Asael and his group had been waiting.
Waiting for the right moment.
Movok was a monster, but even monsters had limits.
Their plan had been simple—let him wear himself down, then strike when his strength faltered.
But now—
That plan lay in ruins.
Steven clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.
His voice was tight, urgent. "We need to join the battle. Now."
The others nodded, their gazes locked on the battlefield.
Everything had changed.
Movok stood amidst a sea of corpses, a living nightmare against the backdrop of carnage.
Blood seeped into the dirt, forming pools beneath twisted, broken bodies.
The Goblin Chief lay lifeless, his severed head discarded like a useless trinket.
The remaining goblins and gnolls had lost all will to fight.
They turned and ran, fleeing in sheer terror, their howls of fear echoing through the wasteland of death.
If they hesitated any longer, there wouldn’t be anyone left to fight.
Movok''s grip tightened around his greatsword. His golden eyes swept over the battlefield, watching the weak scatter before him.
A flicker of disgust crossed his face.
"Pathetic."
The goblins and gnolls had abandoned the fight, leaving only the strongest behind.
The ogres and barbarians still stood, weapons clutched in their trembling hands.
But they were no longer the warriors who had charged into battle with reckless confidence.
They had seen what he was capable of.
Movok tilted his head, his voice dripping with amusement. "Scared already?"
Then, he moved.
Faster than a beast unleashed.
He lunged forward, greatsword poised to cut them down—
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Movok twisted his head just in time to see an arrow slicing toward him.
He jerked to the side, the projectile missing his face by inches before embedding itself into the ground with a dull thud.
He barely spared it a glance.
Then, the earth beneath him shifted.
Thick, gnarled vines erupted from the soil, writhing like living chains, coiling around his legs with crushing force.
He let out a low growl, eyes narrowing. "Tch—"
Muscles tensed. Power surged through his limbs.
With sheer brute strength, he tore through the vines, snapping them like brittle twigs.
But a second was all they needed.
"Now!" A voice rang out.
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Giren charged, his massive axe gleaming, the blade pulsing with raw magical energy from Anne’s enchantment.
With a roar, he swung with every ounce of strength he had.
The axe came down, a strike meant to cleave through bone and flesh alike.
Metal met metal in a violent clash.
Movok blocked it.
With one hand.
His greatsword caught the axe mid-air, stopping it as if Giren had swung a child’s toy.
A smirk curled Movok’s lips. "Is that all your revenge amounts to, Giren?"
Giren’s eyes burned with fury, but before he could react—
A golden blur flashed at the edge of Movok’s vision.
Asael.
His sword gleamed in the dim battlefield light, his golden eyes filled with raw determination and fury.
Movok’s instincts screamed.
He released Giren, whirling just in time to see Asael’s blade descending.
A split second decision—
Movok’s foot shot out, slamming into Asael’s ribs with the force of a battering ram.
A sickening crack split the air.
Asael’s body hurtled backward, skidding across the bloodstained ground, his sword slipping from his grasp.
But before Movok could press the advantage—
Greg was already in the air.
A fierce battle cry tore from Greg’s throat as he dove from above, sword raised high, ready to drive it into Movok’s back.
Movok’s eyes flashed. He was faster.
He spun, his greatsword slicing through the air in a deadly arc.
Greg was dead if it hit him.
Then—
A spark ignited.
A sudden, powerful blast of energy slammed into Greg mid-air, knocking him off course.
The force sent him sprawling across the battlefield, barely avoiding Movok’s strike by a hair’s breadth.
Movok’s blade cut through nothing but air.
His head snapped toward the source of the interference.
Steven.
Electricity crackled in Steven’s outstretched hand, the remnants of his magic still flickering around his fingers.
He took a step forward, voice steady. "Let’s attack together."
Greg groaned, pushing himself up from the dirt.
He shot a glance at Steven before exhaling sharply. "Fine. Let’s finish this bastard."
The remaining warriors—humans and monsters alike—closed in, forming a circle around Movok, weapons poised, eyes burning with defiance.
For the first time in the battle, Movok paused.
He looked at them, then at his own bloodstained hands, red droplets pattering against the ruined earth beneath him.
A deep, throaty chuckle rumbled from his chest.
Then, he grinned, teeth gleaming like a wolf in the night.
"Now it’s finally getting interesting."
----
The battlefield reeked of blood and death.
Corpses littered the ground, their lifeless eyes staring at the storm-darkened sky.
The air was thick with the metallic scent of iron, the stench of charred flesh, and the agonized wails of the dying.
