Chapter 733: Frost Shaman
“Demons? Let me show you the strength of Holy Light!”
Stuffed Bun tapped the firing button with his index finger. Beneath the Wyvern’s belly, a barrage of bombs rained down like a storm, screaming through the air with earsplitting force. These were the Empire’s newest production—Sacred Funeral bombs—each metal watch face etched with celestial runes that dealt devastating damage to fiendish creatures.
“Boom!”
“Boom-boom-boom!”
A chain reaction of explosions erupted across the sky. Luminous spheres bloomed in midair, each one the size of a Spines-eyed orb, annihilating dozens of demons in an instant. Every blast reduced a dozen or more fiends to ash, leaving nothing behind.
Stuffed Bun glanced down at the vast ash-covered wasteland below, then stared at the fresh rewards scrolling across his Character Sheet. He let out a hearty laugh. “Hahaha! No wonder I spent over ten gold coins on these bombs—they’re insane!”
“Watch out—demons are closing in on your position.”
A warning crackled through his earpiece, mixed with the sizzling static of chaotic Abyssal energy disrupting their comms.
“Hmph. Can they even catch me?”
He looked up—his breath froze.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Frothmaws—vulture-like horrors with jagged fangs and matted, frothing maws—wheeled through the sky in a swirling, shrieking storm. They descended like a dense, living cloud of darkness, blotting out the sun.
“Where the hell did all these demons come from?”
The airspace ahead was already choked with them. Stuffed Bun gripped the control stick, twisted hard to the right, and stomped the rudder with his front claw.
“Spines—!”
A violent crack tore through the air as the Wyvern unfurled its wings and executed a sharp, spiraling turn. Twin streams of dazzling light erupted from its propulsion units, pushing the dragon to its absolute top speed.
But more Frothmaws surged from above—now dominating half the sky, forming a tight, suffocating ring around the Dragon Rider regiment.
One Crimson Scale Conqueror tried to climb, only to be dragged down into the maw of the horde. The demons tore him apart in seconds, their claws shredding flesh and organs. Bits of meat and bone rained from the sky, devoured greedily by the frenzied fiends—leaving behind only bleached, gnawed bones.
“Gods… they’re ferocious,” Stuffed Bun muttered, heart pounding. He abandoned the idea of breaking through the ring and instead triggered the Wyvern’s machine guns.
“Die! Die!”
Da-da-da-da—
Bullets poured out in a relentless stream. Demons shrieked as they were torn apart, their black feathers falling like ash.
But even as the barrel grew hot, the swarm showed no sign of thinning—instead, it seemed to grow denser.
“Graaah—”
The demons stretched their necks, letting out guttural, croaking cries.
Then, in a chaotic, dissonant chant, they began to move—wings flapping, claws slashing, circling the Dragon Riders in a wild, frenzied dance.
“It’s… that?”
Stuffed Bun’s head throbbed violently. His vision blurred. He clutched his temples instinctively.
“Stuffed Bun! Snap out of it! Close your eyes! Plug your ears—now! You’re going to crash!”
The familiar voice snapped him back to reality. He slammed earplugs into his ears, blocking out the haunting chant. At the same time, he turned his head away, refusing to look at the writhing bodies and grotesque movements.
To his side, he saw other Dragon Riders—just like him—staggering, dazed, then falling from their dragons, instantly torn apart and reduced to bones.
Cold sweat poured down his back. He typed frantically into his comms:
“What the hell is that?”
Singo’s reply came instantly, overlaying his Character Sheet:
“Dance of Annihilation. When twelve or more Frothmaws gather in a circle, they can trigger this ability—capable of complete spiritual destruction of their enemies.”
“What do we do? We’re trapped!”
“Trust me. Follow me. I’ll break the ring. Just watch—my new ability’s about to show.”
“Got it.”
“Now—three o’clock! Charge!”
Singo roared. From his Wyvern’s throat erupted a blinding beam of light—radiating the pure, divine energy of the sun.
“Boom—”
The beam sliced through the sky, instantly vaporizing the demons in its path, carving a massive hole through the dense ring of fiends.
“Hurry—time’s running out!”
Singo snapped his two-headed dragon’s wings tight, diving like an arrow into the gap.
