Chapter 186
The blinding light and piercing sound slowly faded, leaving only echoes trembling in the air. As silence reclaimed the space, the storm of force unraveled, and the scattered debris, shards of stone, splinters of metal, fragments of things unnamable, drifted down in a broken rain. The mixed remnants of countless materials finally settled, forming a jagged tapestry upon the ground, as though the very bones of creation had been torn apart and scattered into dust.
The entire stretch of land from the first walled gate to the approach of broken and shattered second gate , a mile-long road once alive with movement and structure, was nothing more than dust. Every house, every piece of infrastructure that had sheltered and sustained tens of thousands was gone, erased in a single sweep of power. Near the first gate, an entire circle a mile wide had been reduced to emptiness, as though some invisible hand had scrubbed the world clean.
Daniel's attack had not struck like a weapon; it had behaved like a brushstroke. One motion across the canvas of reality, and everything that stood within its reach had been painted over, obliterated, stripped away, leaving only the raw bones of earth beneath.
The very front of the monstrous four-layered inner wall was now gone, erased as though it had never been built. What had once stood as an impregnable barrier, thick enough to mock the siege engines of kingdoms, now lay in ruin, its foundations torn out of existence by Daniel's unleashed might.
The lingering undead packed within the residential district, pressed together in suffocating numbers, had no chance to resist. Those nearest the obliteration were not merely slain but erased—reduced to drifting motes of ash before they could even scream. Others, trapped deeper within the tide of their own kind, were crushed beneath the collapse of their fellows, trampled into pulp by the sheer, unrelenting weight of their endless horde.
What remained was silence after calamity a silence broken only by the crackle of residual plasma eating away at the fractured stone, and the distant, hollow wails of those few undead at the fringes still burning as their forms disintegrated into dust.
It was not just destruction. It was removal, erasure. The first layer of the city had been undone as if some god had revised the page, tearing out an entire chapter of its existence with a single strike.
The Second Gate loomed ahead, far greater and more formidable than the first. Where the outer gate had been little more than a barrier to hold back the tide, this was a fortress in its own right. The structure rose twenty meters high and stretched just as wide, its twin doors of reinforced blacksteel layered with runes meant to repel siege engines, spells, even the wrath of gods. The archway that framed it was a towering mass of stone and iron, thick enough to withstand years of sustained assault, with the walls of the industrial district rising fifteen meters higher on either side, bristling with battlements and defensive wards.
It was meant to be unbreakable. It was meant to be the pride of the walled city's defense—a gate so secured that even an army of tens of thousands would grind itself into ruin before forcing it open.
But Daniel's Plasma Genesis had rendered all that strength meaningless.
The once-unshakable blacksteel doors now dangled, warped and dripping as if they had been pulled from a furnace. Entire sections had been ripped apart, their enchanted plating peeled away in ribbons that fluttered before crumbling to ash. The massive hinges that anchored the gate, each thicker than a man's torso, were torn from their sockets, left to hang loosely as the ruined doors groaned and swayed.
The archway itself, a proud tower of layered stone, had fared no better. Where once it had been a monolith of security, it was now a hollowed ruin, its stones melted, fused, and blown apart as though the Plasma Genesis had carved through it like fire through parchment. The great wall that flanked it, fifteen meters tall and fortified with centuries of layered enchantments, had not resisted for even a breath it was gone, erased, leaving only jagged fractures and smoking debris, exposing the industrial heart of the city beyond.
What had been engineered to withstand the siege of empires had been torn apart in an instant, shredded like cardboard beneath the brushstroke of a Daniels hand.
The aftermath of Daniel's devastating strike left the Second Gate in ruin, yet the city's nightmare defenders were far from broken. Though countless undead had been obliterated, the tide of rot refused to cease. From within the shattered maw of the gate, massive figures began to move, their silhouettes monstrous against the smoke and ruin. Towering Undead Anchors, grotesque constructs of bone, rotting sinew, and blackened steel, pushed aside the broken debris as if the wreckage of the once-mighty gate were nothing more than pebbles. Each Anchor lumbered forward like a siege beast, its chains dragging corpses still tangled in their links, its hollow sockets burning with a dim, unholy light.
