CHAPTER 809: UNPREDICTABLE

What happened next was simple—yet utterly horrifying.

Without warning, waves of fire erupted across the battlefield, stretching for kilometers and rising hundreds of meters into the air. The flames exploded outward with such speed that they instantly engulfed thousands of Reapers in their path. These fires didn’t burn like normal flame—they burned with an intensity so extreme it drained the surrounding area of oxygen, creating a vacuum that should have extinguished them. And yet, they continued to burn, feeding on something far more volatile than mere air.

The blood of the five hundred thousand human soldiers served as the fuel. It turned the entire landscape into an inferno, as if the ground had suddenly been replaced by the surface of the sun, melting the very ground.

Thousands of Reapers managed to escape, launching themselves skyward using their propulsion systems; their speed was almost a blur. Those near the heart of the blast did not have the same luck and were scorched to death.

However, even for the ones that escaped, survival was not guaranteed. The fire clung to them. It was not mere flame; it was a searing gel, sticky and persistent, wrapping around them even as they fled. The substance clung to their carapaces, igniting again and again, burning through layers of armor.

It didn’t stop there.

The flames consumed oxygen and released a cloud of dense, toxic fumes, suffocating anything that required air to breathe. The sky above turned black, a swirling dome of poison and fire.

Overlord, typically a portrait of composed calm, watched the scene unfold from his command tower—and for the first time, his expression faltered.

"The alteration to the humans’ blood... ingenious," he muttered. "The chemical reaction doesn’t activate until exposed to open air. Impossible to detect pre-battle. And even then, there must be another agent used to trigger the blast in order to prevent a premature detonation."

But what truly disturbed the A.I. Chip Clone was the sheer cruelty behind the strategy.

"Even had we not attacked, that mutation would have killed those soldiers in agony within days. Whoever designed this tactic views the world as a chessboard... and the pieces as disposable."

A flicker of annoyance passed through Overlord’s eyes. This enemy would not be easy to predict or subdue. They were willing to sacrifice hundreds of thousands just to weaken his army—an enemy like that was not to be underestimated.

These conclusions flashed through the mind of the A.I. Chip Clone in less than a second. He immediately sent out a command.

All surviving Reapers, still burning, were to descend and begin emergency excavation. Fortunately, Reapers had been designed to operate in low-oxygen environments, so suffocation posed little threat. Their only hope was to dig—burrow deep beneath the earth’s surface where friction from rock and soil would help remove the flaming gel from their bodies.

In a desperate, coordinated effort, the Reapers clawed their way into the earth. Bit by bit, the abrasive contact with stone and dirt helped scrub the flaming substance from their armored bodies. Eventually, the gel began to fall away, and the flames diminished.

On the surface, however, nothing remained.

The humans had perished entirely, their bodies burned away. Their blood had fueled the inferno that left no trace behind—no corpses, no armor, not even ash.

The surviving Reapers re-emerged several dozen kilometers from the blast zone. Their bodies were mangled—burn wounds carved deep into their frames, in some cases straight down to the core. Even their enhanced regenerative abilities could not repair the damage. Overlord observed them through the tower’s visual feeds, his expression grim.

"They can still fight," he assessed coldly. "But their battle power has been drastically diminished. If they had been human soldiers of equal rank, none would have survived. They require air. They can’t dig through kilometers of solid rock."

There was no sentiment in his voice, but even the A.I. Clone recognized the logic: Thimatos Units were expendable puppets. The Xaos Kingdom’s true soldiers—those of flesh and will—had the potential to evolve. Sacrificing them to the enemy’s sadistic traps would have been a far greater loss. Better that the Reapers took the brunt of such experimental tactics.

Wasting no time, Overlord focused his attention on the wounded Reapers. Their utility was low; healing them would take resources. A swift solution presented itself.

The wounded Reapers remained motionless as the ground trembled once more. From the darkness beneath, another battalion surfaced. Without hesitation, the healthy Reapers moved in.

Consumption.

The new Reapers devoured the damaged ones—ripping through scorched carapaces, tearing out molten cores, and consuming every usable component. Nothing was wasted. Once the last of the damaged Reapers had been reduced to raw energy and material, the survivors vanished again into the earth.

