CHAPTER 366: THE KING OF ELVES

The thick smoke of charred earth and shattered beastbone still lingered in the Den of Ferocious Beasts, a place once teeming with monstrous predators. Now, nothing remained but scorched land, broken terrain, and the bloodied remnants of an all-out war between the Celestials and the Elves. The ferocious beasts that gave the place its name had been reduced to ash hours ago, caught in the crossfire of unimaginable might. Only warriors—both divine and mortal—remained.

Crimson light shimmered along the scorched hills, refracted by the divine weapons of the Celestials. Clad in flowing, radiant armor, they stood like gods upon the battlefield—faces emotionless, eyes glowing with celestial conviction. The Hybrids, the ones of an incredibly low rank which the leader of their race commanded them to assist the Celestials as much as possible while he was kept at bay by the Nullcarvers, stood beside them, howling and snarling, their grotesque frames trembling with barely restrained fury.

Across the other end of the field, the elves had formed a crescent formation, shimmering in green and gold—a force of elegance and elemental wrath. Commander Maeralyn stood at the forefront, her long silver hair tied back, her enchanted glaive humming with power. Her lips were pursed, narrowed eyes fixated on the enemy across the divide.

They were preparing for another charge, one final, devastating clash to tip the scale once and for all.

Wind surged through the battlefield.

The Hybrids banged their weapons against their hides, ready to surge forward.

The elves began their chant of war, igniting their weapons with runes carved from ancient songs of the forest.

But then—

A divine pulse swept across the field.

It came like a ripple in the fabric of existence—a wave of soft light and soundless pressure that stopped both sides cold. Every Celestial froze mid-step, their auras flickering in a strange pattern—one not of rage, but of order.

From the sky above, twelve colossal silhouettes appeared in a circle—vague and abstract, their forms impossible to fully perceive. Each radiated a different hue: gold, obsidian, violet, azure, scarlet, and more—each one embodying an ungraspable truth.

It was obviously the Twelve Concepts.

They spoke as one, their voices layered atop each other like an orchestra of gods:

"Fall back. The line of fate shall not be interrupted. Return to the Domain."

The Celestials did not question.

In synchronized silence, they turned. Portals of impossibly pure energy opened beneath their feet and above their heads. One by one, they vanished—ascending like comets pulled back into the stars.

The battlefield fell deathly silent, save for the snarls of the confused and agitated Hybrids, left behind without their divine overseers.

Maeralyn narrowed her eyes. "They left them...?"

She raised her arm, signaling her vanguard. "Now. Wipe them out before they remember how to run."

The elven warriors surged forward like a storm of blades and fire. Elemental arrows rained from above, searing through Hybrid hides. Maeralyn herself dashed into the fray, glaive spinning in elegant arcs of death. She skewered two Hybrids in one motion, leapt atop a fallen pillar, and cleaved downward with a burst of mana so sharp it cracked the earth.

The Hybrids shrieked and fought like cornered animals, but they were broken—leaderless and disoriented.

Maeralyn lunged for the last wave of them when—a sudden surge of golden mana wrapped around her body.

A summoning tether.

A voice echoed inside her head—a familiar one, trembling with urgency:

"Commander Maeralyn. Return. Now. The capital is under threat. Something is coming... Something we cannot identify."

Her eyes widened. She hesitated for just a second too long, then twisted her glaive and stabbed the Hybrid before her through the chest. But the message was clear.

The tide of battle no longer mattered.

Something far worse was approaching.

Maeralyn turned to her lieutenants, blood dripping from her blade.

"Finish them."

And without another word, she vanished in a flash of golden light—pulled homeward to meet whatever horror dared approach the heart of the Elven territory.

But even as her form disappeared, far away, hidden behind multiple Labyrinth monsters—

Endless watched the aftermath unfold.

His eyes glowed dimmly like moons while he smiled.

----

The Throne of Shadows pulsed with low, ethereal light—like a heartbeat echoing through death. Endless sat with his chin rested lazily on his pale knuckles, veiled eyes half-closed in contemplation. But his grin—twisted and malevolent—stretched ever so slightly over his formless mask. Around him, his dominion churned with chaotic energy: a sky of cracked space, a horizon that bled nothingness, and silence so deep, it devoured thoughts.

But not his.

Endless was listening—listening to the fading screams of Hybrids being slaughtered by the Elves in the Den of Ferocious Beasts. Listening to the Nullcarvers at the edges of the Hybrid territories, expertly assassinating the stragglers, isolating pockets of resistance, and reducing their once-feared army into scattered husks.

