CHAPTER 353: NOW BREAKING BONES OF GRANDMASTERS

Lyrate stood beside me, her crimson eyes calm amid the carnage. A long elven sword rested in her right hand, its edge humming with Nature’s intent. Her body shimmered slightly, wisps of crimson mist rising from her skin like a cloak of living fog.

She glanced at the battlefield, then at me.

I nodded.

"Have fun."

Without another word, she vanished.

Crimson mist flowed forward like smoke on the wind, carving between legs, slipping past barriers. And from that mist, she reformed behind a cluster of Holt Masters.

Her sword danced.

One clean slice, four bodies dropped. She moved like the wind, faster than eyes could follow, her blade a blur of silver and red.

She didn’t stop.

Spinning on her heel, Lyrate dashed through a cluster of Holt soldiers. Her sword flashed once, then twice, cleaving through armor and bone as if they were paper. A slash across the throat, another across a spine. Blood sprayed like arcs of crimson mist in her wake.

One soldier screamed and lunged with a spear. She ducked under the thrust, severed his legs with a sweeping slash, and drove her sword up through his chest before he even hit the ground. Another tried to blast her with fire, she flickered into mist, reappearing behind him, and took his head with a single, elegant cut.

More rushed at her in desperation. She whirled, her blade slicing a brutal path through the crowd.

Limbs flew, screams rang out, and by the time she slowed, over a hundred bodies lay broken in a widening pool of blood.

Then she stopped.

Her feet touched the cracked earth. Her eyes narrowed as she raised a hand and called to the earth below.

Roots erupted from the ground beneath the soldiers.

The ground around Lyrate trembled.

A deep groan echoed through the battlefield as the cracked stone beneath her feet shifted then shattered.

Roots began to emerge.

Massive, thick, gnarled vines tore through the earth like living serpents. One by one, they erupted outward in all directions, spiraling and coiling with slow, deliberate menace.

Within seconds, the entire area within fifty meters of her became a forest of writhing, pulsing wood, alive with hunger and fury.

The first wave struck.

Screams pierced the air as the roots coiled around soldiers’ ankles, wrists, and torsos, yanking them off their feet and slamming them into one another like dolls.

One was crushed with a sickening crunch; another was flung so high into the air, his silhouette vanished against the clouds before he came falling down, dead before he hit the ground.

Dozens more tried to flee.

They didn’t get far.

The vines hunted them, branching and extending like predators. Sharp wooden thorns burst from the surface of the roots, piercing armor and sinking into flesh. Blood sprayed across the dirt as bodies were pinned in place, lifted, and twisted mid-air.

Then the explosions began.

Without warning, the vines holding soldiers detonated, blossoming into deadly bursts of wooden shrapnel and raw Essence. The blasts ripped through anything nearby. Limbs flew, screams turned to gurgles, and the very soil was painted red with flesh and blood.

One man tried to raise a shield.

A vine burst up from below and impaled him through the chest, lifting him like a skewer before hurling him into other people.

More roots followed—branching, splitting, crawling along walls, leaping across gaps. They weaved between friendly forces, never once touching her allies, guided by pure intent.

A swirl of crimson mist circled Lyrate as she stood at the heart of the devastation.

Her hair flowed like wildfire, her blade lowered, her eyes glowing with red intensity. The roots obeyed her will without hesitation.

That part of the battlefield where she stood was no longer a battlefield.

It was a garden of death. And she was its sovereign.

Lyrate turned into mist again, reappearing atop a collapsed tower, arms raised. From the cracked stone below, an entire grove of razor-sharp wooden spears shot upward like a natural deathtrap, piercing dozens from below.

Screams echoed in every direction.

Steve, already knee-deep in his own brutal dance of slashes, paused mid-strike. His blade hovered inches from a Holt soldier’s neck.

He stared up at the tower.

"She’s insane," he muttered, almost admiringly. Then he grinned wide. "I love it."

North, twirling through the battlefield with twin blades and gusts of slicing wind, stumbled for just a moment, eyes fixed on the spreading forest of death.

