A Background Character’s Path to Power
Chapter 146: Primordial Tyrant’s Wrath

High above the battlefield, Virion watched as the spatial tear detonated—his emerald eyes locked onto Aman's figure until the very last moment.

His power had already begun weaving around the boy, ready to snatch him from death's grasp at any moment.

Then—

The shadowy hands seized Aman.

Virion's power surged forward—

—only for a sudden, vicious mental attack to lance through his mind like a white-hot spear.

For a fraction of a second, his control wavered, his protection around Aman flickered—

—and the explosion swallowed the boy whole.

By the time Virion shook off the assault, it was too late.

His gaze snapped toward the woman beside him.

She smiled apologetically, raising her hands. "Sorry, Ancient One. I had a deal with—"

Virion didn't let her finish.

With a mere thought, space itself contorted around her body—

—and she shattered like glass, fragments dissolving into motes of light.

"Tch." Virion's tail lashed. "A clone."

His form blurred, vanishing from the sky.

....

[ Valtheim Kingdom - Capital City - Eastern District ]

The veiled woman strolled through the bustling market, her silk robes fluttering as she hummed a tuneless melody.

Then—

The world warped.

The crowd vanished. The stalls, the noise, the very air—gone. Only an endless black void remained, swallowing all light.

The woman sighed, turning to face Virion as he materialized before her.

"Ancient One," she began, her tone almost pitying, "you can't kill me. I just did what was—"

Virion flicked his fingers.

Her body exploded into a fine mist of blood before she could utter another word.

Silence.

Then—

The clone's remains evaporated, leaving no trace.

Virion's eyes narrowed to even thinner slits.

Another decoy.

That cowardly hag hadn't shown her true body even once.

His fury, instead of fading, burned hotter.

"Hmph."

The next moment, Virion vanished from the capital of Veltheim, his fury carving ripples through space itself.

______

[Eastern Isles Continent.]

High above the Azure Dragon Mountains—where the veiled woman's true body made its home—the sky sundered.

A shadow fell across the land, vast and terrible. The mountain peaks trembled. Birds mid-flight dropped like stones, their wings suddenly weightless. Resonators soaring on their swords gasped as gravity itself seemed to invert, sending them crashing toward the earth.

Then—Virion's true form manifested.

His emerald-scaled body, longer than the tallest spire, coiled through the heavens. His wings blotted out the sun. His presence alone warped the air, reality itself groaning under his wrath.

And then—he spoke.

"I have had enough of your games."

Thousands of dark green orbs materialized across the sky, each humming with enough power to level cities.

The mountains' defenses activated instantly—golden barriers flaring to life, ancient runes glowing along the cliffs. Disciples screamed, scrambling for cover.

But it was too late to run now.

The woman—the real one this time—burst from the central pavilion, her draconic horns glinting in the fractured light. No longer veiled, her true form was regal yet terrified, her slit-pupiled eyes wide.

"Ancient One, please—!" She raised her hands, her voice cracking. "Spare them! I'll accept any punishment, but they—"

Virion didn't listen.

With a flick of his tail, the orbs descended.

BOOM!

The first barrier shattered like glass.

BOOOOM!

The second lasted barely a heartbeat longer.

BOOOOM! BOOOOM! BOOOOM!

Mountain peaks vaporized. Pagodas turned to dust. The very air burned as orb after orb detonated, their explosions merging into a continuous roar that shook the mountains and heavens.

The woman gritted her teeth, weaving desperate seals—but her defenses crumbled like paper. An orb grazed her shoulder, and her left arm disintegrated. Blood sprayed as she was hurled backward, her body carving a trench through what remained of the sect's sacred grounds.

Then—

Silence.

The dust settled. The echoes faded.

Where a proud mountain sect had stood, only smoldering ruins remained.

Virion hovered above the devastation, his emerald eyes cold. The woman lay broken amidst the wreckage, her remaining hand clutching at the earth.

"Don't think," he hissed, "this is the end."

And then—he was gone.

The woman gasped, her body trembling. Around her, the survivors—elders and disciples who had been outside the blast radius—staggered to their feet, their faces ashen.

Then—

"Tch."

A black-robed figure materialized in the air above her, his face hidden in shadow. "Couldn't hold him off for even a moment?" His voice dripped with disdain.

The woman wanted to say, 'Why did you wait until he disappeared then?' but didn't dare speak.

Others appeared—figures cloaked in mist and flame, their auras twisting the air.

One, a skeletal man wrapped in chains, chuckled. "And here I thought you were the smartest of us."

The woman spat blood. "He's... the Ancient One... You try facing him—"

"Enough excuses." The black-robed figure vanished. "It was you who said you could bait him."

One by one, the others followed, leaving the woman alone in the ruins—her home destroyed, her body broken, and Virion's warning ringing in her ears.

This wasn't over.

Not even close.

"..."

As the last of her mysterious 'allies' vanished, the woman—now known only as the True Matriarch—let her head fall back against the scorched earth. The acrid scent of smoke and charred stone filled her nostrils, but she paid it no mind.

Only now did she truly understand.

The terror of the Ancient One.

No—the Winged Tyrant.

That primordial being who had once reshaped continents in his fury... had been restrained all these years. And today, she had provoked him into showing but a fraction of his true power.

Was it worth it?

The thought flickered through her mind before she crushed it.

Her teeth bit into her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The bitter and poisonous tang grounded her.

All for the future of the family. All for the world peace...

A ragged cough escaped her as she pushed herself up, surveying the devastation. The mountains were scarred, the sect in ruins—yet miraculously, not a single life had been lost. The Tyrant's control had been absolute, his orbs precise in their destruction.

He could have killed us all... but didn't.

The realization chilled her more than any threat.

Her surviving disciples staggered through the wreckage, their faces pale but unharmed. The elders muttered amongst themselves, already calculating the cost of rebuilding.

But the Matriarch knew better.

We can't rebuild. Not yet.

The Tyrant's warning echoed in her skull: "Don't think this is the end."

Another attack would come again, perhaps tomorrow or the week after. She knew it. The Tyrant would do it unless his fury subsided a bit.

A grim smile touched her lips.

Thankfully, she had anticipated this.

Every true treasure, every artifact of power, every drop of their resources—all had been hidden away in pocket dimensions before she ever agreed to do this.

What lay in ruins now were empty shells. Facades.

Let the Tyrant rage at ghosts.

Wincing, she pressed a hand to her missing arm. The wound had already been cauterized, but the pain was immense. No matter. Regeneration would come in time.

For now...

"Matriarch!" An elder rushed to her side, eyes wide with panic. "What do we—"

"Silence." Her voice, though hoarse, brooked no argument. "Do as I told."

The disciple blinked. "But our home—"

"Is gone." Her draconic eyes glowed faintly in the settling dust. "And if we wish to survive 'his' wrath, we will not take action until his anger cools down."

She turned away, her remaining hand clenching into a fist.

This defeat was temporary.

The game was far from over.

After all... the true victor isn't the one who strikes first, but the one who remains standing when the dust settles.