Stuffed Bun and the remaining Crimson Scale Conquerors surged after him, racing through the opening at maximum speed. Behind them, the Frothmaws howled and surged forward.
But as the Wyvern glowed with radiant light, every demon that drew near screamed in agony. Flesh sizzled. Black smoke poured from their bodies. Their wails echoed through the air as they were burned alive.
Yet, even in the face of sunlight’s scorching pain, the demons kept coming—clawing, leaping, pressing in like a tide of darkness.
“Kill them!”
“I’ll rip these humans apart!”
Stuffed Bun could smell the charred flesh, the rancid stench of burnt demon meat mingling with the foul, rotting odor of decay.
Accelerate! Accelerate at all costs!
He slammed the acceleration button. Four root-like tubes at the rear burst with fiery light, generating a powerful thrust. The wings tore through the air with a sharp crack.
At the very last moment, the Dragon Riders broke free from the ring—screaming through the sky, trailing brilliant fire.
“You’ll never escape!”
“Pursue!”
The Frothmaws refused to give up, surging after them like a churning flood, wings flapping wildly.
Then—crack!—a sharp, thunderous bang split the air.
Hundreds of glowing orbs descended from above, each one detonating midair with a blinding flash. Instantly, a hundred demons vaporized—leaving no trace, not even ash.
Stuffed Bun gasped, looking up.
A sleek, compact airship—Mechanical Divinity’s smaller war vessel—drifted across the sky. Below it, an Elemental Heavy Cannon swiveled, unleashing volley after volley of radiant orbs. The air filled with explosions, obliterating the demons in an instant.
“Is that… a hardcore player?”
A smug, triumphant voice echoed from the ship. The ramp lowered slowly. Out stepped the towering figure of Steel Tide, his massive frame clad in crimson scale armor, muscles like steel.
He had long since abandoned the original ideals of Mechanical Divinity. Now, he was nothing but a battle-obsessed warlord.
But truth be told, the guild no longer needed him. Steel Tide was little more than a figurehead—a nominal Guild Leader with no real power.
The organization—now a colossal entity of over a hundred thousand members—was run by scientists from across the world. They maintained its operations with precision, advancing projects, managing affairs, and guiding the cult’s development. Many of them were rumored to have official ties in the real world.
Coincidentally, the actual power behind Mechanical Divinity—the five Great Sages holding supreme status—were drawn from five of the most powerful nations in the real world.
Steel Tide knew this. And he accepted it. In the real world, he was just an ordinary man. He had no skill for managing such a vast machine. So he gladly became a hands-off ruler—devoting himself entirely to the thrill of battle.
Now, his entire body was encased in thick, layered crimson scale armor. His frame was massive, his muscles rippling like steel. His right arm had been replaced with a mechanical prosthesis—equipped with a circular saw, a powered rifle, and a chain-saw sword—all deadly tools of destruction.
“Damn… these Mechanical Divinity guys are insane,” Stuffed Bun muttered, eyes wide with envy as he stared at the expensive gear. “If I had the budget… I could do this too.”
Singo shook his head, sighing. “This is the depth of a Great Guild. These people aren’t playing the same game we are. Steel Tide is just the tip of the iceberg. Beneath the surface… who knows what they can pull out?”
“Don’t even try to compare,” Stuffed Bun said, gritting his teeth. “Let’s go—back to the frontlines. Let’s boom these demons to hell!”
The Wyvern spread its wings, shrieking as it dove through the sky, streaking toward the front lines.
Steel Tide grinned—a wide, feral smile. He didn’t even bother with a parachute. With arms wide open, he leapt from the ship, plummeting straight into the heart of the demon tide.
“For the Emperor!”
A dozen Dragon-Scaled Cultivators followed, leaping from the airship, roaring in unison: “For the Emperor!”
“Boom!”
The ground shook violently. Dust and smoke erupted in a towering column as Steel Tide slammed into the horde, crushing a dozen demons into pulp.
Then came a chorus of thunderous roars. Twelve more Dragon-Scaled Cultivators landed around him, kicking up dust clouds.
From within the haze, towering figures slowly rose—massive, imposing, radiating a terrifying aura.
