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Chapter 328: 328
A new, fully regenerated arm replaced the one it had sacrificed during the battle with the general. Though its body had been restored to full strength, the energy required to regrow the limb had consumed the remainder of the soul’s power.
The gargoyle stared at its hand, clenching and unclenching its fist, a mixture of fury and despair washing over it. The power to ascend had been so close, yet now it was beyond its grasp. A primal roar of frustration tore from its throat, echoing across the battlefield as its wings unfurled.
But the frenzy that had consumed it moments before faded as quickly as it had come. Though enraged, the gargoyle knew better than to let its emotions cloud its judgment. Its newfound strength would still make it a more formidable opponent, and it had a commanding position to return to.
With a low growl, the demon soared back to its vantage point, casting a final, lingering glance at the battlefield below. The soul of the ogre general had given it a taste of what could have been, but for now, it would have to bide its time.
Malzor’s eyes followed the gargoyle from the Abyss. He knew that demons like this one, so close to the next stage of power, were the most dangerous. A thin smile crossed his face. The gargoyle had been denied its ascension today, but the hunger for more power would only grow.
In the demon hierarchy, desire was the ultimate driver, and Malzor knew all too well how dangerous a demon on the brink of evolution could become.
Malzor’s gaze lingered on the battlefield, his thoughts swirling with ambition and hunger. The fallen ogre general’s soul had been an unexpected windfall for the gargoyle, but Malzor was already strategizing for the next opportunity. He anticipated the goblins’ response to this crushing defeat. They wouldn’t allow such a significant loss to go unanswered, and when they sent another champion or leader, Malzor would be ready. This time, he would claim the soul himself, and it would be the fuel to propel him further into his dominion over the Abyss.
He allowed himself a brief smile. The soul of a general had given the gargoyle a taste of ascension, but Malzor knew that with patience and cunning, it would be he who devoured the next one. A demon of his stature had no need to rush. His position as leader was stable for now, but if he could personally deliver the next crushing blow, the respect and fear of the other demons would solidify his rule over them, leaving no room for challengers. The thought of it filled him with dark anticipation.
Meanwhile, on the battlefield, chaos had overtaken the ogre forces. With the death of their general, their organized ranks crumbled into disarray. Panic set in among the remaining ogres, who had been hardened by the battle but now faced overwhelming odds without their leader’s guiding presence. In their desperation, they attempted to retreat, but their flight from the eroded, demon-infested land only led to disaster. 𝔫𝖔𝖛𝖕𝔲𝔟.𝔠𝖔𝖒
The ogres broke formation, abandoning the disciplined ranks that had kept them alive thus far. Their retreat was panicked, and as they fell back haphazardly, they exposed their vulnerable flanks and backs to the pursuing demons. The horde, sensing weakness, descended upon them with ravenous hunger. Lesser demons, driven by their insatiable desire for strength, surged forward and tore into the fleeing ogres.
The battlefield became a slaughterhouse, with demons feasting on both the flesh and the souls of the fallen. Each kill, each devoured soul, granted them strength, causing the demons to grow stronger and more frenzied with every bite. The ogres’ ranks thinned rapidly as their warriors were torn apart, their essence consumed by the fiends in pursuit.
The sky darkened as the land was bathed in chaos and bloodshed, but just as the demons pressed their advantage, they reached the edge of the battlefield where the Tower Master’s barrier awaited. In an instant, the shimmering shield of magic erected by the Tower Master once again flared to life, encasing the remaining ogres within its protective dome.
The demons, already familiar with this magic, snarled in frustration but wisely backed off. Though the shield was a nuisance, they understood its power well enough not to challenge it directly. The shimmering arc of light protected the retreating ogres, but it also sealed the battlefield in a state of grim stasis.
The Tower Master stood atop the tower, his eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. His magical barrier had saved the remaining forces, but the toll had been severe. The ogres that survived were scattered, demoralized, and diminished. They had faced the full force of the Abyss, and while the demons had retreated for now, the cost had been devastating.
Most importantly was how he was to relay the news of his defeat to the emperor, he had been confident before when he requested for reinforcement from the emperor as he was guaranteed to secure a victory for the goblins even possibly push into the open abyss portal. He had believed that the demons on his side were weak which gave him this confidence.
The tower master clenched his fist as he remembered the fallen ogre general, this defeat would not have happened had he listened to him. Nonetheless the defeat helped gather new information which was that the demons somehow are able to control others, having them act beyond reason and disobey orders and spells seems to do nothing to it.
His thoughts turned to the emperor. How could he explain this failure? He had been so confident before, when he had made his bold request for reinforcements, certain that with his strategic prowess and the strength of the ogre general, they could not only hold the demons back but push forward into the Abyss portal itself. Now, the very idea seemed like a distant dream, crushed under the weight of the losses they had suffered.
The Tower Master clenched his fists in frustration as he recalled the stubbornness of the fallen ogre general. If only the general had heeded his warnings, this defeat might have been avoided. But now, all he had was information—information that, while valuable, came at a heavy cost. The demons, somehow, had the power to manipulate others, driving them beyond reason, turning them into tools of destruction, and worst of all, spells seemed to have little effect in breaking this sinister influence.
Back on the battlefield, as the general’s body lay lifeless and the last echoes of the battle died down, Phanthom remained a silent observer. While the gargoyle demon had gorged itself on the fallen soul, something far more intriguing had caught Phanthom’s attention. It wasn’t the soul of the general that interested him—Phanthom, as a cursed being, had no need to feed on such things. His hunger had long since evolved into something more complex, more refined.
What drew Phanthom in was something unique, something only visible to him—a faint, shimmering yellow gas that emanated from the fallen ogre general and his soldiers. The gas, wispy and ethereal, drifted through the air, as if searching for a destination, and Phanthom, with a gleam in his eye, opened his mouth and inhaled deeply, drawing the mysterious substance into himself.
Phanthom’s lips curled into a smile as the light approached him. This was not the raw ambition he had once devoured with hunger before his ascension by his creator. It was something purer—a reward, a merit for his role in fulfilling the general’s deepest desire. Though the general had perished, Phanthom had allowed him to die with his ambition realized, albeit through an illusion. The golden light was a reflection of that—rewarding Phanthom for guiding the fallen general toward his final moment of fulfillment.
Opening his mouth, Phanthom inhaled the light. It entered him gently, nourishing his essence without the savage hunger he once knew. This was no longer about consumption. This was about playing a part in the role of ambition, of desire, of lives fulfilled or transformed. He had provided the general with the spotlight he so desperately craved, and in return, he had been rewarded with this golden essence.
Phanthom’s thoughts drifted to his sibling, the "Despairing Virtuoso," who had evolved in a similar way. No longer did his sibling feed off raw despair. Instead, he took the despair of others and turned it into hope, guiding lost souls toward redemption. In doing so, he too was rewarded with this radiant light—a sign of the balance he helped restore.
A satisfied sigh escaped Phanthom’s lips as he felt the golden light settle within him, bringing with it a new sense of purpose. He had followed in his creators’ shadow hoping to find this purpose and here he did. Now, his role was to guide those emotions, to help others reach their peaks or find hope in their darkest hours. And in return, he would receive this golden merit, each piece pushing him closer to the next stage of his evolution. At the same time, a new question arose in him, was this part of the reason his creator helped them to their current stage?
