SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS-Chapter 975: Clash of Titans

The sea had never borne witness to such fury.

The Forbidden Abyss loomed behind the spiraling trails of carnage, its eerie glow pulsing like a silent judge to the chaos around it. Kent had not yet entered—but the tides of fate had already begun to shift.

All around, the battlefield boiled with life and death. Coral reefs that once shimmered with peace now crumbled under magical barrages. The waters themselves turned red, churned by the blood of warriors and the wrath of magic. Screams of beasts, battle chants of soldiers, and the rumble of arcane energy collided like thunderstorms beneath the sea.

The full-scale war had erupted.

On the eastern flank, the Naga beast cavalry thundered through the trenches, riding tide-lions with manes of lightning. The riders bore long tridents charged with oceanic spirit energy, piercing through shark warriors and coral sentries alike. Each charge they made sent spiraling whirlpools into the enemy’s ranks.

To the west, the Abyssal Shark Clan unleashed their horror beasts—massive armored barracudas and spiritual eel serpents, each ridden by monks clad in sharkbone armor. The sky above the sea shimmered from spiritual collision, and the currents shifted wildly, turning the seabed into a fractured warplain.

Mana mines detonated across both sides—carefully planted runes that exploded on spiritual contact, turning dozens into crimson mist.

At the center of the battlefield, the war took on a different shape.

It became a war of legends.

The Naga Patriarch, draped in divine sea-robes, stood upon his floating chariot forged from the skull of a Leviathan. He spun his Trident of Storms, creating walls of spiraling current to protect his troops and launching vortexes at entire enemy battalions.

"Russ!" his voice crashed like thunder. "Show yourself if your blood still holds courage!"

And from the shadows of the rear abyss, emerged Lord Russ, the Abyssal Shark Clan’s leader—his aura dark and suffocating. Clad in armor made of deep sea obsidian and bone, he wielded dual sabers with the soul of abyssal serpents.

"You were always too loyal to your pride, Trident Wielder," Russ growled. "Let me carve your legacy with my blades."

They met in a clash that bent the sea.

Saber against trident. Abyssal darkness against divine lightning. Every blow they exchanged cracked the seabed. Schools of fish fled the area. Whales hundreds of miles away turned course.

Elsewhere, Khagara, the ancestor of the Coral Spirit Clan, began his assault. Surrounded by glowing spirit orbs, he chanted ancient coral curses, each orb housing a sacrificed soul. As he released them, the orbs screamed—literally—before detonating into clouds of corrosive spiritual poison.

Just then, the sea’s temperature dropped.

Princess Neela arrived forward.

Clad in her silver-blue battle armor, her eyes calm as glaciers, she gripped her icy spear, and her aura swept over the battlefield like winter wind. Frost touched coral. Mist hardened into crystal. Enemies turned to ice statues mid-charge.

"You again," Khagara spat. "Still chasing your foolish ideals of honour?"

Neela narrowed her eyes. "And you still hiding behind cursed children?"

With a twirl of her spear, she invoked the Ice Blooming Art. The sea responded, showering the battlefield with lotus-shaped frost petals that sliced through enemies with the grace of art and the cruelty of war.

Their battle ignited.

Khagara summoned molten coral golems; Neela countered with a rain of frost-fanged serpents. The elements danced and clashed.

In the chaos, the Naga warriors pressed forward, but the Thousand Claw Crescent Formation of the enemy tightened like a vice. From the rear, cursed monks arrived, forming a chanting circle, calling upon abyssal chains—ethereal soul-binders meant to drag commanders into eternal sleep.

One chain struck a Naga general through the heart.

Another flew straight toward Neela—until a flash of gold intervened.

Jojo, the dagger-tailed serpent, emerged from Kent’s divine storage ring. With a furious hiss, it bit the chain, absorbing the spiritual venom and shattering the link in a pulse of white light.

From deep behind enemy lines, a flare pulsed from Kent’s bow, which Neela had briefly held earlier. It responded as though aware. The quiver at Neela’s side pulsed in resonance.

Then she raised her hands high.

"Frozen Monarch’s Domain!"

A massive pillar of ice surged from the seabed, spinning like a cyclone, consuming everything in its path. Enemy beasts roared before freezing mid-scream. Shark riders were encased in crystal. Even Khagara had to retreat, clutching his burned arm.

Neela stood tall.

But the enemy did not relent.

Khagara roared, "Bring down the guardians!"

From the rear, two massive abyssal beasts emerged—each the size of a fortress. One was a crab-like monster with obsidian shell plates, the other a spectral-jellyfish that devoured mana.

The battlefield shook.

Naga priests called upon ancestral-spirits to resist, and the Nine-Heaven Formation began to flicker, dangerously strained.

Then came a burst of light.

From the Naga camp, a flare soared into the sky. A signal.

The elite warriors were ready.

An arrowhead formation of twelve was now moving rapidly to create a corridor for Kent toward the Forbidden Abyss.

Neela, still panting, saw it and clenched her spear. "I’ll lead the point," she vowed.

She leapt forward, joining the arrowhead formation at its edge, covering their-flank with waves of ice magic.

With the way momentarily open, and chaos engulfing the battlefield, the time had come.

The battle-raged like a storm caught in a cauldron.

The elite warriors of the Naga clan surged forward in their sacred Arrowhead Formation, their spirits igniting like stars beneath the depths. Twelve chosen captains, blessed with the sea’s might, led the charge, each bearing ancestral weapons and armor that gleamed with oceanic spirit light.

Their target: the Golden Shield Formation—an unbreakable wall of fused mana conjured by the combined might of the Coral Spirit Clan and the Abyssal Shark Clan’s finest monks.

A death trap, meant to halt all momentum.

But the Arrowhead Formation did not slow. They burned with purpose—for Kent, for the legacy, for the sea.

And behind them flew the dragon.

Kent stood atop his summoned scaled beast, golden armor reflecting the flickers of magic across the battlefield. His divine bow, now alive with celestial pulses, gleamed ominously in his hand.

"Open the path!" Kent roared.