Chapter 853: Kazul
“He escaped!”
“Damn it!”
“All this time, all this attrition, all this ammo—we let him get away? I’m not okay with this!”
“The kill credit for the Giant Flying Dragon got snatched by that damn Dog (slur) NPC! Dog Designer’s a real piece of work!”
“You little dog thief! Don’t you dare call my Misha wife!”
“Go crawl back into your Death cave, you creep!”
Players had poured every ounce of their Death Damage output into the battle, only to watch helplessly as Philippe vanished into the city’s embrace, their rage boiling over. With nowhere else to vent, they unleashed it upon the remaining Dragon-Worshiping Cultists and Dragon Blood Monsters.
“Hah! Dragon fiend, you’ve murdered innocents, terrorized the people, driven the people of Seleucus to ruin! I shall eradicate you—restore peace to this world!”
Great威 Tianlong, his bald head gleaming under the sun, channeled his inner energy into his legs. With a burst of power, he transformed the airborne Dragonization cultists into a living staircase—leaping from one to another, climbing higher and higher, until he landed atop a Colorful Dragon Beast.
“Great威 Tianlong, Lord of the Earthly Buddha, Bodhisattvas of Prajna, Prajna Paramita Emptiness!”
His battle cry echoed like thunder. At that moment, the tattoos across his body flared to life. A golden Dragon Circle spiraled into existence behind him—its aura blazing, overwhelming. But it wasn’t the six-limbed Ailezegai Dragon. No. This was a true, authentic five-clawed Gold Dragon.
Unfortunately, it was merely a projection magic pattern meticulously carved by a mage—beautiful to look at, utterly useless in battle.
“Hah!”
Another earth-shattering roar.
The bald monk was now bathed in golden light. A dragon coiled behind him, its presence so vivid it seemed as though he was possessed by a celestial beast. The style was utterly alien to Ailezegai—his fists, like torrential storms, slammed into the Colorful Dragon Beast’s back with deafening force. The wind howled with every blow.
Each punch channeled his inner energy into the beast’s body. The energy had already pierced through flesh, burrowed deep into veins and muscles.
The Colorful Dragon Beast shrieked in agony, twisting its head, jaws snapping open in a foul, stinking maw, trying to bite the monk from its back.
“Trivial tricks!”
Great威 Tianlong remained unmoved. He grounded himself with a surge of energy, knees bent, then launched a devastating uppercut. The beast’s head snapped back—blood sprayed across the sky. Teeth shattered, scattered.
Unable to kill him instantly, the beast thrashed wildly, trying to throw the damned bald monk off. But the opposite happened. The more it struggled, the fiercer Great威 Tianlong’s attacks became.
The violent motion accelerated the flow of energy deeper into the beast’s core—through blood vessels, racing back to its heart with terrifying speed.
“You abominable creature… it’s time to end this!”
Great威 Tianlong’s muscles bulged, veins standing out like cables. Every ounce of strength surged into his final punch.
【Resonance Energy: EXPLOSION!】
“Boom!”
The energy within the Colorful Dragon Beast detonated. Flesh, blood vessels, even the heart—ripped apart in an instant. The beast exploded mid-air.
Chunks of meat and gore rained down from the sky. The monstrous beast plummeted, crashing into the ground with a thunderous boom, flattening over a hundred Dragon-Worshiping Cultists beneath its fall.
“Holy hell! That monk just took down a Giant Flying Dragon by himself! He’s insane!”
“Abbot, you’re legendary! Let’s go!”
“Form the formation—!”
The Eighteen Copper Men of Shaolin Temple followed Great威 Tianlong’s lead, charging into the heart of the Dragon Worship Cult Army, forming a tight formation. Long staffs and bare fists tore through the cultists like a whirlwind.
Meanwhile, the Mechanical Divinity’s Aerospace Warship descended from the horizon. Dragon-Scaled Cultivators leapt from the sky, crashing into the crowd like meteorites, their Chain Saw Swords and Power Swords carving through the masses like lawnmowers through grass.
“For the Empire!”
“Attack!”
In the surge of momentum, players charged without restraint, launching wave after wave of brutal offensives. The Dragon-Worshiping Cultists—already on the brink of exhaustion—began a desperate retreat, leaving behind a trail of gruesome corpses.
The Allied Forces’ assault grew fiercer. Artillery shells rained from the sky, countless and relentless, like a storm of fire. Even Tiamat’s Divine Power Shield could not withstand it—cracks spiderwebbed across its surface.
Towering flames, choking dust, collapsing city walls and buildings—chaos engulfed the battlefield. Thousands of cultists trembled in fear, their prayers rising to their deity.
Soon, the army outside the city was shattered.
“Great Five-Colored Dragon Queen, intervene! Punish these traitors!”
“Tiamat above!”
“Madness! These lowly humans are insane! How dare they defy the noble Dragonborn!”
“We can’t hold out!”
The wails of Dragon Blood Monsters and the screams of desperate cultists filled the air—but they were drowned out by the roar of artillery and the thundering engines of Steam Tanks.
The Empire’s Iron Beast surged forward, unstoppable. It crushed earth beneath its weight, dominated the sky, reducing every enemy in its path to pulp. It approached the towering, ancient City Wall of Sunset City—monumental, weathered by time, a relic of ages past.
