CHAPTER 164: RIFT

Maybe even more than I first thought.

They filled the valley like a living tide—green skin, steel, and hunger all moving in grim unison.

Yet even as I studied them, as I felt the faint pulses of their aura brushing against mine, I could tell none of them came close to my level.

And that realization left me disappointed.

I had hoped for something more—a challenge worthy of the blood that was about to be spilled.

But if there was any comfort in it, it was that none of them was the chief.

For now, that was enough to ease a small part of my mind.

He was the one I was looking forward to facing the most.

"So many of them," Ariel murmured beside me, her voice steady. Not a hint of fear. Her flames, faintly flickering at her paws, made her look almost regal in the sunlight.

"Yeah," I said quietly.

I hadn’t expected the numbers to be this high, but in truth, it didn’t change anything. Quantity was meaningless against intent.

Whether it was a hundred or a thousand, the outcome I sought remained the same—destruction.

And looking at how neatly they were gathered below—rows upon rows of bodies packed tight, unaware of what was coming—I couldn’t help the faint smirk that crept across my face.

They had, unknowingly, arranged themselves perfectly for what I was about to do.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the air sharpen as my focus deepened.

Then I dismissed Gravefang, watching as the blade shimmered once before vanishing back into the void of my inventory.

And my hand rose toward the sky, the faint hum of energy beginning to gather beneath my skin, racing up my arm.

"You fiend! Do you realize what you’ve done?!" a guttural voice bellowed from below, cutting through the murmurs and confusion that rippled through the ranks.

I shifted my gaze downward, the sound drawing my attention to a single figure standing at the forefront of the horde.

He was larger than the rest—his shoulders broader, his armor thicker, the crude iron plates covering him marked with red streaks that looked almost ceremonial.

He wasn’t just another warrior; he was the one they followed, the voice they listened to. The commander, perhaps. Or at least, the loudest fool in the crowd.

I stared at him for a heartbeat longer, then let out a quiet exhale.

There was no point in exchanging words. Whatever I’d done, whatever he thought I’d ruined, didn’t matter.

The outcome was already sealed.

I lifted my hand slowly, feeling the familiar tug of mana swirling through my veins—dense, heavy, pressing outward like a living thing straining to break free.

Then I whispered:

"[Event Collapse],"

*

"Is he deaf, or did he just ignore me?" the goblin general growled, his voice low but edged with irritation. The others around him stayed silent, waiting for orders.

Ingrid stepped forward, his bow still slung across his shoulder, movements quick and precise. He leaned closer to the general, his tone urgent:

"General, we need to deal with him now. You saw what he did—he’s dangerous."

The general didn’t respond immediately.

"That’s not the comand," he said. "The chief’s orders were clear—recruit him."

Ingrid’s brows drew together, disbelief flashing in his eyes:

"Recruit him? After what what I told you? That’s madness! His ability—whatever that was—it’s not normal."

The general’s gaze hardened, though he still didn’t look at him.

"Phase Walker," he muttered on using [Analyze] on Eli, almost testing the name on his tongue. "It sounds impressive, I’ll admit. But I’m confident it isnt as powerful as my innate skill."

"General." Ingrid sighed.

"Not many chosens, have A-rank Innate skill I doubt his is that special."

"General!" Ingrid snapped, not convinced at all, his voice rising with frustration.

"You don’t understand..."

But the general turned sharply, his glare silencing the archer mid-sentence.

"Enough," he said, his tone clipped. "If he’s as terrifying as you claim, then that only means one thing—he’s better off as an ally than an enemy. The chief needs strength, and we’ll need every bit of it we are to compete."

Ingrid fell silent, his jaw tightening as he turned his gaze back toward the figure on the ridge.

He had already tried explaining it—to the clan shaman Marcus, to the general, to anyone who would listen—but none of them seemed to grasp the weight of what he and Ezekiel had witnessed.

Eli wasn’t just another Chosen.

He wasn’t even close to ordinary.

There had been something different about him during that first encounter—something that made the air itself feel heavier, the ground less certain beneath their feet. Power didn’t just radiate from him; it bent the world around him, as if reality struggled to keep its shape in his presence.