Movok stood alone.
Yet not a single warrior dared to rush him.
One misstep. One moment of hesitation.
That was all it took to die.
His scaled body was a fortress, absorbing blows that would have felled lesser creatures.
His greatsword cleaved through the air with terrifying speed, its reach turning the battlefield into a death trap.
And worst of all—
He was hunting them.
Like a beast culling the weak from a panicked herd.
One by one.
Slowly.
Ruthlessly.
A barbarian shifted his footing, his boot slipping on the blood-slick ground.
Movok’s golden eyes flashed, locking onto him like a predator sighting wounded prey.
The greatsword moved.
A glint of steel. A whisper of air.
A fountain of red.
The barbarian’s head soared through the battlefield, his face frozen in an expression of shock.
His body crumpled onto the pile of corpses beneath him, twitching once before falling still.
The warriors hesitated, their hands trembling on their weapons.
That hesitation was fatal.
An ogre flinched, his grip on his war hammer faltering for just a second.
Movok lunged.
His claws tore into the ogre’s chest with the sickening sound of flesh and ribs giving way.
Blood gushed between his fingers as he wrapped them around the creature’s still-beating heart.
The ogre let out a gurgled scream—
Then Movok ripped his heart free.
It pulsed in his grip for a brief moment before he let it drop into the mud.
The remaining ogres roared, their fear giving way to desperation.
One among them stepped forward—their chief.
A monster of a being, taller than the rest, his club like a tree trunk in his hands.
His bellow shook the battlefield.
"I won’t lose to you!"
He charged, the ground cracking beneath his massive strides.
Movok did not move.
Not until the last possible second.
Then, faster than the eye could follow, his sword lashed out.
A wet, sickening crack echoed across the battlefield.
The ogre’s legs shattered.
He crumpled forward, screaming, his club falling uselessly from his grip.
Movok towered over him, his shadow swallowing the broken warrior whole.
The ogre gasped, dragging himself backward, his fingers clawing at the blood-drenched earth.
Movok raised his greatsword, his voice calm, indifferent.
"You’re not even worth the effort."
The blade fell.
Bone split.
The ogre twitched once—then lay still, his blood pooling around his corpse.
---
Lily loosed an arrow, the string snapping against her fingertips.
The projectile sailed through the air, striking Movok’s shoulder—
And bounced off.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Anne’s voice trembled as she whispered incantations, her fingers tracing glowing sigils in the air.
Curses, debuffs, anything to weaken the monster before them.
Movok didn’t even glance her way.
He just kept walking.
Asael gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on his sword.
"We can’t just stand here!"
Light exploded around him as he charged, his golden blade aiming for Movok’s side.
He aimed for the injured spots, the wounds left behind by warriors who had already fallen.
His sword flashed down—
A massive hand shot out and caught his wrist mid-swing.
The pressure was unbearable.
Movok’s fingers crushed down, grinding bone against bone, the pain like molten iron stabbing through Asael’s arm.
He gasped, his vision swimming.
Movok leaned in, his voice a cold whisper.
"I expected more from you, ‘Hero.’"
The grip tightened, his bones groaning under the strain.
"Have you grown weaker?"
Then, with a flick of his wrist, Movok hurled Asael like a discarded doll.
His body crashed into the dirt, rolling over broken weapons and corpses.
His breath hitched, pain lancing through his ribs.
A thin trail of blood dripped from his lips.
Movok barely spared him a second glance.
Lightning cracked through the air.
A bolt of pure energy slammed into Movok’s chest, a direct hit.
The battlefield froze.
Smoke curled from the blackened scales where the spell had struck.
Steven stood, his staff still glowing, his face twisted with effort.
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
Movok exhaled, brushing dust from his armor like a man swatting away an insect.
Then he laughed.
A deep, rumbling sound that sent ice through the veins of those who heard it.
He turned, golden eyes locking onto Steven.
"You still haven’t learned, little human."
A smirk curled at the edges of his lips.
"Your thunder is useless."
Steven’s face drained of color.
His strongest attack.
Did nothing.
Giren’s axe trembled in his grip.
He had faced countless enemies.
He had stood against beasts, giants, horrors that haunted the night.
But this—
This was something else.
Movok did not bleed like other creatures.
He did not slow, no matter how many fell before him.
Every strike against him was meaningless.
Every counterattack was instant death.
Unstoppable.
Unkillable.
Cruel.
Merciless.
And worst of all—
He was still just playing around.