Behind them came the echo of steel against stone. The Death Cavaliers, one hundred fifty in number, emerged with a slow and terrible rhythm. Mounted upon dead decaying war steeds clad in full plates of rusted yet unyielding armor, their advance was not a charge but a funeral march. Every step their mounts took rang like a tolling bell, deliberate and foreboding. Their black halberds gleamed with enchantments carved in blood, each weapon pulsing faintly with soul fire, as though eager to taste living flesh.
Further within the gate, shadows shifted. Two hundred Rangers, ghoulish figures with long, predatory limbs and eyes like burning coals, had been waiting in silence, lined up like a regiment of executioners. But Daniel's attack had left no mercy for them. The moment they stirred, the lingering resonance of Plasma Genesis consumed them, reducing their bodies to drifting ash. One heartbeat they stood ready, the next they were gone, erased as though they had never existed.
And yet, beyond their annihilation, the threat remained. The remaining longbow archers, stationed deeper within, were already raising their massive bows, their strings drawn back with a creaking tension. Arrows tipped with venomous enchantments caught the faint glow of the lingering plasma, preparing to blot out the battlefield in a storm of death.
The Second Gate had fallen, but what stood behind it was no less daunting: a phalanx of abominations, death made regimented and armed, ready to drown Daniel's light in a tide of endless decay.
Unlike the hordes at the First Gate, these were not mere civilians twisted into hollow shells. The undead Daniel's army had first faced were countless in number, but they had been fragile, clumsy mockeries of life, farmers, merchants, and laborers raised from their graves, their strength lying only in overwhelming numbers. They fought without skill or coordination, throwing themselves forward like waves against rock, relying on evolved Undead Archors and other overseers to whip them into some semblance of order. Their threat had always been the sheer scale of their numbers, not their individual might.
But here, at the Second Gate, it was different. What poured out of the broken archway was no longer the desperate bulk of cannon fodder—it was the sharpened edge of the city's true strength. These were not civilians; they were soldiers, executioners, and war-beasts forged for combat. Every figure that stepped through the ruin carried weight, precision, and intent. From the ironclad march of the Death Cavaliers to the monstrous labor of the Anchors, from the looming storm of archers to the eerie discipline of their formations this was not chaos. It was war in its purest, deadliest form.
The difference was undeniable. Where the First Gate had been defended by the tide of the dead, the Second Gate was guarded by their generals and executioners, an army designed not just to hold ground but to crush anything that dared to break through.
The three battle wagons rumbled to a halt just behind the front lines, their armored frames shielding the precious stockpiles they carried. Within their iron-clad holds were the lifeblood of the united guilds, crates of enchanted weapons, reserves of shimmering potions, and artifacts painstakingly gathered from years of plunder and sacrifice. These wagons were more than transports; they were the mobile heart of the army, and if they fell, so too would the guilds' ability to endure.
Yet the battlefield beyond the ruined Second Gate grew unnervingly calm. The 50 Death Cavaliers, who had emerged first, made no sound. No war cries. No thunder of hooves. Their silence was heavier than any roar of rage, their advance measured and deliberate, like executioners walking to the gallows. Their decaying steeds ground their armored hooves against the stone with slow, deliberate weight, as if every step was a judgment upon the living.
Then came the next wave. From the shadows of the broken gate marched a wall of Heavy Spearmen, two hundred strong. Their decayed forms were locked inside full suits of corroded plate armor, their movements stiff yet disciplined. Spears tipped with jagged black steel jutted outward in perfect formation, their advance resembling not a mob of undead but a phalanx of soldiers drilled in life and re forged in death. The sight of them alone carried the oppressive weight of a trained army, a reminder that these were not mere corpses, but warriors once skilled, their talents twisted into eternal service.
