NOVPUB
Chapter 430: 430
The battlefield had become a slaughterhouse.
And for the first time that night, the werewolves—fierce warriors of the north—felt fear creep into their bones.
As the rain of blood and gore finally subsided, Amethyst slowly lowered the shimmering crystal shield.
The surviving werewolves, shaken and wounded, stepped forward—only to be met with a scene of utter devastation.
The once-pristine expanse of ice had become a charnel house, stained deep crimson with the remains of their comrades and enemies alike. Chunks of flesh and shattered bone were strewn across the battlefield, while a thick, dark mist, heavy with the stench of blood and decay, curled low over the frozen wasteland, obscuring the distant horizon.
"By the Moon..." a werewolf warrior whispered, his voice hoarse with shock.
The sight before them was unlike anything they had ever witnessed.
The Zealots—once a relentless force—were now nothing more than mangled corpses, their twisted, unnatural light extinguished. Their contorted remains lay scattered amidst the wreckage, remnants of their tragic, cursed existence. But what truly unsettled the werewolves was not the carnage itself, but the way it had happened—sudden, unnatural, and horrifying in its brutality.
Even hardened warriors, accustomed to war and bloodshed, felt a creeping unease settle in their chests. This was no mere battle.
This was annihilation.
A silence stretched over the battlefield, thick with grief and an unspoken fear of the magic they had just witnessed.
Then, Amethyst stepped forward, her expression grim.
"Tend to the wounded," she commanded, her voice firm despite the weight pressing against her chest. "We need to assess the situation—and determine our next move."
Elsewhere, unseen, their enemies watched.
The counterparts of the gods stood beyond mortal perception, grinning as their plan unfolded.
Earlier, Mahu’s counterpart had remarked that she had found a dragon that in theory, could be influenced by them.
Using their previous successes with the Zealots and Aska, they had devised their approach. Direct interference was impossible; they could not manifest their true forms in the physical world. Instead, their influence had to come through offerings, stolen power, or indirect blessings—as Aska had unknowingly accepted Jwa’s counterpart’s blessing, gradually becoming ensnared in their grasp.
And now, the dark blood mist was their instrument.
They watched with undisguised glee as the werewolves unknowingly breathed it in, careful not to trigger suspicion. The gods above would surely be watching, but as long as nothing seemed immediate or unnatural, their scheme would remain hidden.
Yet, there was one problem.
The Dragon Queen.
Amethyst, the one they had hoped to compromise, remained untouched. The dark mist swirled around her, unable to penetrate her being. Instead, it was repelled, pushed away by the sheer power of her bloodline.
The counterparts exchanged glances, their amusement dimming.
"If the mist won’t take hold of the dragon, then all our planning is for nothing."
Mahu’s counterpart let out a hiss of frustration, gesturing toward Amethyst, who was tending to a wounded werewolf, her brow furrowed in concern.
"What do we do about her?"
Jaw’s counterpart scowled, his voice a low growl. "She’s the linchpin. If we can’t control her, we can’t control the werewolves. And if we can’t control the werewolves, this whole debacle is a waste."
"But how?" Keles’s counterpart interjected, frustration creeping into her tone. "We’ve tried everything. The mist, the subtle influence... nothing works. She’s like a beacon of light in this darkness."
For a long moment, silence settled over them—until Ikenga’s counterpart, who had been silently observing, finally spoke.
"There is no need for frustration or anger," he said, his voice measured. "We should have expected this. Dragons possess an unusual lineage, perhaps no less than that of the gods themselves."
The others frowned but said nothing.
Crepuscular’s counterpart stared at Ikenga’s counterpart, his voice sharp with curiosity. "Do you have a plan?"
Ikenga’s counterpart sighed. Their actions today had opened his eyes to possibilities he had never considered before. But it was too late to apply this newfound knowledge—Ikem’s path to ascension was already set in stone.
For so long, he had coveted Ikem, scheming in vain for a way to claim him. Yet, until today, he had been stumped.
Now, however, a new path had revealed itself.
"She has a daughter, doesn’t she?" he asked aloud.
Mahu’s counterpart waved a hand, and the scenery shifted.
They now stood within Maul’s palace, their sight fixed on the balcony where the princess stood, gazing into the distance. Tears glistened on her cheeks—a daughter longing for her father.
