Chapter 50: All Out Battle / Escape
The battlefield was soaked in mist and chaos.
Crimson-splattered mud sloshed beneath bare feet and clawed paws. Broken blades, shattered bone, and discarded armor littered the cracked earth. The once solid terrain was now a shifting, bloodstained arena—hostile and unforgiving. The low-lying fog moved like a living thing, curling around bodies, concealing strikes, and masking screams that bled into the roaring cacophony of war.
It was no longer a skirmish. It was a frenzy. A savage free-for-all.
Three shackled factions had collapsed into full-scale slaughter. Each group, herded and chained like cattle, now fought like caged beasts released after years of torment.
The Leopard Demi-Humans, lean and furious, moved with predatory grace. Their eyes blazed, bodies weaving in and out of the fog like shadows. At their front, their leader—a tall, sleek figure with burnished fur, wild tawny hair on his head, and gleaming fangs—swung a wicked saber with near dance-like elegance. His every motion carried lethal intent, darting past armored ribs and under guarded arms, severing tendons, veins, and willpower in equal measure.
Beside him tore through the ranks was a monstrous Beast Leader, resembling a huge Tusked bear cloaked in sinew and scars. Its growl shook the fog. Its claws crushed stone and skull alike. Where the leopard was finesse, the beast was sheer, overwhelming might.
Opposing them surged the Greykin—ashen-skinned and silent, emotionless killers. They moved as a swarm, a murder of humanoid blades with sharpened claws and jagged daggers. Their leader—gaunt, eyes devoid of light—didn't carry a blade. He didn't need one. His fingers ended in long, curved claws that sliced through metal. He weaved through attacks with unnatural, jerking movements, his body almost contorting between strikes.
Each slash he delivered was a precise, dissecting gesture. No wasted motion. No emotion. Only results.
Meanwhile, the Purplish Kin hurled themselves into the melee. Covered in tribal paint and crude bone ornaments, they were not true mages—only a scattered few wielded real Arcane talent. Their leader, however, was a different beast entirely.
He was massive.
Clad in a ragged mantle of feathers and cracked stone, his purple skin glistened with sweat and blood. In his hands, he held a massive mallet, glowing faintly with pulsing runes. Each swing shattered bodies, terrain, and formations alike. When the head of the mallet struck the ground, shockwaves burst out, knocking both friend and foe off their feet. Unlike the cold efficiency of the Greykin or the primal speed of the Leopard kin, he was a walking siege weapon, unrelenting and furious.
All four Gold-Tier leaders had become focal points of the storm—their clash sent echoes of destruction across the battlefield. Mist evaporated around them from sheer pressure. As they fought, the very air trembled.
Still, the shackles around their necks glowed with a dull, malevolent energy—their powers constrained, their strength throttled. Each blow they landed was the echo of what could have been. But the desperation, the fury, the will to dominate remained raw and undiminished.
Around them, their warriors descended into primal rage. The three factions spilled into one another, no longer bound by alliance or even reason. Rage and survival were the only rules.
And in the misty backdrop of it all, Elton's group fought defensively.
Surrounded by hostility, they held formation. Every move was precise, every retreat calculated. They did not yet move to escape—they couldn't. The enemy came in waves, wild and indiscriminate. There were no taunts and no grand speeches. Just the dull thud of fists, the hiss of blades, and the thunder of Ki-infused power clashing in a maelstrom of madness.
Elton stood at the rear, eyes narrowed, mind racing. His companions flanked him—tense, backs pressed close, a fortress of will and steel. They weren't the focus yet, but they would be sooner or later.
The battlefield was a misty hellscape, a churning storm of steel, blood, and fury. Elton, Zoro, and Ramiro moved like phantoms through the chaos, their formation tight and reactive. They ducked and spun around the heavy clashes of the Gold Tier leaders in the distance, avoiding the most destructive epicenters while fending off endless waves of attackers. Their formation wasn't rigid—it was like a living creature, weaving and zigzagging through the storm of bodies and blades.
Elton's strikes were art in motion—precise, elegant, and deadly. His blade sang through the air, carving arcs of silver light as he moved like wind and lightning. Every third strike seemed to aim at a vital, and more than one enemy collapsed with a scream before they could register what hit them.
Ramiro, wide-shouldered and relentless, became a wall of destruction. His sweeping spear cleaved through adversaries with such force that bodies were flung away like straw in a hurricane. His fighting style wasn't refined, but it was effective, each movement powered by monstrous bursts of Ki-enhanced strength.
