The Lightning Corps fought the sea monsters for an hour without being able to destroy them all. The water's surface now teemed with abnormally large aquatic creatures—sharks, crocodiles, hippos, and countless other ferocious species, all drawn to the battle. Their thick, impenetrable hides and extraordinary endurance made them relentless.
"These monsters are endless. They're deliberately draining our energy," Volthide observed.
"Their numbers are concentrated along the Citadel Monastery's walls. If the water breaches the city, they'll flood inside—our people will be in grave danger," a corps member warned.
"My concern exactly. If we exhaust ourselves here, we'll have no strength left when the demon clans arrive," Volthide replied.
"What do you propose?" another asked.
"I'll summon the Celestial Monastery's sacred beasts for aid," Volthide declared.
"Then I'll return to Cinderfang and bring them here at once," a volunteer offered.
"Go swiftly. We'll hold the line," Volthide said.
As the messenger departed, the storm worsened. Torrential rain and howling winds drove the water higher. At this rate, Whisperwind would be submerged within a day—and once those bloodthirsty monsters infiltrated, with demonic forces attacking from outside, the battle would collapse into chaos.
"Focus! A surge of demonic energy approaches—prepare defenses!" Volthide shouted.
Through the downpour, a distortion appeared in the air. Raindrops slid away as if repelled, and a black dot materialized in the void. It pulsed like a living thing, swelling rapidly until it dwarfed the warriors below. A foul, roiling darkness seeped from its core.
"No ordinary fiend… This is a demonic beast's birth cry," Volthide muttered.
The black mass convulsed. A barbed tentacle burst through, lashing out hundreds of meters. More followed—dozens, then hundreds—writhing like serpents.
"Light the sky!" Volthide commanded.
The corps unleashed their magic, hurling lightning into the clouds. Thunder boomed as the storm lit up, revealing the horror in full: a bulbous head with bleeding eyes, a forest of tentacles sprouting smaller appendages, and a central stalk crowned with a lidless gaze. The stench of rotting fish and charred blood choked the air.
"The Millennium Pale Octopus… It was slain centuries ago!" a warrior cried.
"Yet here it stands," Volthide spat.
Tentacles hammered the walls, each strike ringing the monastery's wards like funeral bells. "Angered Skies—STRIKE!" Volthide roared. Lightning arced down—only to fizzle against a shimmering bubble around the beast.
"It's shielded! The field repels our charges!"
"Inside that bubble is a vacuum. Even if we pierced it, lightning couldn't spread," Volthide realized.
"Then how do we fight?"
"Pray the sacred beasts arrive before that thing breaches the walls."
Outmatched and outmaneuvered, the Lightning Corps faltered. Had the demons planned this? To nullify their very power? The answer, like the octopus's mocking eyes, was all too clear.