Instantly, countless greedy, brutal eyes locked onto them. To the demons, these were not invaders. They were prey.
In their minds, no force could stop the Demon Tide—neither man nor dragon.
“Rend them!”
“He’s mine!”
The demons closed in from all sides, their guttural whispers and spine-chilling laughter threatening to drive mortals mad.
But the Dragon-Scaled Cultivators stared back—eyes gleaming with hunger. To them, the demons were walking experience points, contribution points, loot.
Steel Tide grinned, flashing his teeth. “Everyone—ready?”
“Energy weapons charging—complete,” came the voice through the earpiece.
Steel Tide’s index finger tapped lightly on the trigger guard. The barrel of his Zeus’s Wrath electromagnetic rifle glowed with a deep, eerie blue.
The demons drew closer. He could smell their stench—the rot, the bile, the thick mucus coating their bodies.
Now.
“Freedom—fire!”
His roar was drowned by the thunderous blast of gunfire. Twelve lightning bolts tore through the air.
The front line of demons exploded into black ash. But more poured forward—like a dark, endless wave.
The Dragon-Scaled Cultivators’ firepower was devastating—each power-generation grenade reduced five demons to dust.
Yet the fiends charged without fear, surrounding them in a tightening circle.
They swung their chain-saw swords, hacking through flesh, while firing electromagnetic rounds at the distant ones.
“You think you can kill me?” Steel Tide laughed maniacally. One shot—boom—reduced a demon to fragments.
“Pathetic mortal!”
A Giant Ox Demon roared, swinging a massive war hammer with a thunderous crack. Its aura surged forward like a wall of force.
“Bullman must die!”
Steel Tide leapt high—several meters into the air—then brought down his powered blade in a single, devastating arc. The giant demon split cleanly in two, the cut perfectly straight.
Then—Caw!—a distant shriek.
From the ground, a pack of Abyssal Dog Demons charged—each standing over three meters tall, their bodies covered in molten lava patterns, spines piercing through their skin, smoking in the cold wind.
They moved at impossible speed—faster than lightning. The lead beast reached within a hundred meters of Steel Tide in an instant.
“Aaargh!”
The beast lunged—muscles coiled like springs—launching itself into the air, soaring ten meters high, claws outstretched.
A hot, bloody wind blasted toward Steel Tide. He focused, spun, and drew his blade—then leaned back.
“Spines—!”
The blade sliced through flesh with a wet thwack. The high-frequency vibration tore through the demon’s scales, cutting open its belly like butter. Hot organs spilled onto the ground.
Impossible!
How could a mortal wound it so easily? Its scales—its armor—were supposed to be invincible!
The dog demon howled in pain, spinning around—trying to attack again. But each step sent more blood and guts pouring out. Within moments, it collapsed, dead, behind Steel Tide.
Steel Tide straightened, chest puffed out. “Still want to jump? One slide—and you’re gone.”
“War狂哥!”
The voice of his deputy, Chen Yan, cut through the wind. “Three o’clock—big one! Energy level’s surpassing critical!”
“Critical? Could it be… a Balor Fire Demon?”
Steel Tide’s face darkened. His heart sank.
A freezing blizzard swept across the battlefield, howling through the air. Snow fell in sheets, blanketing everything in white. Frost spread rapidly, coating the earth in ice.
And in the heart of the storm, a massive shadow emerged—rising from the sky.
A colossal Abyssal Dragon, its body entirely wrapped in frost. Upon its back stood a tall figure—clad in a long robe, wielding a scepter. A Tanalir Frost Giant.
“Mortal Entity,” the giant intoned, his voice echoing like ice cracking across a frozen lake. “Cease your futile struggle. Lord Koscherci shall freeze this entire world.”
His eyes—deep, cold, soulless—scanned the ground. Just a glance from those eyes sent chills through the bones.
That was the Frost Shaman, Koscherci.
And in the storm, more mutated Frost Giants emerged from the distance—clad in war armor, wielding hammers and spears. Their eyes, clouded with madness, burned with greed and brutality.
They had long been corrupted by the Abyss—now nothing but chaotic monsters.
“Rend the mortals!”
“He’s mine!”
The demons closed in—howling, charging—unstoppable, relentless.
(End of Chapter)
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