Behind them, a darker threat revealed itself. Fifty Dead Mages shuffled into position, their withered hands glowing with the ember-light of arcane fire. Their sockets bled faint trails of smoke, their empty stares fixed upon the battlefield. When they raised their staffs, the air itself seemed to buckle, as though they were calling fire not from spell craft but from the marrow of the world. Each mage was capable of unleashing volleys of ten fire arrows at once, and though their necrotic forms required a minute's pause between castings, even a single wave of their combined barrage would blanket the sky in flame.
And then came the weight of numbers once more, two hundred Heavy Infantry, lumbering forward with shields broad as doors and axes large enough to split horse and rider in one swing. Their armor was scarred and cracked, but thick, reinforced by layers of necrotic magic that made them almost impervious to ordinary steel. Their march was slow, but every step promised a wall of unyielding flesh and iron that would crash against the guild's lines like a tide of stone.
The Second Gate was no longer a breach to exploit, it was a mouth, yawning wider, and every abomination spilling from it was a tooth in its endless maw.
The silence that followed the undead's emergence was suffocating. Where the First Gate had drowned them in chaos and sheer numbers, this was different. The guild warriors, hardened though they were, felt their throats tighten at the sight of discipline among the dead. Shields were gripped tighter, blades lifted with trembling hands, the memory of the first wave's brutality still fresh in their minds. Some veterans muttered quick prayers under their breath, while younger fighters swallowed hard, their eyes darting to the wagons that carried their hope of survival. Even the healers, usually steady, faltered as they bandaged wounds, their gazes fixed on the skeletal ranks forming like clockwork on the far side of the ruined gate.
It was not the sheer number that broke morale this time, it was the order. The undead did not lurch forward aimlessly. They moved like a trained legion, a mirror of armies from forgotten ages, their rusted armor clattering in perfect rhythm, their spears and shields forming walls that seemed to stretch endlessly. The silence of the Death Cavaliers at their head weighed heavier than any battle cry, their unholy calm an omen of inevitable slaughter.
Daniel stood at the forefront, the weight of command pressing against his shoulders like a crown of iron. His gaze lingered on every detail—the steady cadence of the spearmen, the smoke drifting from the dead mages' staffs, the glint of fire waiting to rain down, the heavy infantry marching as an unyielding tide. He could see not just the army, but the intent stitched into its movement, the will of something greater pulling their strings.
The warriors behind him shifted uneasily, waiting for his word, their trust placed in the man who had already shattered one impossible gate. Yet even in their faith, fear gnawed at them. Could he break this formation, this army of discipline and dread, as he had the first wave of hollow corpses?
It was then that Addison Lazarus stepped forward from the ranks, her armor streaked with soot, her eyes sharp with resolve. She moved to Daniel's side, her presence anchoring the guilds, a living reminder of unity in the face of the seemingly insurmountable. She let her gaze sweep over the undead legions, the Death Cavaliers' skeletal horses, the disciplined ranks of spearmen, the withered mages poised to rain fire. The faint glow of the necrotic staffs reflected in her eyes like dying embers, yet her expression did not waver. Turning toward Daniel, she broke the suffocating silence.
"So," she said, voice steady despite the storm gathering before them, "what's the next step?"
Daniel reached into his satchel and withdrew a handful of Chaos Shards. He held them up for her to see, crystalline reservoirs of volatile energy, each about the size of a crayon and an inch thick, humming with raw, unstable power. "This will be our ace," he said, his voice calm but commanding. "Shatter these mid-battle, and they release an immediate surge of mana. Those who receive it will double their power for five minutes. Timing is everything, this battle must be controlled. Like fighting in a confined area. Every move precise, every strike coordinated."
