The Guardian gods
Chapter 557

Chapter 557: 557

Deep within her grotesque chamber, Vorenza, still wrapped in shimmering healing webs, keenly sensed that something was amiss. Her prophetic foresight, usually a sharp, cutting edge, was blunted by her fractured state. She couldn’t pinpoint the threat, only a deep-seated wrongness. Unable to move, she could only issue urgent orders: her generals and their men were to be on high alert, ready to respond to any unforeseen assault.

Vorenza had consumed Gurnak’s soul, a desperate, brutal act that had indeed healed most of the grievous wounds inflicted by their clash. Yet, a more profound injury remained. Her final, desperate spell during that brutal fight had pushed her beyond her established demonic laws, an act of sheer will that had saved her life but exacted a terrifying toll. The backlash was immense, far more than a mere sixth-tier soul could ever hope to mend.

Her very domain was fractured, a profound spiritual wound that would require considerable time to heal. A deep, gnawing worry gnawed at Vorenza. She desperately hoped this unease was merely a byproduct of her vulnerability, a hypersensitivity born from her shattered domain. She truly hoped nothing catastrophic would happen, that her unease were just an illusion.

From the sky, Rattan was able to see a familiar figure "Gorok" he led a tall mount the size of a carriage that looks like a blend of a horse and a Lizard.

Getting the mount closer, Gorok took a knee and gestured for Kaelen to get on, such sight caused the mages who were in the sky to murmur.

Kaelen looking at Gorok who was still loyal to him even after their current situation sighed "There is no need for this, my friend. Survivial is now our greates cause"

In response to Kaelen word, Gorok said or did nothing as he stayed bowed.

Kaelen shook his head ashe he once again turned towards the assembly, "This is not a glorious charge," Kaelen stated, his voice now a low, resonant rumble that carried to every corner of the hall. "This is an extermination. We are taking the fight to their heart, to their very genesis of corruption. There will be no retreat, no quarter. Only the end of this stain."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the ogres, then flickered to the mages hovering above. "Those of you who stand here today," he continued, a flicker of something akin to grim respect in his dead eyes, "you are the spearhead. The last hope. Fight as if your very soul depends on it, for in the Abyss, it most certainly will."

With that, Kaelen turned. The massive, six-legged mount, its scales a deep, shimmering obsidian, stamped impatiently. Its eyes, glowing with an internal, malevolent light, fixed on Kaelen. Without another word, Kaelen vaulted onto its back, the powerful beast shifting beneath his weight.

Unlike any traditional army, Kaelen did not take the lead. Instead, the ratfolk surged forward, a wave of nimble, armored forms, their eyes gleaming with a newfound, unsettling resolve. They poured out of the station’s massive gates, their small bodies surprisingly swift, forming the unlikely vanguard of this brutal crusade.

Behind them, the earth began to tremble with the rhythmic thud of the ogres. Some were mounted on their own fearsome beasts, their sheer mass a terrifying spectacle, while others marched on foot, their heavy, rune-etched armor clanking with each stride. A formidable, unyielding tide of muscle and steel.

High above, following the advancing army, the mages drifted through the air, their forms like dark constellations against the somber sky. Rattan, still floating amongst them, watched the unprecedented formation. The usual hierarchy was inverted, the expendable now leading the charge, the powerful maintaining a watchful distance. It was a strategy born of desperation, perhaps, but one that spoke volumes about the scale of the threat and the grim determination to meet it head-on.

The demon forces, usually consumed by their methodical corruption of the land, suddenly bristled with awareness. An almost inhuman speed propelled the approaching army, a swiftness that defied the sheer mass of the ogres. A low, guttural roar, starting as a murmur and swelling into a thunderous crescendo, rippled through the demonic ranks. Their eyes, once focused on the slow spread of decay, now glinted with a savage eagerness.

For demons, growing weary of the meager souls offered by the endless ratfolk skirmishes, this was an unexpected, delectable feast. Powerful, vibrant souls, promising rapid growth in strength, presented themselves on the horizon.

The approaching army accelerated, their disciplined stride transforming into a full-blown sprint. A unified roar, a guttural sound of challenge and intent, erupted from the charging force. High above, the mages, including Rattan, surged forward, outpacing the ground forces. On each mage’s head, a small, intricate construct-like crown pulsed faintly, a silent, telepathic link to Kaelen, the leader of this formidable, converging storm.

