FREE USE in Primitive World - Chapter 338: Storm Unleashed

Chapter 338: Chapter 338: Storm Unleashed

But such catastrophic power came with a terrible, absolute cost.

A few moments later, the massive tornado began to destabilize. The howling wind slowed, and the blinding lightning flickered. High Shaman Zephyra was trembling violently atop the watchtower, her skin pale as death, blood leaking heavily from her nose, eyes, and ears. The glowing tattoos on her arms were literally burning her skin, sizzling as the raw essence overloaded her mortal body. The sheer spiritual burden of commanding an atmospheric spell was destroying her body from the inside out.

She tried to hold on with all her might, her knuckles white as bone around her staff, her chanting growing ragged and weak.

But ultimately she couldn’t maintain it. The physical vessel of her body was breaking.

The remaining Layer 3 beasts, realizing the trap was failing, roared and began to push forward, ignoring the terrifying winds.

Zephyra knew she was failing. She knew her body was shattering.

With a final, desperate scream of pure willpower, Zephyra abandoned the structured containment of the tornado. Instead of holding the tornado, she pushed every single remaining drop of her gathered energy in a single, indiscriminate burst of chain lightning.

She had fully unleashed the storm.

The tornado exploded outward. The sky cracked open. Hundreds of blinding, jagged bolts of electricity rained down simultaneously across the entire clearing. The flash was so bright it temporarily blinded everyone on the walls. The thunderclap was a physical blow that knocked beasts and men alike to the ground.

Sol threw himself to the mud, covering his head as the static discharge cooked the air above him.

The indiscriminate lightning struck the horde. Thousands of lesser beasts were instantly vaporized, leaving nothing but black scorch marks on the earth. The leading Lord Blood beast took a direct hit from a massive, concentrated bolt, its body pulverizing instantly as its bones exploded into shrapnel.

Two more of the suspected Layer 3 beasts were caught in the blast radius, their massive bodies frying to a crisp, collapsing heavily into the steaming mud.

And then, absolute silence fell over the walls.

The mystical pressure vanished. The storm clouds above slowly began to dissipate, returning to a normal, beautiful and absolutely peaceful sky after a rainstorm, as if everything before was just a dream.

When Sol’s vision finally cleared, blinking through the purple spots dancing in his eyes, all he could see was the devastation and only devastation.

The whole clearing was a scorched, smoking crater. The majority of the horde had been instantly vaporized or burned to ash. And lying amidst the smoking ruin were the charred, massive corpses of three more of the suspected Layer 3 behemoths, their bodies shattered by the sheer power of the High Shaman’s final strike.

On the watchtower, High Shaman Zephyra’s staff slipped from her fingers. The glow faded from her tattoos. Her eyes rolled shut, and she collapsed backward like a puppet with its strings cut.

Everyone on the wall seemed to have anticipated this exact, tragic outcome. Before her fragile body could even hit the petrified wood of the platform, three younger shamans… acolytes who had been standing by in the shadows… hurried forward.

They caught her limp form gently, their faces streaked with tears but set with grim resolve. Without a word, they lifted the High Shaman and hurried her away, descending rapidly into the inner sanctum to desperately try and stabilize whatever fragments of her soul and body remained.

Sol slowly pushed himself up from the steaming mud. The air smelled of ozone, cooked meat, and burnt earth.

The High Shaman had just bought them a miracle. She had decimated the horde and killed eight Layer 3 commanders.

But as Sol gripped the hilt of his blade, staring into the swirling smoke, he heard a low, rumbling growl that shook the earth once again.

Six massive shadows were still moving in the dust. The surviving Layer 3 beasts, enraged by the slaughter of their kin, let out a unified, deafening roar.

The miracle was over. The final battle for survival has just begun.

…

The smoking, cratered ruin of the battlefield was a testament to the absolute, god-like fury of High Shaman Zephyra. The air was thick with the suffocating stench of cooked meat, ozone, and vaporized blood. The magical tempest had bought the Veynar tribe a miracle, annihilating the bulk of the horde and erasing eight of the towering Layer 3 commanders from existence.

But miracles in the Great Orrath were fleeting, fragile things.

Through the swirling, toxic smoke, six massive silhouettes shifted. The surviving Layer 3 behemoths were much stronger and had endured the catastrophic lightning. Their armored hides were charred, their flesh smoking, and their auras flickering, but they were still alive.

And they were absolutely, overwhelmingly enraged.

The six titans raised their colossal heads to the bruised heavens and let out a unified, deafening roar.

It wasn’t just any sound, it was a physical shockwave of pure, unadulterated command. It ripped through the dissipating smoke, carrying a terrifying, indiscriminate order to the tens of thousands of surviving beasts that had been cowering in terror. The command was simple: Kill everything.

The momentary lull in the battle shattered instantly. The fear that had paralyzed the lesser beasts was completely overridden by the bloodthirsty compulsion of their Sovereigns. The horde surged forward once again, completely abandoning whatever tactical formations the warlords had previously orchestrated. It was a blind, frantic, suicidal rush of claws, fangs, and chaotic essence crashing against the petrified walls of the Veynar settlement.

The impact was devastating.

The outer defenses, already heavily compromised by the previous assaults, began to groan and snap. The massive timber gates shuddered violently under the renewed barrage of Omen Blood rams. Huge, splintering cracks spider-webbed across the petrified wood.

“The eastern wall is buckling!” a Vanguard captain screamed, his voice cracking with terror as a massive, fifty-foot section of the timber palisade suddenly gave way with a sickening CRACK.

A breach had formed in the walls.