Addison's eyes flicked over the shards, then she turned to the assembled guilds. "You heard him! This is going to be CQB tactics, close-quarter battle. Focus on dominating confined spaces rapidly and decisively to neutralize threats before the enemy can react effectively."
"Wait, what confined spaces?" Natasha interjected, confusion cutting through her usual composure.
Daniel's finger swept across the battlefield, tracing paths amidst the ruined city, the shattered gates, and the smoking debris. "This is where Mary Kaye, Jacob, and Farrah come into play."
He gestured first to Jacob Lazarus, whose mastery over Magna Lava could shape molten pillars of hardened rock at will, forming impenetrable walls and barriers. Beside him, Mary Kaye Lazarus, skilled in Earth manipulation, could raise defensive ramparts, fissures, or traps across the battlefield, reshaping terrain to their advantage. And finally, Farrah Lazarus, the guild's expert in plant manipulation, could summon vines and brambles to entangle enemies, create living defensive walls, or cast wide-area attacks that controlled movement with deadly precision.
Daniel's plan was already forming in his mind. "We'll carve a long, walled path through the city. Wide enough for our formations to move, wide enough for coordinated attacks—but constrained enough to force the enemy into kill zones." He paused, a small smirk appearing. "Ah… so we're going to execute a Testudo formation."
"Correct," Daniel confirmed. "Jacob's magma and Mary Kaye's earth will form solid walls along our right and left flanks. Farrah's vines will cover openings and gaps, giving us both offense and defense. The battle wagons will move along the center, carrying our archers and long-range attackers on top, securing the aerial path and firing down on anything that tries to escape or flank us. Timing, discipline, and power surges from the Chaos Shards, this is how we break them."
Addison's expression tightened with determination as she relayed the plan to the guilds. "Positions! Prepare for movement. Remember, we dominate confined spaces. Move fast. Strike hard. Control the battlefield before the undead can even breathe!"
The warriors stiffened, the tension palpable, but there was fire in their eyes. They trusted Daniel, they trusted Addison, and now they understood the strategy. In the ruined shadow of the Second Gate, with the disciplined undead arrayed before them, the united guilds braced for the deadly push forward. Every step, every strike, every surge of the Chaos Shards could decide the difference between annihilation and victory.
The Testudo formation surged forward with a width of just ten meter and a length 15 meter side to side and the temporary wall was about ten feet tall. of a moving wall of disciplined resolve, as the first clash with the undead erupted in a symphony of controlled chaos. At its forefront, the heavy tankers planted their feet like anchors, each gripping their enchanted shields five by two feet of light but unbreakable alloy, forming an unyielding barrier against the relentless surge of undead spearmen and decayed infantry.
Non-combatants and apprentices filled the gaps between the veterans, guided like water through channels by the tankers and seasoned spear users, their movements choreographed to perfection, each footstep, each shift of the shield, a note in the deadly rhythm of war. In their hands, Chaos Shards pulsed faintly, ready to be shattered in a heartbeat, each explosion of mana doubling the strength of those around them for five precious minutes, turning the line into a sudden crescendo of unstoppable force.
From above, Jacob Lazarus sculpted molten pillars that rose from the fractured earth, walls of magma hardened instantly to deflect enemy charges, turning the battlefield into a maze of blazing corridors and molten barricades. Mary Kaye Lazarus reshaped the ground with her earth magic, fissures erupting to swallow the unwary and ramparts of stone towering to shield their flanks. Between them, Farrah Lazarus wove her verdant tendrils across gaps, thorns snapping and vines lashing at the advancing undead, her plants responding as though alive, forming defensive cages and striking with precision that made even the undead hesitate in their march. The combination of fire, earth, and living vegetation transformed the ruined city into a controlled battlefield, a labyrinth designed for maximum efficiency of both offense and defense.