The others weren’t aware of it. The general certainly wasn’t.

But Ingrid knew better. He’d seen how effortlessly Eli had handled both him abd Ezekiel, how calculated every move had been, how much strength he’d concealed.

If they underestimated him, if they treated this like any other battle... they wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.

"Up!" one of the goblins suddenly shouted, voice cracking with panic.

Ingrid’s head snapped upward, his heart lurching as his eyes caught sight of the sky.

The air above the valley was twisting, warping, darkening into something unnatural. A distortion was forming high above, swallowing the light around it, and Ingrid felt his breath hitch.

"What’s happening?"

"What is he doing?"

The murmurs spread through the ranks, low at first, then growing sharper as panic crept into their voices. Dozens of goblins looked up, eyes wide, bodies tensing as the sky itself began to ripple like disturbed water.

Ingrid’s heart dropped, and his voice broke free before he could stop it:

"We have to get rid of him—now!"

But the general was already moving.

He thrust his arm forward, the veins beneath his skin freezing solid as frost raced up to his shoulder. The air crackled with a sharp, biting chill, and within seconds, shards of ice began to gather around his forearm, layering upon themselves, twisting and condensing until they formed a single, massive spike.

"Archers, ready!" he barked, and around him, bows lifted in near-perfect unison. The sound of taut strings filled the air as dozens of arrows were drawn back, their tips glinting in the cold blue light of the general’s spell.

Then he roared, voice echoing across the valley:

"Fire!"

The command split the tension like lightning.

And a massive spike of ice launched from his arm with a thunderous crack, tearing through the air in a trail of frost. A heartbeat later, a storm of arrows followed behind it, a dark wave of iron and fletching streaking upward toward the figure on the ridge.

*

I noticed the incoming attacks—the blur of arrows slicing through the air, the sharp glint of ice spinning toward me with lethal speed—but I didn’t flinch. The sky itself could have been falling, and I still wouldn’t have moved.

My focus remained on the fracture before me, that jagged tear in the fabric of reality. I drew my hands apart slowly, deliberately, as if prying open the heavens themselves, and the crack responded. It expanded with a deep, resonant hum that vibrated through my bones.

The air shifted.

Then it began to pull.

At first, it was faint—a soft tug, the kind that rustled leaves and stirred dust.

But within seconds, the pull intensified.

Wind roared as the force grew stronger, dragging everything around it toward the widening fault.

"More power," I muttered under my breath, voice swallowed by the storm of energy.

I could feel the pressure building, raw and untamed, humming in my veins.

The attacks were almost upon me now, close enough that I could see the glimmer of frost trailing behind the ice spear and the faint glow of mana on the arrowheads.

Still, I didn’t move.

I didn’t need to.

The fault’s gravitational pull surged outward like an invisible tide, its strength multiplying with every passing second.

The air warped, bent, and then—suddenly—everything changed direction.

The arrows and the ice spike, once aimed squarely at me, curved mid-flight. The sound they made as they were caught in the pull was like steel scraping across stone, a violent, metallic shriek before they vanished into the rift.

Gone.

I grinned, raising my hand higher as the void deepened.

The fracture pulsed, widening into a spiraling vortex that swallowed the light around it. The ground below began to tremble, the vibrations rolling through the mountain like distant thunder. I could hear faint shouts rising from the encampment, confused and terrified.

Then the wind shifted direction completely.

The pull from the fault was no longer limited to the attacks—it was spreading, reaching down toward the goblin army.

The sky darkened, clouds spinning above the anomaly as if drawn into its gravity.

The goblins below cried out in panic, their clothes and weapons tugged upward by the invisible force. Arrows flew out of their quivers on their own, drawn helplessly toward the churning void above.

For a moment, there was a stunned silence, a shared realization among them all.

Then it began.

Screams tore through the air as the first goblins were yanked off their feet, their bodies twisting helplessly as they were pulled skyward, flailing, disappearing into the collapsing sky.

Then more were...