When a Filipino got Isekai'd with a twist!
"Only I can summon those!"
Chapter 6 : already lost?
The roar of Groteus shook the land, a sound so ancient and heavy it felt as though the world itself remembered and trembled. Towers crumbled, forests burned, and the skies tore apart in streaks of red lightning. The Avatar of Destruction had returned.
And as Mephistopheles watched the beast stretch its colossal frame, a memory flickered.
It was not his memory, but Kieth's—handed down, half-forgotten, but sharp enough to cut through the veil of time.
A ruined cathedral, its roof long collapsed, moonlight spilling over cracked stone. Dust hung thick in the air as Kieth brushed his hand against a wall, knocking moss free until his fingers traced cold lines of old carvings.
The mural came alive in the silver glow: a titan beast with jagged armor and burning eyes—Groteus. Opposite it stood a lone knight, his blade raised high, runes beneath his feet spelling a name that had nearly been lost to time:
Lancelot Dreyvane. The First Hero. The man who once drove his sword through the Avatar of Destruction, sealing it away for billions of years.
Kieth had stared at it for a long while, lips curling into that crooked grin of his. He turned, eyes meeting Mina's as she studied the carvings with awe.
"Well, I guess only your kind can summon this creature, Mina," he said, voice carrying both warning and mischief. Then, with a wink:
"Promise me one thing. Don't ever summon this creature. Unless… you really need to win."
The words echoed now in Mephistopheles's mind, distorted by time, like a whisper carried through a storm.
And as Groteus roared again, shattering the horizon with its presence, Mephistopheles couldn't help but laugh.
Kieth had meant it as a warning.
But Mephistopheles had chosen to take it as permission.
The battlefield had become unrecognizable.
Where once stood green hills and proud banners, there was only fire and ruin. Groteus moved like a walking apocalypse—each swing of its jagged limbs shattered armies, each roar split the heavens. Cities crumbled as if they were made of sand. The screams of soldiers, kings, and queens alike were drowned beneath the beast's thunderous presence.
The heroes who had once stood tall now staggered beneath the weight of despair.
Lyra fell to her knees, sword trembling in her grip, her once-bright eyes dimming with the reflection of the burning sky. Serena's voice cracked as she tried to rally what was left of their forces, but even her words felt hollow against the monster's enormity. Elara, her hands blistered from channeling spell after spell, sank to the ground, tears carving trails through the ash on her cheeks.
Even the pillars of strength faltered. Josh, the Sword King, his blade nicked and battered, gritted his teeth, but the hopelessness pressed down on him like chains. Vismond, who had never once wavered, clenched his bloodied knives so hard they cut into his palms, his usual precision swallowed by frustration. Chris, drained from conjuring shields that shattered like glass, whispered prayers that never reached the heavens. Cain, the gladiator who had laughed in the face of death a thousand times, now stood silent, his knuckles white, unable to hide the fear.
Around them, what remained of battered kings and queens—leaders who once commanded nations—could only watch their legacies burn to ash. Crowns cracked, banners torn, their people swallowed by a terror that none could defy.
For the first time, hope felt like a lie.
And in that silence of despair, deep within the ruins of the Demon Lord's citadel, Xandros moved.
In the shadows of the throne hall, before an ancient stone coffin, he pressed his hands against the runes etched in blood. His lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile.
The ground trembled as the seals broke. From the coffin's cracks, light bled out—no ordinary glow, but a blinding column that shot straight into the heavens, piercing the blackened sky above. The clouds tore apart, thunder silenced, and the world itself seemed to pause, as if holding its breath.
Xandros tilted his head back, the light painting his face in divine brilliance. His eyes gleamed with triumph as he whispered, almost tenderly:
"Father…"
And then, with a grin sharp enough to cut the night—
"Awaken."
The column of light tore through the heavens, so bright it turned night into a mockery of day. Clouds ripped apart as if fleeing, and for a heartbeat, the entire world seemed to look upward.
On the battlefield, every hero froze.
Lyra's lips parted, a whisper escaping, "No… it can't be…"
Serena shielded her eyes with a trembling hand, her voice hollow. "What… what is he doing now?"