Amid the formation, the guild's elite moved with lethal grace. Charlotte Lazarus, twin blades aflame with fire, sliced through undead ranks, each strike leaving a trail of scorched bone and molten sinew. Sabine Lazarus, the East Lazarus guild leader, shifted seamlessly between human form and tiger-like humanoid, her claws rending armor, her speed and strength amplified to terrifying levels as she tore through walls of enemies. Noah Lazarus' metallic skin glinted as he charged, shrugging off strikes that would fell ordinary men, his body a living battering ram.
Natasha Sokolov, ice and water crackling across her crossbow, froze the air and shattered the undead with pinpoint precision, while Romaldo's body expanded, becoming a juggernaut that smashed through armored lines with unstoppable momentum. Radinka swung her massive axe in arcs that cleaved multiple foes at once, while Kuzmina and the other shapeshifters twisted and pounced, predatory and lethal. Nataliya's sword flashed like silver lightning, Aleksandrova's arrows rained with deadly accuracy, and Irinushka's magic musket spit explosive rounds that turned clusters of the undead to dust.
Above it all, Addison Lazarus moved like a force of nature incarnate. Her Dragonbane Strike cut through the unkillable, shattering bones and scales alike. Iron Will kept her mind clear amid chaos, impervious to the creeping dread and necrotic curses of the undead. War Mother's Aura radiated outward, every heartbeat bolstering allies' morale, making exhaustion and fear irrelevant. Weapon Sense guided her hands, as if every sword, dagger, or staff she touched became an extension of herself, each strike precise and inevitable. And Death's Patience stretched her perception beyond mortal limits, slowing the battlefield for her alone, letting her predict and counter threats before they even occurred, turning the clash into a dance of predestination.
At the center of it all, Daniel Laeanna Rothchester stood like a conductor of apocalypse. His gaze swept across the battlefield, reading flows of energy, assessing the structure and strength of every enemy, every ally, every lingering shadow of magic. When the first Chaos Shards shattered, the surge of power radiated outward, doubling strength, sharpening reflexes, and amplifying every attack, of those who were near him turning the united guilds into an unstoppable wave of calculated destruction.
Plasma traces and shattering earth followed their path as the formation pushed forward, corralling the undead into kill zones, each step precise, each strike brutal, each barrier and magical wall coordinated to perfection.
The battlefield, once a chaotic sprawl of ruined streets and broken buildings, had become a corridor of controlled devastation, a theater where strategy, power, and raw skill intertwined to crush the enemy before they could react, leaving only devastation, ash, but it didn't last long.
But Daniel's eyes, scanning the battlefield with his evolved Resonant Perception, betrayed no triumph. He knew this would not last. These were no ordinary undead. They might be rotting, decayed, or grotesque in form, but their memories, their martial skill, and their tactical acumen persisted. Each Death Cavalier that swung a halberd, each undead spearman that raised a shield, every mage that cast fire volleys—these were echoes of warriors trained in life, disciplined in combat, and now twisted into relentless, unfeeling perfection. Their minds remembered coordination, timing, and formations; they were not mindless. They adapted with every strike the guilds landed, countered with subtle maneuvers, and shifted to exploit even the tiniest gap.
Daniel knew the surge of the Chaos Shards would give them an advantage, but it was only temporary. The undead were patient, relentless, and bound by experience that no mortal could ignore. Already he could see the signs: Archers lifting their torsos at precise angles to avoid volleys, Death Cavaliers adjusting their charge to collapse gaps, and even the Anchors modifying their lumbering steps to avoid Farrah's vines. The battlefield had become a chessboard of death, with moves calculated in milliseconds, and Daniel's heart beat faster not with exhilaration but with the awareness of the true danger that waited beyond the first few lines of victory.
For a heartbeat, it seemed as though the guilds' advance was unstoppable, the magma walls, earthen barricades, and living vines forming a near-perfect corridor of death. Chaos Shards pulsed through every soldier, sharpening every reflex, every strike. But then Daniel saw it. The subtle shifts in the undead formations, the way the anchors adjusted their lumbering gait to avoid the molten pillars, the eerie precision in the Death Cavaliers' staggered march. It was not mindless persistence it was strategy.
