CHAPTER 850: COUNTERPARTS

High in the turbulent sky stood Orfry, his face illuminated by a calm and chilling smile. Beside him hovered the dark knight of solar inferno, Atila, his armor aglow with flickering embers as if forged in the very heart of a dying star, all the wounds from his last fight having faded.

Next to Atila floated a warlord who seemed to be the living embodiment of ruin and shadow. His massive form was sheathed in jagged black armor, the metal warped and charred by a thousand infernos. Tattered fur and shreds of regal fabric hung from his shoulders like the last remnants of fallen kings. Out of his back jutted broken wings, twisted and corrupted, their feathers forged with cruel barbs.

Two enormous crimson horns curled from the sides of his helmet, framing a single, malevolent red eye that glowed like a brand of hellfire. His mouth, visible beneath his helm, was a savage, toothy grin—a maw that exuded a ghastly hunger for destruction. Around him, the air itself shimmered crimson, thick with ash and the scent of cinders. Gripped in his hand was a colossal hammer, its obsidian head trailing arcs of crackling, screaming energy each time he moved.

He was Edward the First.

On Orfry’s right loomed another monstrous figure, brutal and ancient. He was even broader than Edward, his black armor pitted with scars and notches from a thousand battles. Spiked pauldrons carved from the skulls of fallen foes jutted from his shoulders, and a thick mantle of midnight-black fur clung to him like a living shadow.

His helmet, horned and monstrous, bore a skeletal visage that suggested the eternal triumph of death over life. Every detail of his appearance radiated savagery, domination, and merciless strength. In his massive, gauntleted hands he held a greatsword, its blade nicked and chipped but pulsing with dark energy, as if the lives it had claimed still haunted the metal. From his belt dangled grotesque trophies—a bleached animal skull and ribbons of red cloth, permanently stained by the blood of countless enemies.

This was Genghis.

Standing just beside Edward was a sovereign of undeath, a figure who commanded fear and reverence with a mere glance. His bone-pale skin was stretched tightly over the elegant, angular bones of his face, and his eyes burned with a fierce crimson glow—twin beacons of arcane power. He was both noble and terrifying, a fusion of forbidden magic and ancient regality.

Crowning his skull-like head was a twisted, black metal diadem, etched with symbols of dominion over the forces of death. His hair, pure white and as silky as spectral mist, fell in a gleaming mane that danced in the windless sky.

His armor was a masterwork of obsidian, its surface smooth and dark as a starless night, shaped to evoke both menace and elegance. Across his chest glowed blood-red gemstones, each a prison for the soul of a vanquished enemy.

He was Tepest.

Finally, behind the group floated a figure who was both haunting and heartbreakingly beautiful, sewn together from the essence of elegance and horror. Blood leaked from a hundred wounds across her alabaster skin, which was marred by thick, crude black stitches. The stitches crisscrossed her face, throat, and hands, a grotesque tapestry binding her together not with flesh but with sorrow.

Her eyes, deep pools of mournful crimson, seemed to weep shadows, piercing the darkness with a cold and tragic light. A network of scarlet scars wrapped her porcelain fingers, as though she had clawed her way out of the grave itself. She wore a gown of black and blood-red, crafted in gothic Victorian style, its trailing fabric dancing in the wind. Her hair, silver as moonlight, was braided with strands of shadow, falling like a shroud around her shoulders. Everything about her suggested a doll left forgotten, cursed and reanimated by haunted dreams and unending grief.

She was Mary.

Though they numbered only five, the sheer power of the Corruption Generals was enough to make the very sky tremble. Each one of them could annihilate a Legendary warrior with terrifying ease. Left unchecked, they would shatter the Xaos lines, and then their monstrous armies would sweep over the mountain range, consuming every last living soul.

But the Xaos Forces were not without champions of their own. One by one, their greatest defenders rose into the air to meet the Corruption Generals head-on. Freya, with her flowing hair and totemic might; Fafnir, coiling and shimmering with draconic power and fiery light; Ouroboros, radiating the destructive energy and pure speed, and Overlord, aloof and resolute. Each of them released an aura that matched the Generals’ own, warping the air and sending arcs of energy across the firmament. But there were only four—one short of the enemy’s five.

That changed in the next heartbeat. A blinding pillar of light shot skyward as five more warriors ascended. These were the Royal Guard, elite among the elite. Each radiated an aura bordering on Legendary rank, and with them was a titanic winged T-Rex, his scales ablaze with fire, his eyes bright with demonic and angelic power alike.

Together, they formed a wall of might. They were Nightmare Kings who had reached the very limits of the Sage Realm, formidable enough to stand toe-to-toe with even the most powerful enemies. Yet their true strength lay in their unity, in their flawless formations and the overwhelming, building force of their tank Fang. He alone now rivaled High Legends, his power rippling across the sky like a gathering storm.

The True Depravitas, the Divine Avatar, and the Nightmare Knight, along with the majestic winged T-Rex, glared across the divide at their foes, their eyes hard with resolve and killing intent. Still, among the Legendary enemies, one stood unmatched—Orfry, calm and impassive, regarded the mustered Xaos champions with a sense of absolute confidence. There was no fear, only the unshakable trust in his own might and the legions he commanded.

Suddenly, thunder boomed overhead, rolling across the mountains like the drumbeat of doom. A blast of lightning split the sky, and a new figure manifested—Vlad. He had fused with Jormungandr, the living incarnation of lightning and spatial power. Majestic runic lines covered every inch of his body, pulsing with raw energy, his presence radiating an aura so vast that for a heartbeat, even the fearsome Corruption Generals paused.