Elara felt her breath catch, her magic sputtering as if her very soul recoiled from the radiance.
Josh staggered, his sword tip sinking into the ash at his feet. His voice was hoarse, broken. "This isn't just Groteus… there's something worse…"
Vismond's jaw clenched, the ever-cold assassin showing, for the first time, true fear. His blades rattled against his grip.
Chris pressed a bloodied hand to his chest, whispering, "That light… it feels older than the world itself…"
Cain spat on the ground, though even his bravado cracked. "Tch. As if one monster wasn't enough."
Around them, the battered kings and queens lifted their heads to the sky, faces pale, crowns tilting, as if watching the final nail driven into their kingdoms' coffins. The light didn't inspire hope. It was a beacon of doom.
Far away, within the shattered citadel, Xandros stood bathed in the glow, arms spread wide like a priest before his god. His smile widened, eyes gleaming with devotion and madness alike.
"Do you see it, Groteus?" he called, his voice echoing over the quake of stone. "Your rampage is only the prelude."
The light pulsed, shaking the earth harder with every surge, runes crawling across the coffin like veins awakening after endless sleep.
Xandros lowered his head slightly, whispering with reverence, "Father… the time has come. The world will finally know the name of the one true king."
The coffin cracked further, its voice a thunderous echo across the battlefield. The column of light burned hotter, fiercer, stretching higher than the eye could follow.
The heroes stared, helpless, as realization settled like ice in their bones. Groteus was not the end.
He was only the beginning.
The coffin split open with a deafening crack. From within, a silhouette rose—towering, indistinct, its form half-buried in shadow, half-bathed in the searing radiance. Then the glow shifted, becoming something beyond mortal sight: a golden light burst outward, enveloping the figure, climbing higher and higher until it pierced the clouds, stretching into the heavens themselves.
The battlefield froze. Groteus, mid-roar, even faltered, its molten eyes glancing toward the beam as though recognizing something greater than itself.
Xandros threw his head back and laughed, arms wide as the golden brilliance washed over him. His voice carried with manic devotion.
"Rejoice, Father! Because I will show you the last moments of humanity to entertain you!"
And then—
A voice answered.
Not thunderous, not guttural, but soft, male, and unsettlingly calm. The sound seemed to brush against every ear on the battlefield, gentle as a whisper yet heavier than mountains.
"Ah… so they're losing?"
Xandros's grin froze, his head tilting in reverence. "Yes, Father. They are breaking. And we are winning."
But before his words could settle, the golden light pulsed once more—then twisted.
A beam of light shot outward, searing across the land like a blade cleaving the horizon. Its brilliance was pure, unrelenting, and it did not strike the heroes, nor Groteus—but the earth between them, cutting a canyon into existence in an instant.
The shockwave knocked armies to their knees.
Xandros's eyes widened, his smile faltering for the first time. He stumbled a step back, his face caught between awe and confusion.
The silhouette within the golden radiance shifted, its outline clearer now—broad shoulders, a crown-like helm, a figure too regal, too radiant to be the Demon God he had envisioned.
And the soft voice came again, this time laced with something that sounded dangerously close to amusement.
"…Then perhaps, my son, it is time I see for myself." the voice said with mockery with it.
Xandros stood before the towering column of light, his armor rattling from the sheer vibration of its presence. The air itself warped, humming like a thousand hymns sung out of tune. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head low.
"My lord," he said, his voice steady but reverent. "Mephistopheles has been unleashed. Groteus still lingers, but the chaos is spreading. The pawns are dancing exactly as you foresaw."
The light pulsed, and from within it came a voice—not booming, but whispering so deep it crawled under the skin.
"Good… Then the stage is ready. Continue your part, Xandros. The war must drown this world in despair."
Xandros's lips curled into a grim smile. "As you command."
Before he could rise, the pillar of light flickered—and a massive beam of energy shot outward, tearing across the horizon like a blade of divine judgment. The land quaked,
Xandros didn't flinch. He only stood, staring at the beam's afterglow, as if it was nothing more than the tolling of a distant bell.