The incredible acceleration of the army was Kaelen’s silent command, channeled through the crowns that linked him to his mages. As the two forces hurtled towards collision, a colossal magic circle bloomed in the sky above the mages, a swirling vortex of arcane power that stretched across the heavens. From this immense construct, smaller, glowing replicas detached themselves, drifting down into the outstretched hands of each mage. With these mini-circles pulsing in their palms, the mages gestured in unison towards the distant demonic horde.

Like a chorus of master crafters, every mage moved as one. Their free hands rose, their expressions straining as if burdened by an invisible, crushing weight. The first to feel the profound effect of their combined will were the demons. The very ground beneath them began to tremble violently, a deep, resonant rumble that shook their monstrous forms.

Then, with a deafening roar of grinding stone, a massive wall of rock erupted from the earth, stretching for miles across the landscape. It rose swiftly, obscuring the demons’ view of the charging army, a colossal barrier of raw geological power. The mages, already pushed to their limits, ascended even higher into the sky. With agonizing effort, they continued their grand gestures, and more walls ripped from the corrupted land, branching out, intersecting, and rapidly dissecting the demon lines.

In what felt like mere moments, a sprawling, intricate maze of towering stone walls had been carved from the corrupted plains. The sheer scale of the spell was immense, and its toll on the mages was evident. They hovered precariously, their bodies trembling, barely able to maintain their float spells, their collective power almost entirely spent. This unprecedented maneuver had fundamentally reshaped the battlefield, trapping the demonic forces within a labyrinth.

The sudden emergence of the stone maze threw the low-tier demons into disarray. Their primitive minds, accustomed to open-field brawls and overwhelming numbers, were baffled by the towering walls that abruptly consumed their view. Before they could even process the impossible, sections of those very walls slid apart with a grinding roar, revealing a horrifying sight: the glinting weapons of the ratfolk, already leveled and waiting.

The ratfolk, utilizing the maze with a chilling, almost predatory efficiency, unleashed a torrent of fire and steel. Their smaller forms darted through the shifting passages, appearing suddenly from unexpected angles, their magi-tech weapons spitting concentrated bursts of energy and razor-sharp projectiles into the bewildered demonic ranks. Trapped within the confines of the labyrinth, the demons’ numerical advantage became a fatal liability. Their clumsy charges met impenetrable rock or were funneled into deadly bottlenecks where the ratfolk’s coordinated attacks ripped them apart.

Behind the ratfolk, the ogres moved with ponderous, unstoppable force, battering down any walls that dared to impede their advance, crushing demons beneath their massive boots, and cleaving through resilient demonic hide with their enormous weapons. The mages, though depleted, still managed to occasionally shift walls or create small, localized barriers to further disorient and divide the enemy.

Though there were losses – the brutal nature of the fight ensured that even with tactical superiority, blood would be shed – the strategic brilliance of the maze was undeniable. It fragmented the overwhelming demon horde, turning their numbers against them. Kaelen’s army, though a fraction of the demonic force, moved like a perfectly synchronized machine.

By the time the last low-tier demon in this sector fell, a significant portion of the corrupted lands had been overtaken. Without pause, the army immediately began to transform their hard-won ground. The very stone walls that had formed the maze were swiftly repurposed, shifted and fortified into a series of interconnected makeshift fortresses. Banners, bearing Kaelen’s stark sigil, were raised amidst the still-smoking ruins.

This wasn’t a permanent victory, merely a vital first step. Kaelen knew there were many more lands to take over and recover before they even reached the Abyss Portal. But here, amidst the newly erected defenses, his army would take a desperately needed, albeit brief, respite, preparing for the next brutal push into the heart of the demonic domain.

The instant the enemy army began its charge, reports flooded Vorenxa’s chamber. A long, weary sigh escaped her lips as the chilling confirmation of her unease settled deep within her. It wasn’t just a premonition; it was a tangible threat. She immediately extended her senses beyond the Abyss, piercing the veil between dimensions. What she saw on the battlefield brought a grimace to her face: a twisting labyrinth of stone was dissecting her demonic legions.