All around them, the Master-ranked soldiers from the Empire, once overwhelmed by the sheer number of enemies, suddenly stood taller. Their eyes lit up with shock... then something more.

"What even is that?" one of them asked, mouth slightly open.

"She’s like a whole army by herself!" another shouted, ducking as a sword above his head.

The tide had turned, Lyrate didn’t just kill. She shattered morale, warped the battlefield, and dragged fear back into the hearts of those who had long forgotten it.

And the Holt’s forces?

They looked scattered and fearful.

Brutus, locked in a fierce clash with Arkas high above the battlefield, scoffed as he noticed the tide turning below.

"That little elf," he growled, parrying a lightning-coated spear from Arkas. "What is going on, Rayleigh?"

He spun mid-air, his body igniting with roaring fire as he pulled one arm back. A molten sphere began forming in his palm, burning brighter, heavier, denser until it resembled a miniature sun. A spiraling meteor of concentrated fire and Essence. It crackled with destructive intent.

With a savage shout, Brutus hurled it downward.

The fireball tore through the air like a wrathful comet, casting a red glow over the entire battlefield. Soldiers on both sides stopped mid-fight and looked up, faces painted with horror.

The heat struck seconds before the blast would, scorching armor and drying sweat in an instant. The meteor was headed straight for Lyrate.

But I had already seen it coming.

My wings snapped out wide as I lifted off the ground in a violet blur, soaring high above the battlefield. Both my hands extended outward, and violet Essence spiraled into a sphere.

I narrowed my eyes at the descending fire.

"Let me show you how I

drop stars," I muttered.

With one swift motion, I hurled my own meteor upward, faster than the eye could follow. It tore through the air with a thunderous roar, wrapped in violet streaks and laced with my intent.

The two meteors collided mid-air with a blinding explosion.

BOOM!

A thunderous shockwave erupted across the battlefield. Blazing winds swept the place, uprooting trees, tossing debris, and flinging soldiers backward. The sky flashed red and violet as shards of Essence rained down like falling stars.

When the dust cleared, both fireballs were gone.

But I remained in the air, floating.

Above me, Arkas’s voice rang out, sharp and thunderous.

"Don’t lose focus now!" he shouted.

In the next instant, his body flashed forward like a thunderclap, lightning coiling along his arms. His fist, wrapped in electric fury, slammed into Brutus’s chest with explosive force.

Sparks burst across the sky as the shockwave rippled outward, rocking the heavens. Brutus growled, meeting Arkas blow for blow, their duel continuing to shake the skies like a storm made flesh.

Below them, chaos reigned.

Lyrate reappeared amidst a cluster of Holt soldiers, her form swirling out of crimson mist like a nightmare given shape.

Roots erupted once more from the soil beneath her, twisting with unnatural speed. Dozens of Holt soldiers were yanked into the air, trapped in wooden coils, then torn apart as the vines exploded in a storm of Essence and splinters.

Without wasting a second, I conjured another sphere, this one a blazing fireball swirling with internal plasma. I pulled my arm back and launched it into a dense cluster of Holt forces trying to regroup near a fallen tower.

The fireball crashed into their ranks.

BOOM!!!

A rolling blast of heat surged out as flames engulfed the area. Bodies were thrown, towers cracked, and the ground blackened.

Above the battlefield, the large glowing orb I’d conjured earlier, still spinning slowly, continued its relentless barrage. Each time one of my allies faltered, a searing light beam would shoot down from it, clearing their path or eliminating their attacker with ruthless precision.

Then I moved.

One of the Holt Grandmasters, tall, armored, wind blades swirling around him hovered near the far side of the battlefield, distracted as he traded long-range blows with one of the Empire’s Grandmasters.

He didn’t see me coming.

With a burst of speed, I vanished from the sky and shot straight toward him like a falling meteor. My body tore through the air as I slammed shoulder-first into his side.

Boom!

We crashed to the ground in a thunderous impact, stone and soil erupting around us. A crater formed beneath us from the sheer force. Dust clouded the sky.

And in that pit, I rose first.

"Still alive? Good. I’d hate for this fight to end without a proper challenge."