Chapter 127: The Perfect Illusion
Chapter 127: Chapter 127: The Perfect Illusion
Chapter 127: The Perfect Illusion
The freezing Wildlands wind howled across the crumpled hood of the Iron Leviathan.
Draven Mordis and Morvath the Hollow stood completely frozen in a deadly stalemate. Draven gripped the Cultist’s wrist with an iron hold. Morvath pushed back, his serrated black blade hovering inches away from Draven’s neck.
Toxic Miasma dripped from the steel. Black blood dripped from Morvath’s mouth.
The Level 100 Executioner was breathing heavily. His pale face twisted in a mixture of absolute fury and genuine confusion. He was a master of the Void. He had deployed the Embryo of the Crimson Void to strip away the laws of reality.
Yet, a teenage Vanguard Captain was overpowering him with nothing but raw, terrifying biology.
’This physical density is impossible,’ Morvath thought. ’His muscles feel like compressed star-metal.’
Draven’s own body was screaming.
He was overclocking his internal vectors to a suicidal degree. His heart was pumping blood so fast it sounded like a jet engine in his ears. His A-Rank High-Speed Regeneration was working flawlessly, instantly repairing the micro-tears in his muscle fibers the moment they ripped apart.
Draven stared into the pitch-black pits of Morvath’s eyes.
He knew he could not maintain this physical output forever. The Miasma Gorge was waiting below. The civilian carriages were safely decoupled and miles away. The stage was perfectly set.
Draven raised his free left hand. He held it right next to Morvath’s ear.
He pressed his thumb and middle finger together.
SNAP.
The sharp sound echoed across the empty, toxic canyon.
For a single, immeasurable fraction of a nanosecond, reality seemed to stutter. The heavy gray fog froze in the air. The sparks from the train tracks paused mid-flight.
The Executioner blinked. His posture relaxed for a microscopic millimeter.
Draven did not hesitate.
He used a flawless internal vector to instantly shift his entire center of gravity. He dropped his shoulder, pivoted his hips, and violently threw Morvath backward.
WHOOSH.
Morvath was hurled through the air like a ragdoll. He crashed heavily onto the ruined metal roof of the VIP carriage. He slid backward, stopping inches away from the train’s exposed, sparking mana-fusion core.
The Cultist slowly pushed himself up to his knees. The red and black dome of his Absolute Dead Zone pulsed dangerously around them.
"You fight like a cornered beast, Mordis," Morvath stated. His hollow voice lacked the intense killing intent it held a moment ago.
"But a beast cannot break the Eclipse. The Eclipse will devour the whole World."
Morvath raised his hands. He began to compress the massive fifty-meter Embryo dome directly into the palm of his hands. He was preparing to unleash a singular, hyper-condensed blast of pure erasure.
Draven stood near the edge of the shattered bridge.
He looked at the Cultist. He looked at the exposed fusion core.
Draven channeled every single ounce of kinetic energy his body possessed. He applied internal vectors to his legs, his spine, and his right arm. He locked all the momentum into a single, forward-facing direction. His right arm bulged, the skin turning slightly red from the immense internal pressure.
Draven smiled.
It was a cold, genuine, chilling smile. It was the smile of a mastermind who had already won the war before the first battle had even finished.
Draven blurred out of existence.
With 920 Agility, he crossed the distance in a millisecond. He did not aim for Morvath.
Draven drove his right fist straight down into the durasteel bridge supports and the exposed mana-fusion core simultaneously.
BOOM!
The kinetic explosion was apocalyptic.
The sheer physical shockwave shattered the sound barrier. The massive burst of raw force completely disrupted the atmospheric pressure. The red and black energy of the Embryo of the Crimson Void shattered like brittle glass, unable to withstand the sheer density of the physical impact.
A blinding pillar of blue fire erupted from the ruptured fusion core.
The shockwave hit Morvath point-blank. The Cultist was violently thrown backward through the air, shielded at the last possible second by a thin layer of Miasma. He was hurled completely off the bridge, landing heavily on the solid rock of the cliffside.
The bridge supports groaned.
SCREEEEECH.
Thick steel cables snapped like twigs. The reinforced concrete pillars crumbled into dust.
The Iron Leviathan’s VIP lounge lost its foundation.
The colossal metal box, weighing hundreds of tons, slowly tipped forward. The sealed blast doors remained locked tight. Inside that heavily armored carriage sat Strike Team Zero.
They were the absolute top tier students of the Vanguard Academy. They were the most talented generation of Hunters ever born. They were the future best of humanity.
And they were falling.
Draven stood on the hood of the carriage as it plunged downward. The flames of the explosion licked at his black coat.
Gravity took absolute control.
The heavy metal carriage plummeted into the bottomless Miasma Gorge. It vanished into the thick, swirling gray toxic fog. No screams could be heard from inside the soundproof, shielded glass. There was only the rushing wind and the heavy silence of the abyss.
In seconds, the carriage was completely swallowed by the darkness.
---
Up on the cliff edge, Morvath the Hollow stood up.
His crimson robes were torn. Black blood stained his chin. He walked to the edge of the jagged, broken tracks. He looked down into the swirling gray Miasma.
He extended his senses. He searched for a mana signature. He searched for a heartbeat.
There was absolutely nothing.
The Vanguard Captain was gone. The Strike Team Zero was gone. The Dead Zone had stripped them of their magic, and the fall had claimed their lives.
Morvath stood in silence for a long moment. He raised his serrated black blade.
He channeled his dark magic. A beam of concentrated Miasma shot from the tip of his sword, carving deep, burning trenches into the remaining durasteel plating of the bridge.
The metal hissed and melted.
Morvath carved a massive, ten-foot-wide symbol of a black sun eclipsing a crimson moon. The official crest of the Church of the Eternal Eclipse.
Below the symbol, he burned a single, chilling message into the metal.
’THE LIGHT FALLS. THE ECLIPSE IS ETERNAL.’
Morvath looked at his handiwork. He turned his back to the bottomless gorge. The Miasma fog swirled around him, wrapping him in shadows.
’Beautiful as always!’
He took one step forward and completely vanished into the wind.
The Wildlands grew silent once more. The bridge was broken. The train was gone.
The greatest prodigies of Bastion Seven were dead.