Chapter 180: The Depowered God

The air inside the antechamber felt entirely different from their last encounter. The crushing, localized gravity that had previously flattened furniture into splinters was absent.

The oppressive domain that made simply breathing a chore had evaporated, leaving behind only the standard, heavy atmosphere of a palace hall.

Silas had lost his limitless power supply. The Tier Three Grandmaster was cut off from the corrupted earth mana, effectively reducing his terrifying output to that of a mortal martial artist.

But a seasoned killer stripped of his advantages was still a seasoned killer.

Silas did not wait for the strike team to surround him. He blurred forward, moving with a refined, gliding footwork that defied natural momentum. He closed the sixty-foot gap between them in a heartbeat, targeting the most immediate physical threat.

Leon braced himself, his kinetic energy wrapping tightly around his muscles. He swung his heavy weapon in a brutal, sweeping arc, aiming to cleave the man in half.

The Cleaner ducked beneath the massive blade with millimeter precision. He didn’t rely on a magical shield this time. Instead, Silas utilized raw, polished martial arts. He pivoted on his heel, driving a precise, open-handed palm strike directly into the center of Leon’s chest.

The impact lacked the apocalyptic force of his earlier attacks, but it was still incredibly potent.

Leon felt the air rush from his lungs. The strike bypassed his outer kinetic armor, sending a concentrated shockwave rattling against his ribs. He grunted, sliding backward across the polished marble floor, his boots leaving long, dark scuff marks.

"Do not mistake a lack of parlor tricks for weakness," Silas mocked, pressing his advantage.

Before the assassin could chain another combination, Seraphina intervened. The silver-haired warlord lunged from the flank, her broadsword trailing a blinding ribbon of volcanic fire. She unleashed a flurry of rapid, devastating slashes that forced the Cleaner to aggressively retreat.

Silas weaved through the flaming arcs, his white suit scorching at the edges. He couldn’t simply deflect the Tier One flames anymore. He had to physically evade them, and the effort was clearly straining his reserves.

"Flank him!" Leon roared, recovering his breath and charging back into the fray.

The strike team operated with flawless, lethal synchronization. Beatrice and Elara took opposite sides of the massive antechamber.

The Ice Queen raised her hands, sending a dense, sweeping wave of freezing mist across the marble floor. The sudden drop in temperature coated the polished stone in a treacherous sheet of solid ice, severely limiting the assassin’s mobility.

Silas slipped slightly, his flawless footwork betraying him for a fraction of a second.

Elara capitalized instantly. The crimson-haired cook hurled a volley of concentrated, blistering fireballs. The projectiles detonated against the marble columns near the Cleaner, showering the area in burning shrapnel.

Silas managed to raise a weak, flickering barrier of spatial gravity to deflect the worst of the explosions, but the effort cost him precious time.

Isolde Vane darted through the smoke, her green tabard swishing elegantly. The Emerald Knight moved like a phantom, her glowing rapier thrusting forward in a blinding, piercing strike aimed directly at the assassin’s throat.

Silas parried the thin blade with his bare, gloved hand, twisting his wrist to redirect the momentum. He attempted to disarm the rival knight, but Leon was already there.

Leon did not swing his heavy weapon. He dropped the steel blade entirely, letting it clatter loudly against the ice-covered floor. He needed raw, unpredictable speed.

He lunged forward, grabbing Silas by the lapels of his ruined white suit.

The Cleaner’s pale eyes widened in genuine shock as the towering brute closed the distance. Silas attempted to channel a burst of gravity magic directly into Leon’s forearms to shatter the bone, but his internal core sputtered, starved of the ambient energy it desperately needed.

Leon channeled his own kinetic mass, driving a devastating, brutal headbutt directly into the center of Silas’s face.

The sickening crunch of breaking cartilage echoed through the antechamber. The aristocratic assassin staggered backward, blood pouring freely from his ruined nose. His flawless composure completely shattered, replaced by a frantic, desperate realization that he was losing.

"You filthy, feral animal!" Silas shrieked, wiping the crimson stain from his chin.

He reached into his jacket, pulling out a pair of curved, wicked-looking trench knives. The blades were etched with glowing purple runes, dripping with a highly concentrated neurotoxin. If his magic could not save him, he would rely on the tools of a common butcher.

Leon cracked his knuckles, a grim, predatory smile spreading across his striking features.

"I prefer this," Leon murmured, his voice rumbling with dark satisfaction. "No domains. No collapsing ceilings. Just flesh and bone."

The Cleaner roared, abandoning his elegant martial arts for a desperate, frenzied assault. He charged, swinging the poisoned knives with terrifying, erratic speed.

Leon bobbed and weaved, relying on his monstrous Agility. He deflected a lethal slash with his forearm, his Aura Hardening protecting his skin from the toxic edge. He stepped inside the assassin’s guard, driving a heavy knee into Silas’s stomach.

As the Cleaner doubled over, Valeriana struck from the shadows.

The beautiful spy had remained hidden during the chaotic opening exchange, waiting for the perfect opening. She hurled three throwing knives with pinpoint accuracy. The small blades buried themselves deeply into the back of Silas’s knees, severing the tendons with clinical precision.

The Tier Three Grandmaster screamed in agony, his legs violently buckling under his own weight. He collapsed onto the icy marble floor, completely immobilized.

Seraphina walked calmly forward, her crimson aura bathing the room in a fiery glow. She raised her heavy broadsword, pointing the heated tip directly at the fallen assassin’s throat.

"The Syndicate is finished in this city," Seraphina declared, her voice carrying the absolute finality of a judge. "Where is the High Priestess?"

Silas laughed, a wet, bubbling sound that splattered blood onto his white collar.

"You think you won?" the Cleaner coughed, his pale eyes burning with a twisted, fanatical loyalty. "Morgana does not need me anymore. The ritual is complete. The Emperor’s blood has been fully catalyzed."

The assassin grinned, revealing teeth stained with his own blood. "The doors behind me do not lead to a throne room. They lead to an abattoir. You are walking straight into the jaws of a god."

Before anyone could react, Silas violently twisted his own neck, snapping his cervical spine with a sharp, horrific crack. His lifeless body slumped against the icy floor, choosing suicide over giving them any further tactical intelligence.

The antechamber fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

Leon retrieved his heavy steel weapon, wiping a stray drop of sweat from his brow. The final obstacle was dead, but the warning lingered in the cold air.

The High Priestess had completed her dark work, and whatever was waiting for them on the other side of the grand doors was far worse than a gravity-wielding assassin.