carried far across the chaotic battlefield.

  Undead monsters do not roar. It was Ethan. He was descending towards the monster's remaining half-head, his entire body's Battle Qi shining dazzlingly. He paid no heed to the blood gushing from his throat where his vocal cords had torn. This was not for battle, but for venting. All his power gathered, accumulated, surged, exploded, and with all his anger and all his sorrow, he fiercely smashed against the cracks in the monster's skull.

  Proportionally, this was like a fly hitting a crocodile's head. But this massive skeleton was like a piece of porcelain struck by a heavy blow, suddenly shattering into countless large bone fragments that scattered down.

  Ethan landed among the bone fragments, many larger than himself. This strike had not actually hit the monster itself, but the source of the necromantic fire within it. He didn't even spare a glance at the mountain of corpses. Without a word, he turned and flashed away, out of The Radiant Citadel. The swordsmen and priests also got up, pulling Talise along as they fled in panic.

  Outside The Radiant Citadel, on the Celeste Plain, thousands of people and orcs who had escaped from The Radiant Citadel were scattering in all directions under the leadership of their respective chieftains, without looking back. Only a few people still looked back.

  The once glorious church headquarters, the capital of faith, was now completely submerged in a black fog of necromancy. The dry, cold sounds made by the countless moving undead monsters mixed with the sounds of collapsing buildings. From a distance, it was a bizarre sound that sent chills down to the very soul. Occasionally, the massive bodies of a few skeletal monsters could be seen looming within.

  "Send people to intercept the various allied forces rushing here from different nations. Tell them all to turn back and not come here. And as for those orcs, leave them be for now. This is no longer the time to worry about such things. Everyone, get away from here as quickly as possible..."

  The Pope's voice was hoarse. In those young eyes was a light that had aged hundreds of years. He and Lancelot watched The Radiant Citadel gradually collapse, but neither showed much fluctuation, because they knew that this was nothing more than a small prelude.