The undead began to divide. Anchors detached from the central push, moving to crush the flanks, their massive limbs swinging with devastating power, smashing through walls of earth and vines as if they were paper. Spearmen shifted to exploit the gaps between magma and stone, pressing forward with lethal coordination. The fifty mages at the back, previously static, moved into staggered positions, casting fire volleys in rolling waves to blanket the guild lines in fire and necrotic energy, their timing precise enough to anticipate the Chaos Shard surges. Even the Death Cavaliers adapted, their skeletal steeds twisting through openings to strike at the formation's vulnerable sides, battering shields with halberds swung in perfect synchronization.
Daniel's eyes narrowed, scanning the battlefield in his evolved Resonant Perception. The corridors he had envisioned were no longer static they were temporary, moving as fast as the undead reshaped the battlefield. His walls of earth, magma, and vines could hold for moments, but the un dead's coordination meant every barrier would soon be tested and broken. He raised a hand, signaling the guilds to adjust. "Shift the formation! Collapse the walls inward, tighten the corridor, and focus fire on the flanking groups! Chaos Shards, prepare to synchronize!"
Instantly, the guild responded. Jacob reformed molten pillars in rapid succession, raising walls to close the gaps the anchors had found. Mary Kaye reshaped earth walls on the move, filling breaches with stone that erupted like jagged spears. Farrah's vines twisted in real time, weaving into entangling cages that redirected the flanking undead into kill zones. Archers on the battle wagons pivoted their aim, musket and bow fire cutting down clusters of flanking spearmen before they could close.
Daniel moved to the forefront, his presence a living node of command. He released a Chaos Shard mid-step; the surge of mana spread instantly, amplifying reflexes, strength, and spellcasting across the formation. Charlotte's fire blades ignited with doubled intensity, slicing through anchors that had almost broken through the walls. Sabine, in her tiger-humanoid form, leapt from pillar to pillar, cutting down Death Cavaliers attempting to wedge into the corridor's sides. Noah's metallic skin shone as he barreled into a flank, disrupting the undead's rhythm and sending them staggering into the molten barricades.
The battlefield had become a living organism of offense and defense. Every surge of the Chaos Shards, every swing of a blade, every strike of a spear, every burst of elemental magic was met by the undead's adaptive response. They were no longer just hordes; they were a disciplined army of memory and skill, countering the guilds' tactics with an intelligence born of lifetimes of martial knowledge.
Daniel's mind raced, calculating the next moves, anticipating every adaptation, every shift in formation. He knew this was no longer a battle of brute strength, it was a war of anticipation, reflex, and strategy, where the undead were learning as fast as his guilds struck. Every advantage he granted with the Chaos Shards was fleeting, every wall temporary. Victory would demand not just power, but the ability to think faster than an army that had never truly died.
Daniel relayed his instructions directly into Brie's mind, his voice echoing there with sharp clarity. She froze for a moment, startled, she had never imagined that someone of noble birth like Daniel could use such a rare and intimate form of communication.
Telepathy, after all, was no simple parlor trick; it was an art only a few bloodlines or prodigies could touch. Her first instinct was to ask him why he had never used it before, but Daniel anticipated the question even before her lips parted. He cut her off smoothly, telling her that he had merely activated a very expensive, single-use communication scroll that lasted two minutes, nothing more, nothing less.
But the truth, one he kept buried behind his calm façade, was far more complex. Daniel had secretly studied the strange, living runes of the magic language itself, back when he first tapped into his Resonant Perception to assess the health and hidden skills of his allies, even before the spar with Addison Lazarus .
That was when he discovered the elegant script coiled around Brie Anderson's core, a telepathic gift unlike anything else he had seen. Where others' skills burned, pulsed, or shimmered, hers pulsed like a steady beacon, radiating possibility. He recognized at once its potential to evolve, from mere communication into the terrifying power of psychokinesis.