Elsewhere—
Steel rang against flesh. Cane's fists, wrapped in crimson aura, smashed through the tide of Frank Abigneil's clones, each one shattering like fragile glass only to be replaced by two more.
"Damn pests!" Cane roared, spinning low and uppercutting one into the sky. The force sent shockwaves through the cobblestones.
From above, Frank hovered like a dark conductor, grinning wide as his doppelgängers swarmed. "Struggle harder, gladiator! Every second you fight, I multiply! Can your fists keep up with infinity?"
Cane spat blood, grinning like a wolf. "Infinity or not… your ugly face is still the same!" He launched forward, breaking another clone's neck before twisting mid-air to slam his heel into the ground, splitting the street apart.
But Frank's laughter echoed, and the horde surged in, blades and claws flashing in unison.
Cane tore through another row of Frank's copies, his fists dripping with dark ichor. His breathing was heavy, but his grin was still sharp.
"Keep sendin' them, bastard! I'll break every damn—"
His words cut off when a clone in the middle of the horde didn't shatter like glass under his punch. Instead, it caught his fist mid-swing.
"What—?!" Cane's eyes widened.
The clone's body bulged, muscles ripping through its skin as it hardened into a hulking bruiser twice Cane's size. Its grip crushed against his knuckles with bone-snapping force.
"You think all my clones are the same?" Frank's voice mocked through a dozen mouths at once. "Fool. I can evolve them. Adapt them. Some are fodder… others are predators."
The massive clone jerked Cane's arm down, and from behind, two thinner ones darted in with unnerving speed—daggers gleaming, movements so precise they were like assassins. Cane barely twisted his torso in time, but one blade sliced across his ribs, blood spraying.
"Tch—!" He staggered, but his instincts kicked in. He slammed his forehead into the hulking clone, breaking its nose before ripping free and spinning into a roundhouse that scattered three assassins.
But before he could catch his breath, the ground beneath him cracked—another clone knelt, palms pressed to the stone, channeling raw energy. Arcs of lightning burst upward, searing through Cane's back.
His roar of pain shook the street. Smoke curled off his body, the smell of burnt flesh lingering in the air.
He stumbled forward, eyes wide. "What the hell… they can… use magic too?!"
Above, Frank spread his arms like a conductor at the climax of his symphony. "Yes! Every one of them carries a piece of me. And I, Cane the Gladiator, am limitless."
The horde shifted, no longer a mindless tide but a coordinated army—bruisers, assassins, and casters all weaving together, circling Cane like wolves around a bleeding bull.
Cane wiped blood from his mouth and chuckled through his ragged breath. "Heh… Didn't expect this. But if you think I'll fold now, you're dead wrong."
He braced, aura igniting again, even as the swarm tightened around him.
The bruiser clone thundered forward again, fist raised to crush him. Cane planted his foot, twisted his body, and swung upward with everything he had left.
"GLADIATOR'S HAMMER!"
His fist smashed through the giant's jaw, snapping it backward with such force its body toppled into three other clones, all bursting into blood and dust.
Cane stood hunched, chest heaving, surrounded by a carpet of twitching, half-regenerated bodies. His grin split through the blood on his face.
"C'mon then… keep evolvin'. I'll break every last damn one of ya."
The clones shifted, surrounding him again—but then—
The battlefield trembled.
The golden light that had erupted earlier from the horizon flared once more, brighter, sharper, burning even through the thick clouds. Its radiance washed over the bloodied city, turning night into day.
Even the clones hesitated. For a moment, the world itself seemed to pause.
Cane looked up, sweat and blood stinging his eyes, muttering, "…What the hell now…?"
Far above, in a realm beyond mortal reach…
On her throne of silver starlight, Goddess Lycana's eyes opened wide. For centuries, her calm had never faltered, but now her lips curved into something between relief and awe.
She leaned forward, voice trembling not with fear, but with something far deeper.
"…He's here."
Her hand clutched her chest, the divine glow around her pulsing in rhythm with the golden beam that split the heavens.
To be continued.