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Chapter 425: 425
Amidst the chaos, the elite guards of the allied clans gathered, their expressions grim yet resolute. These warriors were the best among their ranks—hardened by battle, unshaken by fear. They watched as their comrades fell, their strategy crumbling under the relentless onslaught of the Zealots. The battlefield was no longer in their favor.
One of them, a Zephyr captain, clenched his jaw. "If we stay, we’ll be slaughtered one by one," he said, his voice carrying over the din of battle. "They strike from the shadows, dragging us into their world. If we wait for them to come... we’re already dead."
A Terra warrior, his armor cracked and smeared with the blood of fallen allies, exhaled slowly. "Then we take the fight to them."
Silence hung in the air for a brief moment. It was a mad idea. Reckless. No one who had been pulled into the upside-down world had ever returned. But was waiting for death any wiser?
The Ember Clan’s commander, his gauntlets still smoldering from his last attack, let out a low, dry chuckle. "Better to burn out in battle than waste away like cowards." He looked around at the gathered warriors. "Who’s coming?"
One by one, they stepped forward. Zephyr assassins who had spent their lives in the shadows, Terra warriors who had stood as immovable shields, Ember combatants whose flames had always burned brightest in the darkest times, and Ripple sorcerers who had mastered the art of flowing between realms. Together, they would forge their own path into the unknown.
The Zephyr captain turned his gaze to the battlefield, watching the Zealots as they materialized and vanished like phantoms. He exhaled, steadying his heart. "Then let’s make our move."
They had no magic to force themselves into the upside-down world. But they didn’t need it. All they had to do was become irresistible prey.
Forming a tight circle, they began their advance, cutting through lesser Zealots with ruthless precision. They did not retreat, did not defend. They let themselves be surrounded, baiting the enemy with reckless aggression. The Zealots, sensing the shift, grew bold—no longer striking from the edges but closing in, their shadowy forms flickering with anticipation.
Then it happened.
One by one, the elite guards felt the pull. Clawed hands reached from the void, tendrils of darkness wrapped around their limbs, yanking them from the physical world. Their bodies flickered—half here, half somewhere else.
And then, in an instant, they were gone.
The Other Side
A suffocating silence greeted them. The upside-down world stretched before them—a twisted reflection of their own battlefield. The forest existed here, but warped beyond recognition. Trees hung upside down, their roots curling toward an empty sky. The air was thick, heavy, as if pressing against their lungs. The ground beneath their feet was neither solid nor liquid, shifting like blackened glass.
The Zealots were here. Countless eyes glowed in the darkness, watching them with predatory glee. The elite guards had entered their domain—a place where the rules of battle were different, where time and space twisted in unnatural ways.
The Ember commander cracked his neck. "No turning back now." His gauntlets ignited, but the fire flickered strangely, as if struggling to burn in this realm.
The Zephyr captain narrowed his eyes. "Then we fight."
With a battle cry that echoed through the abyss, they charged.
The moment their feet touched the shifting ground of the upside-down world, formation became meaningless. The battlefield was no longer a structured engagement.
The elite warriors, once bound by tactics and discipline, became individual storms of destruction, tearing into the Zealots with unrestrained fury.
A Zephyr assassin struck first. His form flickered, blurring between the shadows, his twin daggers gleaming in the eerie light. He danced between the creatures, slicing through their incorporeal bodies before they could fully materialize. Black ichor sprayed into the air, hissing as it hit the twisted ground. One Zealot lunged at him from behind—he spun, his blade severing its head in a single, fluid motion. Another latched onto his arm, its claws sinking into his flesh. He gritted his teeth and rammed his dagger into its throat, twisting until it collapsed into a writhing mass before dissolving into the abyss.
Nearby, a Terra warrior roared, his voice like thunder in the suffocating silence. His fists, hard as stone, slammed into the ground, sending jagged spikes of rock erupting upward. Zealots shrieked as the earth impaled them, their shadowy forms writhing before dissipating. One managed to slip through his defenses, materializing behind him and raking its claws across his back. He staggered, blood dripping onto the foreign soil. With a grunt of pain, he spun and grabbed the creature by the skull, squeezing until its form shattered like fragile glass.
The Ember commander was a raging inferno. His entire body pulsed with heat, flames trailing his every movement. He caught a Zealot mid-lunge, his fingers digging into its chest before he incinerated it from the inside out. The black fire that clung to the Zealots tried to burn him in return, but he roared in defiance, his own flames flaring brighter, overpowering the cursed embers. He kicked another Zealot away, sending it crashing into a jagged rock formation that hadn’t been there moments ago. But for every Zealot he destroyed, more replaced them, their numbers seemingly infinite.
A Ripple sorcerer fought with a different rhythm, his power flowing like water. He moved with ghostly grace, summoning spears of ice that impaled the Zealots before shattering into shards that skewered the ones behind them. He spun, his staff sweeping in an arc, summoning a wave of freezing mist that crystallized several enemies in place. With a flick of his wrist, the ice cracked, and the Zealots shattered into pieces. But the mist that had always been his greatest weapon betrayed him here. The Zealots moved within it, using its obscurity to ambush him from all angles.
Then, the tide began to turn.
A Zephyr assassin, too slow to retreat, screamed as shadowy hands erupted from the ground, dragging him waist-deep into the abyss. He slashed wildly, but the claws only multiplied, pulling him further down. His final cry was cut short as his head vanished beneath the blackened earth.
A Terra warrior bellowed as multiple Zealots swarmed him at once, their claws tearing into his rocky flesh. He staggered, his limbs heavy as the weight of the upside-down world pressed down upon him. He drove a fist into the ground, trying to summon another defensive wall, but his strength was failing. One Zealot leaped onto his shoulders, wrapping tendrils around his throat. With a gurgled snarl, he managed to crush one last Zealot’s skull before the rest consumed him in a writhing mass of darkness.
The Ember commander’s flames flickered. His power, once so absolute, wavered as the unnatural air of this world smothered his fire. The black flames of the Zealots burned hotter, licking at his skin. He grit his teeth, refusing to falter. But his movements slowed. A Zealot materialized behind him, its talons raking deep into his side. Another followed, and another, until he was surrounded, his fire struggling against the void.
The Ripple sorcerer gasped as shadowy tendrils coiled around his arms, draining the warmth from his body. His breath came in ragged gasps, frost forming on his skin. He tried to summon one last spell, but his limbs were too heavy. The Zealots did not kill him immediately. They relished in their victory, dragging him down inch by inch, savoring his struggle.
The Zealots were no longer simply defending their realm. They were devouring the intruders.
The battlefield that had once been filled with defiant warriors was now a scene of desperation. The elite guards, so powerful in their own world, were being consumed by the abyss, their strength fading against the relentless tide of shadows.
For the first time since stepping into the upside-down world, true fear gripped them.
And yet, even as they fell, even as their bodies were torn apart or pulled into the depths of an endless void, their resolve did not waver. They had chosen this path, not for victory, but to take the battle to the enemy—to carve their names into the dark, even if no one would remember them.
On the outside, the four Apeling leaders quickly noticed the sudden disappearance of several of their troops. Surprise flickered in their eyes, but it did not last long—Ikem had already warned them that one of the best ways to handle enemies like these was to take the fight directly to their domain and eliminate them swiftly.
However, Ikem had shared this knowledge only as a tactical insight, not as a strategy meant to be carried out. There were grave risks in taking such an approach. Entering the other world was not a guaranteed return trip. Some might never find their way back. Worse still, stepping into that cursed plane meant exposing oneself to the unknown horrors lurking beyond the Zealots—beings who would not hesitate to devour intruders.