Daniel knew the limits of his own arsenal all too well. Fire and lightning the twin blades of destruction he wielded were devastating, but they demanded focus, precision, and presence. He could push lightning through his muscles and weapons to amplify speed, or weave fire into shields and spears of heat, but when he had tried using his electrical current to tug objects on the battlefield, it left him strained, his attention fractured.
Against the three Archdemons, he had learned the hard way that splitting his concentration meant weakness. What he lacked was a skill that worked independently, a force that could act as an unseen hand while his mind stayed on the fight. Brie's telepathy, with its potential to bloom into psychokinesis, was exactly that missing piece. That was why he had devoted himself to learning the intricate language of her skill, tracing the symbols in his mind until he understood the rhythm of thought and willpower they carried.
as Daniel continued with his current task Brie Anderson focus and waited for Emma assesment skill to notice any sudden change of the enemies action, and when Emma Lazarus saw it she instantly told Brie about it, with all her mana Brie Anderson mentally communicated with everybody and mentioned the secondary plan, the information came like a storm into every player and understood it naturally .
soon Jacob and Mary Kaye Lazarus moved in perfect synchrony, combining their mastery of magma and earth. one of last three Chaos Shards pulsed in Jacobs hand, their unstable energy amplifying every strike of their magic. Molten pillars hardened instantly, stone walls rose and shifted, yet all of it remained concealed within the impenetrable gray veil of fog. To the undead, the right and left flanks, once carefully walled, and the exposed rear, all of it vanished. Only fog existed, a suffocating gray that made distance, depth, and enemy positions meaningless.
The undead surged forward blindly, striking at invisible walls, stabbing and slashing at what seemed like solid forms. Anchors collided with spearmen, Death Cavaliers barreled into each other, and the mages' fire volleys struck nothing but the vapor-choked air. Within the ten-meter-wide, fifteen-meter-long corridor that had once been a carefully constructed killing zone, not a single guild member remained. The united guild had vanished as if the battlefield itself had swallowed them. Confusion rippled through the enemy ranks, their rigid coordination faltering as they stumbled over one another in the fog.
Beneath the ground, the vibrations of shifting earth told a different story. Daniel's plan had unfolded perfectly. Jacob and Mary Kaye laughed silently to one another, their joy reflected in the shaking pillars of magma and tunneling stones. With the fog masking their movement, they carved tunnels beneath the undead, moving with terrifying speed and precision.
The guilds' elite, along with the three battle wagon as the war bulls ran like a train with the Chaos Shards' enhanced them all for five minutes followed in perfect silence, moving underground as if the earth itself obeyed the plan effortlessly, in span of five minutes they all ran half a mile with out showing any signs of fatigue and exhaustion, all the members of the united guild could not understand , the chaos shards crystal, mana boost was out performing medium tier mana scrolls by a wide margin, veterans utter the idea this must be raw mana, as they cant differentiate chaos energy from normal mana.
By the time the undead began to recover, trying to reform their lines, the Lazarus cousins and their contingent had emerged near the halfway point toward the Third Gate. The united guild reappeared as if conjured from the mist, the earth opening beneath their feet to deliver them behind the enemy.
The battlefield erupted into a storm of elemental fury as Daniel and the mages unleashed a coordinated barrage that seemed to rend reality itself. Fire streaked across the fog-choked ruins, ice shards crystallized mid-air to impale the advancing undead, lightning arced in jagged veins that seared both ground and bone, and waves of necrotic disruption tore through ranks like invisible scythes.
The undead, disoriented and battered, turned to retreat, but Daniel's assault never wavered. While the other mages began to falter, drained of mana and staggering under the intensity of their own spells, Daniel pressed forward with singular focus, firing plasma bullets in rapid succession at the Second Gate. Each shot struck with surgical precision, vaporizing anything that dared approach, cutting through Death Cavaliers, armored spearmen, and skeletal archers alike.