The Celestials had had finally done it.

He chuckled.

"No matter what they say later on, the Concepts have definitely played their hand in the Hybrid’s extinction," he murmured aloud, voice carrying across the warped throne hall, "and so did I."

In his mind’s eye, he could see the battlefield littered with dead ferocious beasts, Hybrid corpses strewn like ash against the jungle floor, Elven blades stained with blood and purpose. The Celestials’ retreat had been too abrupt, too orderly, leaving their hybrid allies exposed.

Exactly as he’d wanted.

He leaned forward in his throne.

"The extinction of the Hybrids," he said, voice like a blade being drawn, "was never a mistake. They were pawns... sharpened teeth to drain the will of the Elves. And now, the Elves... will taste true despair."

With a wave of his finger, the dark mirror before him shimmered—rippling with cursed mana until it revealed a live view of the Elven territory.

The once-guarded cities, majestic spires, and flowing spirit streams were now silent. The soldiers who should have been defending them were at the Den... exactly where he wanted them.

From the northern rift, the Labyrinth creatures—grotesque monstrosities born from distorted mana and fear itself—began to slither and crawl through the cracks he had opened days before. Hulking, sinewy beasts with too many eyes, impossible joints, and mouths that gaped sideways thundered across the lush hills of the Elven territory.

And leading them were Aron and Selene, their eyes burned with shame from their earlier punishment, but their hearts still loyal... and afraid.

Endless grinned wider.

"This time," he whispered, "do not return to me until the Seed is mine."

The Seed of the Divine Tree—a relic, a heart, a core of nature’s will and spiritual longevity—lay hidden deep within the sacred chamber of the Elven capital. Only accessible when the royal guardian’s bloodline was weakened. With Maeralyn and the other major commanders away in the Den, it was now vulnerable.

"The moment the Seed is mine..." Endless’s gaze snapped southeast, toward the Human Territory, "I will march into Eldoria and everything with them. Let the pillars fall, the sky bleed, and the Earth tremble. Let their illusions of hope crumble. Let Kaelen and his little band climb their tower of illusions."

His expression darkened—Kaelen and his friends were in a zone even he couldn’t access: the fractured sanctum of the Aether Crucible. A place protected by laws even he dared not break... for now.

"But it doesn’t matter anymore," he said with a voice laced with venom and certainty. "Even if Kaelen survives... even if he completes the Crucible... what will he return to?"

He stood, his aura exploding in sheer dread as his shadows spread across the corners of the realm like the hands of an apocalypse.

"He will return to ruin."

A final screech echoed through the mirror as the Labyrinth horde, with Aron and Selene at the front, reached the outer cities of the Elves. Towers burst into flames, bells rang in warning, and spirits cried out as the terror of Endless’s will descended upon the weakened land.

The mirror shimmered again, showing Drake Grey in Eldoria, rallying the newly arrived troops, still unaware of the full scope of what was coming.

Endless’s eyes narrowed.

"You’re next, humans."

Then, like a phantom, he melted into the shadows, his laughter echoing long after his figure vanished.

Meanwhile, back in the Elven settlement....

Screams and the clash of war echoed through the shattered beauty of the Elven settlement. Once-pristine crystal spires crumbled beneath the stampede of Labyrinth creatures—hulking nightmares twisted by the Eternal’s will as every Elf was killed on sight. Aron and Selene led them with merciless precision, tearing through the outer defenses, leaving only broken mana trails in their wake.

Flames of violet and black licked the sky. The once-evergreen glade now bled.

And amid it all, Velyrian ran.

Blood streaked his cheek. His elegant robes were torn, soaked in sweat, but he didn’t stop. He sprinted past wounded warriors and shattered wards, eyes locked ahead—toward the Chamber of Verdure, the resting sanctum of the Council of Ancient Elves.

He had to get there.

He had to warn them.

"The Seal... it’s weakening! The Seed—something’s wrong with the Divine Tree!"

The doors loomed before him, untouched by the madness outside. He threw them open.

The chamber was silent.

Still.

Serene.

Then he froze.

His words died in his throat.

For standing at the center of the chamber, surrounded by the Council in their golden thrones, was a figure cloaked in a mantle of living leaves and gleaming emerald threads. His long silver hair drifted like starlight in the air. His eyes—those piercing green eyes—burned with the weight of countless eras.

The King of the Elves... who went on a pilgrimage ages ago and thought to be long vanished.

He stood tall, hand resting on a slender blade rooted with vines that pulsed with ancient energy.

He slowly turned to Velyrian.

"The Seed has cried out... and I have answered."