Chapter 522: The Assault
The demons' assault continued without pause. Creatures born from the Bottomless Abyss surged forward like a relentless tide, wave after wave launching brutal charges. In the face of the Ember Empire’s devastating artillery barrages and deadly landmines, they employed the most primitive of tactics—sacrificing low-tier demons to waste imperial ammunition and clear minefields.
Countless Primeval Demons and Timid Demons surged forward under the command of their superior lords, pouring toward the Imperial Wall. Most were obliterated in an instant, reduced to charcoal and ash by the rain of shells. Only a fraction—roughly one in three—managed to breach the blockade and reach the minefield, only to trigger the buried traps beneath the earth.
To advance even ten meters along the frontline, the Abyssal Legion had to pay with the lives of tens of thousands of low-level demons.
The exchange seemed wildly unequal—yet the Bottomless Abyss teemed with untold billions of such creatures. Even just the Primeval and Timid Demons under Jelrazaks’ control numbered in the hundreds of millions. To the demon lords, these lesser demons were disposable assets—worth less than a single shell, less than a bullet, even.
After all, if a demon died beyond the Abyss, it would return to the Blood Pool to be reborn. Sending them to die was always a profitable gamble—so long as they could break through the Ashen Empire.
Explosions erupted in endless succession. Corpses piled high, forming a macabre landscape. The flickering flame light turned the night sky into a blinding daylight. Shadows offered no concealment—the demons were exposed, their forms laid bare.
The assault raged until dawn. As the sun rose, painting the clouds crimson, the artillery arcs still cut through the still-darkened sky. The ground was littered with charred remnants—so thick that the earth itself seemed to be covered in a strange, unnatural soil. Piles of corpses rose like grotesque hills, each one a monument to slaughter.
When shells struck those mounds, they exploded violently, spraying fragments of limbs and blackened flesh into the air.
Yet even the Empire’s finest artillery had limits. The guns needed cooling periods. The crews grew weary. They could not fire nonstop.
But the demons were different.
Born from cosmic chaos, they were endless, ceaselessly spreading evil and destruction across the realms.
By the dead of night, the land was riddled with craters—entire regions had been carved down by three feet, only to be filled in again by the corpses of Timid and Primeval Demons.
Now, the demonic tide was drawing near. It had reached within a thousand meters of the Imperial Wall.
“Snap!”
A Judgment Soul Demon cracked his whip, voice echoing with contempt. “These cowards hide behind their Iron Balls, but once we close in, they’ll be torn apart! Mortals are weak, spineless—fit only to be food for us, nourishment for the Great Abyss!”
The giant ox demons, towering like mobile fortresses, let out deep, rumbling roars, belching smoke from their nostrils. Frothmaw flapped its wings in the air, shrieking with a cacophony of madness.
“Roar!”
“Awooo!”
Still, the Timid and Primeval Demons pressed forward—crawling, writhing, surging in front of the tide, charging toward the Imperial Wall.
Then, from within the fortress, a massive barrel—thick as a tree trunk—emerged from the wall. The dark muzzle of the cannon locked onto the advancing demons. A flash of fire erupted.
“Boom!”
“Boom! Boom!”
The familiar thunderous roar returned—smoke-choked, fire-lit, the earth trembling with each explosion. The front lines of the demon tide were torn apart once more, reduced to ash and charcoal.
Charred limbs rained from the sky, yet the demons kept screaming, kept charging.
For these lowest-tier creatures, orders from above were absolute. There were countless instances where a demon lord, in a fit of whimsy, had transformed an entire army of Timid Demons into Frenzied Warrior Demons.
The front line stretched for hundreds of meters, teeming with tens of thousands of demons. The black tide filled the sky and earth alike, swallowing the world before the defenses.
“Too many…”
“Not enough firepower!”
George, gripping his telescope, stared into the distance, his expression grim. He was entrusted with a vital sector—the backbone of the entire frontline. One misstep, and the entire defense could collapse. No room for error.
Inside the underground bastion, the cannon fire was deafening. Speaking at normal volume was impossible. He turned to his adjutant and bellowed:
“Tell the gunners to keep firing! No one stops until I give the order!”
“Yes, Regimental Commander!” The officer saluted sharply, then dashed off, waving signal flags to relay the command to other battalions.
“Where’s the machine gun unit?” George asked, still watching through the lens. He raised his right hand, voice low but firm. “Not yet. Wait.”
He stepped to a window in the underground bastion, mounted a fixed heavy rifle, and aimed at the demons in the distance.
“Damn Abyssal vermin… How do they keep reproducing? We can’t kill them all.”
He cursed under his breath.
Hundreds of demons fell every second—felled by the crossfire of over a dozen defense cannons. Yet under the command of their higher lords, the tide surged on, trampling over the broken, blurred remains of fallen kin as if nothing had happened.
The demons’ twisted, snarling faces, their shrieking, cacophonous cries—drawn ever closer.
The soldiers gripped their rifles tightly, hands trembling. Sweat dripped from their brows.
Too many.
Too many.
It wasn’t an army. It was a cataclysm—an unstoppable black avalanche sweeping across the wasteland.
The distance between the demon tide and the frontline kept shrinking.
One thousand meters.
Nine hundred.
Eight hundred.
Then, at six hundred meters, George slammed the trigger with a roar.
“Open fire!” he bellowed. “Kill them all!”
Instantly, dozens of windows along the defensive bunker line burst open. Over a hundred cold, metallic barrels emerged, spitting flames in unison.
To the soldiers, this was muscle memory—hundreds of drills had etched the response into their bones. No hesitation.
“Dak-dak-dak—”
“Dak-dak-dak-dak-dak—”
Bullets poured forth like a storm, weaving a dense net of fire between the demons and the wall.
The first few hundred demons were shredded instantly—torn apart by the hail of lead. Bloody blossoms erupted across their bodies, then they collapsed.
But the machine guns did not stop.
“Die, you filth from the Abyss!” George growled, pressing the rifle hard against his shoulder, eyes bloodshot, scanning the chaos.
“Dak-dak-dak-dak-dak—”
“Boom! Boom!”
Bullets screamed through the air. Shells detonated among the demonic masses. More fell. Even the once-august demons were forced to retreat in disarray.
Only when the barrels grew red-hot and had to be cooled with water did the guns finally fall silent.
On the distant wasteland, only thousands of charred corpses remained.
“They’re retreating!”
“Long live the Empire!”
“Long live Emperor Kai Xiusu!”
The soldiers erupted in cheers, embracing one another in the underground bastion, celebrating their hard-won victory.
Yet George’s face remained grim.
He knew this retreat was temporary. The demons were not defeated. They were merely regrouping—plotting something far worse.
His mission was far from over. This was not the end. It was only the beginning.
And then, from the horizon, came a deep, guttural roar—raw, primal, echoing from the depths of the wilds. A scent of blood clung to the air. Instinctive fear surged through every soldier.
It was the sound of predator to prey. Of pigs and sheep fleeing the butcher.
“Roar—”
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
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