Ikenga’s counterpart pointed at the girl. "The Dragon Queen may be difficult to influence, but she has a weakness. A few werewolves have already been planted. Gaining control over her will take time, and once that accursed rune pillar is activated, we will lose our view of the mortal world—only able to see through the eyes of our Zealots or within areas tainted by our influence."
Mahu’s counterpart brought the princess’s face closer into focus, her sorrow plain to see. "As it happens, the princess seeks closure... and a tale of adventure."
Jaw’s counterpart let out a gleeful chuckle.
"And what better companions than our newly planted Zealots?"
Crepuscular’s counterpart nodded slowly, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Brilliant planning. Especially considering we’re about to lose our direct line of sight. Who knows how long it will be before our Zealots manage to re-establish a clear connection? Until then, the princess will be... gently guided closer and closer to the fold."
"Until then," she purred, watching the new vision unfold, "let us savor the battles before the demigods fully ascend."
Down Under the Sea. The zealot forces led by Aska had been divided into two groups. Aska himself led the charge against Flowua and her forces of mermaids and Murlocs, while the other group, commanded by an equally formidable zealot, focused on battling the Tide Sharkmen.
Due to Aska’s overwhelming strength, his zealots were putting immense pressure on Flowua’s forces. Meanwhile, on Tide’s side, the battle was more evenly matched, with the Sharkmen even gaining a slight advantage over the zealots.
On Flowua’s side, the situation was dire. Aska was cutting through her forces with relentless efficiency. In desperation, the mermaids began to sing—a song Aska recognized immediately, one that sent a chill down his spine. His demon, which had been attacking fiercely, suddenly faltered, its posture shifting to one of hesitation, even fear, as if contemplating retreat. 𝓃𝓸𝓋𝓹𝓾𝓫.𝒸ℴ𝓶
This was no ordinary song. It was a sacred melody, a calling meant for the legendary creatures of the sea—the Kraken, the Leviathan, and other powerful beings lurking in the abyss. A gift left by the Sea God for his offspring, the song was to be used only when their very survival was at stake. However, summoning these creatures and controlling them were entirely different matters, which was why the song was rarely invoked.
For the zealots, the melody was mesmerizing. They ceased their attacks, their expressions vacant, as if lost in a trance. Aska, seeing the state of his warriors, grew increasingly alarmed. Just when it seemed that Flowua’s forces might turn the tide of battle, salvation arrived from an unexpected source.
Among the dragons, there was one who had made his home on the ocean floor—the blue dragon, Ceruleanor. Like other dragons, he was meant to assist the demigods allied with his side, but with two demigods requiring aid in separate battles, he could not be in two places at once.
The moment Ceruleanor heard the song, he knew its meaning. It was a call of distress, a signal that one side needed his intervention far more than the other. The decision was made for him.
Aska watched as the battle took a sudden, dramatic turn. The zealots remained frozen, ensnared by the song’s magic. Then, from the ocean’s depths, a blinding flash of lightning erupted, its brilliance branching out like the roots of a colossal tree. Bolts of electricity snaked across the battlefield, striking the entranced zealots, reducing them to nothing but ash.
From the darkness, Ceruleanor emerged, his majestic presence alone enough to silence the mermaids’ song. The tides of war had shifted once more.
The lightning that heralded Ceruleanor’s arrival hadn’t struck at random—it was a precise, calculated assault. Each tendril of light, emanating from the dragon’s powerful form, sought out and obliterated a specific zealot. One moment, they were entranced by the mermaids’ song; the next, they were nothing but dust, their weapons clattering uselessly to the seafloor. The sheer speed of the attack was breathtaking—brutal efficiency leaving no room for defense. Just moments ago, Aska’s forces had been pressing their advantage. Now, they were reeling, their ranks decimated in the blink of an eye.
But Ceruleanor didn’t stop there. He unleashed a torrent of pressurized water, a jet so powerful it carved a deep trench into the seabed, sweeping away any remaining zealots who had somehow survived the lightning. The force of the blast sent shockwaves rippling through the ocean, disorienting mermaids and Murlocs alike. The battlefield, once a chaotic melee, was now a scene of sudden, stark devastation. The water crackled with residual energy from the dragon’s attack, and strangely, even in the depths of the sea, the scent of ozone hung heavy in the currents.
