CHAPTER 853: EVERCHANGING BATTLEFIELD

Atila fought with overwhelming might, unleashing even more power than he had used to overpower Jormungandr. Solar fire blazed along the edge of his massive sword, each swing carrying enough force to break every bone in the Divine Avatar’s body. And yet, for all his strength, his eyes reflected nothing but frustration and seething rage.

He brought his blade down in a devastating arc aimed at the Divine Avatar’s neck—but just before the strike could land, Overlord shifted. He didn’t leap away, didn’t waste motion; he moved exactly the distance needed to evade the attack, not a millimeter more, keeping himself close enough for an immediate counter.

It was a level of precision no ordinary mind should be capable of, yet Overlord executed it with unnerving ease. In the same heartbeat, his sword whipped upward, striking Atila’s weapon and pushing it wide, the force of the deflection ringing like a great bell. Before the Corruption General could recover, Overlord’s blade flared with divine light, and he thrust it forward. A beam of concentrated Divine Power exploded from the tip, striking Atila point-blank and blasting him across the sky like a comet of burning gold.

Atila gritted his teeth, fury and humiliation burning in his crimson eyes. He was not losing because his opponent was stronger or faster—on the contrary, he held the edge in raw power and speed. No, the reason for his mounting defeat was Overlord’s battle style. There was no reckless rage in the Divine Avatar’s movements, no lunges to create openings. His every strike was measured and calculated; the fight unfolded for him like a game of cosmic chess. All possible moves were already in his mind, all outcomes weighed before a single blow was thrown.

Unfortunately for Atila, he had no time to dwell on the thought. Overlord was already upon him again, moving with the inevitability of a falling star. His eyes were cold, and within them flickered an alien vision—a window into a realm of pure numbers and patterns, as if some divine formula guided every step, predicting every motion Atila would make.

That vision proved real a moment later. Overlord’s blade shot forward, striking Atila’s shoulder just as the Corruption General tried to raise his sword arm. The blow halted the motion entirely, locking the limb in place. Then Overlord’s aura flared like a tidal wave. Divine Power surged through his body, flooding into his weapon until it shone like a sun at midday. With a single, crushing swing, he struck.

Atila’s body was hurled downward like a spear of light, smashing into the ground at the base of the mountain range.

"BOOOOOOOOMMMM!"

The impact carved a crater hundreds of meters wide, the shockwave tearing apart the ranks of abominations below. Thousands of the creatures were obliterated instantly, their bodies reduced to smoking ash in the wake of the crash. But Atila paid them no mind. The deaths of those pawns meant nothing to him.

He looked up, eyes burning with slaughter intent, just in time to see Overlord diving toward him, sword blazing with divine fire.

"BOOOOM!"

Their weapons collided, Divine Power and solar inferno erupting together in an explosion that incinerated everything in a wide radius, sending molten rock raining down. The ground itself glowed red-hot from the heat.

High above, the True Depravitas and the Nightmare Knight could not help but glance toward Overlord in awe. Driving the fight to the ground had been a calculated move—it allowed the shockwaves of their duel to carve through enemy ranks, slaughtering any Guardian-tier abomination caught nearby.

The tactic slowed the advance of the horde, but it was not without risk. Sage-tier abominations prowled the battlefield, and if Overlord split his focus too much, they could interfere. Worse still, if Atila broke away, he could reach the mountain’s summit and lead the Corruption army’s final push.

Only Overlord possessed the skill, awareness, and cold precision to juggle it all—engaging a Superior Legendary-tier opponent, tracking the movements of other high-level threats, and keeping the fight firmly away from the mountaintop.

The battle between them became a relentless drumbeat of destruction. Divine sword and solar sword clashed again and again, each impact detonating in a violent blast. They traded hundreds of blows in mere seconds, and with each exchange, Overlord grew stronger.

The reason was simple—he was learning. Every slash, every feint, every twitch of Atila’s muscles taught him more. Bit by bit, the Corruption General’s movements became an open book, his intentions laid bare before they were even formed.

The sight of the duel lit wide smiles on the faces of the Xaos soldiers and the Rebellion members manning the energy towers. The devastation caused by the two combatants was more than just a spectacle—it was creating a buffer zone. The horde’s momentum was breaking against the storm of their power, giving the defenders the time they needed to slaughter the advancing abominations from above.

At this rate, they only needed to hold for a few more hours. If they could keep up the barrage, every enemy below would be dead before reaching the summit.

But fate is rarely so kind.

Without warning, the ground atop the mountain range began to ripple, shifting unnaturally. The earth darkened, then sagged, as if melting into some hideous, black quicksand. Soldiers shouted in confusion, energy weapons trained on the anomaly.

Then, the surface burst apart.

From the writhing pit, thousands upon thousands of creatures poured forth—monsters unlike any the defenders had yet faced. They were hulking, hunched horrors, their bodies swathed in coarse, matted black fur slick with a strange, corrosive moisture. Wherever the liquid dripped, the stone beneath hissed and dissolved.

Their musculature rippled beneath their hides, every movement radiating raw, animal power. Their maws gaped unnaturally wide, lined with multiple rows of serrated, needle-like teeth. From those cavernous throats extended wet, twitching tendrils, questing through the air for prey even before the beasts themselves lunged.

From their backs and flanks erupted elongated crimson tentacles, segmented and glistening, each tipped with hooked barbs like the stingers of some alien predator. These whips lashed the air with terrifying precision, capable of slicing a man in two or snaring him to be dragged screaming into those nightmarish jaws.

Their forelimbs were grotesquely overdeveloped, ending in claws shaped like scythes, each hook long enough to pierce plate armor in a single swipe.

The Xaos soldiers and Rebellion fighters stared in shock. Every inch of the mountain range was covered in defensive arrays and layered force fields—yet somehow, these monsters had bypassed them all. No alarms had sounded, no wards had been triggered. It was as if they had materialized from the stone itself.

And then, the slaughter began.