Now, armed with the knowledge of the flaming blood, Overlord adjusted his tactics. It was a manageable threat—if accounted for properly.

So when another battalion of a hundred thousand Champions entered the continent, the Reapers were ready. But this time, they did not rush into their formations.

Rather than launching into direct combat, the Reapers positioned themselves at a calculated distance. Then, all at once, they let loose a coordinated sonic assault—an ear-shattering roar amplified through their hive-mind synchronization. The resulting wave shattered the bones of thousands of Champions instantly. Bodies crumbled like twigs underfoot.

Still, the Champions advanced.

Even as they stepped over the broken remains of comrades, their eyes blazed with purpose—no, madness. They marched forward, unflinching. Their minds had clearly been altered by some powerful drug. Already subject to deep indoctrination, their mental conditioning had now been pushed to inhuman extremes. Pain, fear, even reason had been stripped away.

They were driven by one objective: reach the Reapers.

And so they marched—over bodies, through blood, into death. The Reapers continued to unleash their sonic attacks, killing by the thousands every second. But it wasn’t enough. The Champions came from all directions, encircling the Reapers and closing the distance. The trap had been set.

Then, as dozens upon dozens drew close—close enough for contact—their blood began to glow.

The number of soldiers who managed to reach the Reapers was fewer than eighty thousand. Compared to previous waves, it was a fraction of the force deployed. As a result, the sea of flames generated by the detonation of their blood, while still intense, was not large enough to inflict significant casualties on the Reaper battalion.

Dozens of Reapers were consumed instantly, and hundreds more were ignited by the flaming gel that clung to their forms. But in the end, the results were limited.

Three hundred thousand Champion soldiers had been sacrificed to wound fewer than one hundred Reapers, with only a few more suffering non-fatal injuries. At first glance, such a trade might seem foolish—suicidal, even.

However, that assumption only held weight if one still valued those soldiers as irreplaceable lives.

The Exilion World was vast, and it was said to contain tens of millions—perhaps hundreds of millions—of Champion-class warriors. If those in charge viewed these warriors not as individuals but as mere pawns in a grand cosmic chess game, then sacrificing millions to eliminate the "knights" of the enemy’s army was not just acceptable—it was logical. Ruthless, yes. But tactically sound.

It was a strategy Overlord might have admired—might even have used himself—were he not bound by the ethical protocols of the Xaos Kingdom. As brutal as he was, there were laws written into the very core of his programming and design.

Once the detonation subsided, Overlord issued another command. The surviving Reapers withdrew, using underground escape paths to extinguish the lingering flames on their bodies.

Then, as before, the healthy Reapers began the process of consumption—devouring their scorched, crippled brethren to reclaim their cores and recycle their components. It was an efficient method of battlefield cleanup, and one the Reapers executed without hesitation or sentiment.

Though clearly annoyed by the enemy’s strategy, Overlord did not lose focus. His mind was already shifting to another front. On a different section of the continent, he detected a formation of nearly thirty thousand elite soldiers marching with intent and discipline. Their positioning and movement indicated that they were not mere bait or cannon fodder. This group was different.

It became obvious that the enemy had changed tactics once again. Perhaps they assumed Overlord would be too preoccupied with flaming blood and suicidal Champions to respond properly. If so, they had underestimated him.

In truth, the A.I. Chip Clone was quietly pleased by the sight of elite soldiers. Unlike unpredictable masses of expendable troops with hidden traps, elites followed strategy and structure. They made sense. They made calculations easier. More importantly, they could be dismantled efficiently—cleanly.

Without delay, Overlord dispatched a new wave of Reapers.

The battle erupted with thunderous violence as Reapers burst from the ground and clashed with the elite force. Screams echoed across the plains as steel clashed with talon, flesh was ripped apart, and magic lit the skies. The elite soldiers fought with discipline and coordination, striking with deadly precision, holding their ground far longer than expected.

Ten minutes into the brutal skirmish, the Reapers were in the thick of the formation, surrounded by fallen bodies and walls of blood. Victory was within reach. The final blow was imminent.

And then, once more, the soldiers’ blood began to glow.