Rising god-Chapter 88: Darkan vs Silver VI

The battlefield commanded by Tasha was a maelstrom of chaos and triumph. It was the only front where the Darkan forces held a consistent advantage since the conflict’s inception.

This sprawling arena was the largest of the war’s fronts, teeming with elite warriors from both the Darkan and Silver factions. The air crackled with the energy of clashing powers of the ground forces with the relentless barrage of fire and wind, and above, the sky churned with ominous clouds, their dark masses illuminated by flashes of searing light and the occasional roar of draconic flame.

Tasha stood at the heart of the battlefield, her eyes blazing with determination. Her lithe form gleamed under the flickering light of the storm above. Beside her stood the head of the Red Fang, a grizzled warrior in the seventh star, his weathered face etched with the scars of countless battles.

His presence exuded authority, and his crimson cloak billowed in the wind as he turned to Tasha, his brow furrowed. "Young lady, what are you implying?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that carried over the battlefield.

Tasha’s gaze was unwavering as she outlined her strategy. "Dragons shoot fire into the clouds to charge them with energy. Half the Red Fang should fire disrupting arrows to destabilize the Silver defenses, while the rest direct the lightning strikes." Her voice was steady, her words precise as she drew on tactics previously used against the outliers and the blood deplorables. "The lightning from the clouds will amplify our power, and the arrows will break their control."

The Red Fang commander mulled over her words, his eyes narrowing as he considered the plan. After a moment, he nodded. "FORMATION!" he roared, his voice echoing like thunder across the battlefield.

The Darkan forces snapped into action with disciplined precision. Archers raised their bows, their arrows tipped with enchantments that shimmered with a faint, malevolent glow. Above, dragons soared, their massive forms weaving through the storm clouds as they unleashed torrents of fire into the heavens. The flames mingled with the clouds, charging them with volatile energy that crackled with latent power.

The Silver forces were caught off guard by the unconventional tactic but still scrambled to reinforce their defenses. Their commanders barked orders, and shimmering barriers of divine energy sprang up, pulsating with silvery light. But as the Darkan arrows struck, the enchantments woven into their tips unraveled the Silver barriers, causing them to flicker and falter. Soldiers plummeted from the sky, their wyverns already outmatched by the Darkan dragons, spiraling out of control, further adding to their damage. The Silvers struggled to maintain their grip on the battlefield, their wyverns bucking against the forced control imposed by their riders.

The Silver commanders, recognizing the futility of maintaining their failing barriers, ordered a retreat to dodge the onslaught. For a moment, the rain of arrows ceased, and a tense silence fell over the battlefield. The Silver commander opened his mouth to rally his troops. "Atta—"

Crackle... BOOOM!

A bolt of lightning, summoned from the charged clouds above, struck the commander with devastating force. His body was engulfed in a blinding flash, charred beyond recognition as he collapsed lifelessly to the ground. The Red Fang commander lowered his hand, a grim smile playing on his lips.

"Attack," he commanded, his voice cold and resolute. ’Not bad,’ He commended Tasha’s plan.

The Silver forces reeled from the sudden loss of their commander, their morale shaken. Yet, they were not without leadership. Another commander stepped forward, rallying the troops with a shout.

But the Darkans seized the moment, unleashing a barrage of fire and lightning that tore through the Silver ranks. The battlefield became a crucible of destruction, the air thick with the acrid scent of burning flesh and ozone.

"Shit, they’ve called the Ragnars!" a Silver soldier shouted, his voice tinged with panic. The name sent a ripple of fear through the Silver ranks.

The Ragnar’s, the family who served the god of lightning, Velthar. They were also a duchy in the Vodal kingdom.

Their betrayal was a bitter blow, and the Silvers cursed their misfortune as lightning continued to rain down, each strike claiming lives with merciless precision.

"Release your divine power!" the new Silver commander bellowed from the rear. The soldiers obeyed, channeling their divine energy into a collective surge that pulsed through the battlefield.

Though not as potent as the powerhouses’ abilities, the combined might of the Silver soldiers was formidable, capable of large-scale devastation. But the Darkans were prepared. They ceased their lightning assault and shifted to fire, their dragons and Red Fang warriors unleashing torrents of flame that scorched the earth below.

The Red Fang spread out to the battlefield’s edges, their movements synchronized as they wove a complex formation. Red flames erupted from their ranks, coalescing into a massive, glowing structure, a red prison that enveloped both the Darkan and Silver forces.

The Silvers, trapped within, cursed their fate as their divine power flickered against the oppressive heat of the prison. But then, something else happened. Their divine energy roared to life, amplified by an unseen force.

The Silvers exchanged glances, realization dawning. "An apostle," one whispered. "This is the power of an apostle." freeweɓnovel-cøm

Both sides, sensing the shift, screamed in unison,

"Attack!" The battlefield erupted into chaos once more. Within the red prison, every flame unleashed by the Darkans spread uncontrollably, transforming the enclosed space into a blazing inferno.

The dragons, now fully morphed, spat fire with relentless fury, their roars shaking the ground. The Silvers, bolstered by their apostle’s power, countered with divine techniques, their attacks cutting through the flames with bursts of radiant energy.

Yet, despite their efforts, the scales of battle remained balanced. The Darkans had suffered heavy losses earlier, but their ferocity and the prison’s amplifying effect kept them in the fight.

The air grew heavy with the stench of blood, fire, and ash, the wind only serving to spread the reek further. The Darkans reveled in the carnage, their voices rising in triumphant cries.

"Hahaha, kill them!" one shouted.

"They dared to attack us!" another roared.

But their triumph was short-lived.

SHAAAAAAAAAAA...

A divine judgment of wind, a concentrated tornado of unimaginable power, descended from the heavens. It shattered the red prison with a deafening crack, dispersing the accumulated flames in an instant.

The tornado tore through the Darkan ranks, leaving a trail of devastation. Bodies fell, lifeless, in waves. The survivors looked to the source, their eyes widening in horror. The Darkan pillars, their mightiest warriors, lay battered and broken. One was already dead, his massive form crumpled on the ground.

Tasha’s heart clenched as she saw her father, the Darkan head, among the wounded. Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced them back, her resolve hardening. The divine judgment of wind continued its relentless assault; each strike a lullaby of death for the Darkans and a hymn of salvation for the Silvers. Screams of agony filled the air, a stark contrast to the triumphant roars that had echoed moments before.

...

Across the trench valley, another battle unfolded with equal intensity. Baines, a formidable Darkan warrior, had dispatched two Silver commanders with his decaying touch, their bodies crumbling under his power.

Now, he turned his attention to the ground forces, his eyes scanning the sky for signs of the larger conflict. The arrival of the Silver Apostle changed everything. Grey Silver, marked by a pulsating sigil on his forehead, descended onto the battlefield like a god of wrath.

"I’LL KILL YOU, DIE!" Grey roared, his voice a primal scream as he swung his blade wildly. Dragons and allies alike fell before him, his attacks indiscriminate in their fury. He could not return to his family with news of defeat. The wind around him churned, forming a deadly aura that slaughtered without mercy.

Grey had invoked the ultimate skill of an apostle: God’s Descent.

A halo of whipping wind crowned his head, and massive wings of air sprouted from his back. The air itself seemed to shift, charged with a large divine presence.

Aelora, the wind god, had descended.

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