The industrial district behind the Second Gate, now exposed and crawling with non-combatant undead, was a simpler target. Without skill or coordination, they fell swiftly under the combined might of the battle wagons, archers, and spellcasters, their numbers reduced to ash and bone within moments. From the underground tunnels, the guild emerged as if the earth itself had spat them out into position. The three battle wagons rolled forward, massive engines of iron and enchanted steel, their mounted archers and mages raining destruction down upon any enemy who still lingered.
Mary Kaye and Jacob Lazarus were the last to surface, their faces calm but focused. With careful, deliberate motions, they reinforced the tunnels behind them, reshaping earth and magma to close the passage, ensuring that it could no longer be used as a backdoor by the enemy, or collapse unexpectedly and bury their own troops.
The earth trembled under their hands, magma and stone merging into solid walls, sealing the subterranean paths. The process was delicate; a misstep could trigger a collapse, a catastrophic implosion that would have killed them instantly. Yet their skill was flawless, and when the last stone settled, the tunnels were secure, the guild aboveground fully deployed, and the battlefield firmly under their control.
Daniel's gaze swept across the cleared industrial district, plasma bullets still dancing across the ruins, the fog lifting to reveal devastation and order amidst chaos. The guilds had moved like a single organism, a living weapon guided by his mind, their foes reduced to scattered remnants, the dead and decayed pushed back into nothingness.
Even as the mages leaned on each other to recover, Daniel's presence, his relentless energy, and his mastery of plasma attacks ensured that no enemy could regroup. The Second Gate, once a symbol of resistance and fortification, now lay shattered, its defenders annihilated, and the guilds advanced with a confidence born of precision, power, and unwavering strategy.
Daniel's strategy had unfolded with deadly precision. Confusion, concealment, and the perfect timing of the Chaos Shards had allowed the guild to bypass the flanking undead, strike at the heart of their advance, and vanish before sustaining a single casualty.
The battlefield itself seemed to breathe with their movements, responding to the subtle command of a single mind shifting earth, surging magma, and writhing vines forming corridors of death as if the terrain were alive. Through the dense, lingering fog, the enemy could perceive nothing but shadows and the tremor of footsteps beneath their feet, unable to fathom the invisible force orchestrating their annihilation.
Even now, the remaining five hundred undead warriors, once disciplined, trained, and relentless were being whittled down, their numbers halved under Daniel's unyielding barrage of plasma bullets. Every strike, every pulse of mana, pushed the survivors further into chaos, breaking formations that had once been precise and terrifying.
Daniel's eyes swept over Mary Kaye, Farrah, and Jacob Lazarus, his hand lifting in a simple, almost imperceptible gesture. With that command, they moved as one, sealing the Second Gate with walls of earth, magma, and living vines, while the rest of the undead were divided into manageable groups of three and systematically cleared.
The last two Chaos Shards, expended to create the underground tunnel, had left them without the same surge of amplification. Now, the siblings relied solely on the raw force of their own abilities. Earth and magma, plants and stone, moved at their will, striking, shielding, and corralling the undead with precision. Fatigue pressed at their muscles, but Daniel knew that enduring physical exhaustion was preferable to wasting precious mana on hundreds of trained undead whose skill and memory made them far more dangerous than mindless corpses.
Each group of three enemies was dispatched swiftly, struck down by the interplay of elemental power and relentless strategy, the battlefield gradually clearing as if a master painter were erasing the chaotic strokes of an enemy's assault.
Daniel's gaze did not waver. Every move, every maneuver, every spell cast was measured, controlled, and relentless. The Second Gate was now secure, the undead's momentum broken, and the guild's forces poised to advance again, their strength intact, their strategy unbroken. For a fleeting moment, the battlefield was still, the tension palpable, as though the earth itself waited for the next strike, a silence born not of peace, but of the calm before another calculated storm.