Then there was Zoro—quiet, grim, and lethal. His dual Katanas whispered death as they glided through throats and tendons. There was no wasted motion. Where Elton danced and Ramiro charged, Zoro hunted. Blood followed him like a cloak.
Their push forward brought them closer to an open path, the gaps in the chaos revealing an exit. But just as they began accelerating, four figures dropped down to block their path. Three were of the Purple-Skinned faction, their forms decorated with runic tattoos and partial bone armor. One Grey-Skinned warrior stepped forward with a jagged axe. Each of them radiated Silver Tier 4 strength.
One of the Purple-skinned warriors sneered. "Running away, boys? Haven't you played enough?"
Zoro's eyes narrowed. "You're in the way."
Another taunted, "Let's see how pretty you look after we peel you apart."
Elton's eyes never left the Grey-Skinned fighter.
"You'll regret staying in front of me."
They clashed.
Steel clanged, energy flared, and the air was filled with roars and shrieks. The four Silver Tier warriors worked in coordination, sending spells, blades, and staff strikes in unpredictable patterns. Ramiro's spear clashed violently with two of them, sweeping one off his feet while parrying a deadly strike. Elton danced through the fray, leaving gashes and shattered bones, his footwork like flowing water. Zoro was merciless as his blades didn't parry; they cut through limbs.
Even as they held their own, other enemies joined the brawl through the gaps. More claws. More blades. More danger.
Elton's shoulder was slashed. Zoro took a shallow stab to the thigh. Ramiro's forearm bled from a lucky strike yet they didn't slow.
Then came the shift.
Elton's body glowed faintly. A surge of Ki burst outward like a heartbeat. Zoro's killing intent exploded, casting a chilling shadow even amid the blood mist.
In the blink of an eye, the four Silver Tier warriors were dead.
Elton's Blue Star Sword carved through two of them in a flash, their bodies barely registering what hit them before falling. Zoro decapitated another with a cross-slash that left only a spray of crimson in his wake. Ramiro ended the last with a crushing thrust, his spear splitting the man's sternum in half.
The lesser enemies scattered, but not before Ramiro drove them off with brutal sweeps, knocking bodies aside like a storm clearing rubble.
They ran.
The field opened creating A straight path.
Until it was blocked again.
Three Silver Tier 5 warriors—each from a different faction.
A Leopard Demi-human stood poised, muscles rippling beneath spotted fur.
A Grey-Skinned warrior clutched a long metal staff, his eyes cold and calculating.
A Purple-Skinned man stood with a hooked blade, breathing deeply.
They didn't speak. They charged.
Ramiro intercepted the Grey-Skinned warrior with a grunt, the force of their initial clash echoing like thunder. Spear and staff slammed into each other, neither giving ground.
Zoro locked swords with the Purple-skinned expert, their movements like dueling phantoms. But even as they battled, the older man's expression grew grim. Zoro was relentless.
Elton faced the Leopard Demi-human.
Their initial blows were even, a wild dance of blade and claw, But as the fight dragged on, the Leopard's strikes grew erratic. His instincts flared in warning. Elton wasn't just fast but he was terrifying.
"You're good, boy," the Leopard snarled, trying to mask the fear in his voice. "But you're not untouchable."
Elton narrowed his eyes. "You have one more chance. Move… or die."
Something in his tone made the Leopard flinch.
Before he could react, Elton vanished.
He appeared beside Ramiro, lightning sparking at his fingertips.
—White Lightning Spear—
The glowing Ki lance pierced the Grey-Skinned warrior's side with a sickening crack. The man cried out, stumbling just in time for Ramiro's spear to slam through his heart.
Next, Elton was gone again.
He reappeared by Zoro's side. His twin White Lightning Spears launched in rapid succession, catching the Purple warrior off-guard. At the same moment, a sword slash from Elton's Blue Star Blade followed up, stunning the man.
Zoro didn't miss the opportunity.
He sliced through the man's arm and tore through his side, sending him crashing across the battlefield.
"NOW!" Elton roared.
The trio sprinted through the gaps, vanishing into the mist.
Behind them, furious roars echoed.
The Gold Tier leaders of the Purple and Grey factions bellowed in rage.
The Leopard Demi-humans? They grinned, continuing their assault, using the distraction to push their advantage.
And the Leopard Elton spared…
He stood frozen, watching their retreat.
His heart pounded in conflict with fear, gratitude… and bitter shame.