“Boom!”
A thousand cannons fired in unison. The seemingly unbreakable wall trembled violently. Debris cascaded down. Watchtowers cracked, pockmarked with holes and craters. It looked ready to collapse at any moment.
Inside the ruins of Sunset City, however, Tiamat’s Altar stood unshaken—unmoved, as if shielded by divine fate. Every shell passed it by, as if repelled by unseen forces.
Philippe stood atop the altar, arms outstretched, reveling in the moment.
“Foolish rebels! You shall vanish with the end of this old era! The Great Dragon shall reign supreme! And now—the end of the world is here. The finality of the old age, the dawn of the new! Awaken, I call upon you, in devout prayer—Great World-Destroying Dragon, Purifier of the Old World, Apostle of Queen Tiamat!”
Philippe’s face was ecstatic, wild. His eyes, though smiling, were bloodshot, tear-filled, streaked with crimson tears.
The volcano roared.
The colossal beast stirred in its slumber, letting out a deep, rumbling growl. Rock fractures split across the peak. Stones tumbled down the steep slopes, echoing like the groans of a dying giant.
Then—earth split open.
Abyssal chasms split the ground, molten lava bursting forth like golden blood from a wound. The sky turned a hellish orange, as if the heavens themselves were on fire.
In the center of the boiling magma pool, a colossal silhouette erupted from the surface.
First came the head—each ridge and edge dripping with liquid fire. Then the thick neck, the towering spine, rising like a mountain ridge, armored in layers of thick, crimson scales, like plate mail forged in hell.
Molten lava dripped from its hide like sweat—hissing as it hit the rock, carving deep pits into the stone.
Then, broad shoulders tore through the molten veil.
Two wings—vast enough to blot out the sun—flared open in a lateral sweep. They blazed with molten light, like two colossal, burning banners unfurling across the sky, fluttering in thick smoke and thermal surges.
At their tips, air warped under extreme heat, screaming with distortion.
The crimson giant lifted its head, roaring—a sound that shook the heavens, drowning out every scream, every battle cry.
That roar was not merely a dragon’s cry. It was the roar of magma beneath the earth, the cracking of mountains, the suffocating weight of divine authority.
The battlefield froze.
Those narrow, vertical pupils—burning, inhuman, cruel, utterly indifferent—slowly turned, scanning the tiny, insignificant human ranks like insects beneath a magnifying glass.
Wherever they looked, air warped. Steel melted. Souls seemed to burn within.
To the eyes of men, the crimson dragon rose from the distance like a living volcano—emerging from the shaking ground, as if the earth itself had birthed a god.
This was Kazul—King of Catastrophe, God of Destruction, First of the Three Subordinate Gods of the Dragon-Worshiping Church. The very symbol of annihilation and termination.
At the frontline of Seleucus, a noble knight in silver armor raised his sword, preparing to charge. Then—his movement stopped.
Beneath his helmet, his eyes widened, reflecting the blazing golden eyes of Kazul. Only raw, primal terror remained. His arm, raised high, froze in midair. Muscles twitched uncontrollably, as if nailed to an invisible cross.
“K… Kazul.”
His voice trembled, whispering the taboo name.
Clang!
A sharp sound—metal striking stone. A soldier’s spear fell from his grip. The tiny noise was like a stone dropped into a still lake, sending ripples of terror across the battlefield.
Then—another. Then another.
The sound of weapons falling became a cascade of despair, a storm of metal. Seleucus soldiers stood frozen, hollow-eyed, as if their souls had been stolen.
The once-ordered frontline collapsed like sand.
“It’s really him!”
“This is the beast that slaughtered millions! God… how could such a cruel, bloodthirsty monster exist?”
“By Amanata! It’s the God of Destruction! Is that prophecy… real?”
“No… I can’t face him anymore. This isn’t mortal combat. This is beyond us.”
In the Allied Forces’ frontline, over a thousand warhorses reared up, throwing their riders. Soldiers dropped their armor, trampling each other in blind panic, fleeing from the gaze of those vertical pupils.
Chaos surged across the battlefield—despairing screams, dying wails, a storm of terror.
The Empire’s army, though shaken, held its formation.
Dolo, surrounded by imperial officers, clenched his fists, glaring at the collapsing Seleucus forces. “Useless fools! They’re terrified of the enemy!”
“General, we—”
“Don’t panic. His Majesty, King Kai Xiusu, is watching. Kazul has revealed himself. He will come. He will defeat this abomination.”
Far away, Kazul spread his wings—shrouding the sky in scorching gales. With each beat, molten lava surged into the air, falling like a storm of Tianhuo.
Scorching magma, burning meteorites—falling from the heavens—crashed into the ranks, igniting explosions, claiming countless lives.
“It’s time to end this boring game.”
Kazul surveyed the chaos below. His massive head tilted slightly, observing the desperate struggles of the tiny creatures beneath him.
His gaze held no pity. Not even the thrill of slaughter that lesser Red Dragons felt. Only a weary, indifferent detachment.
To Kazul, these humans were disposable resources—no different than soil, sand, or flowing water. Not even worth the emotion of cruelty.
Thousands of years ago, he too had been like the young, brutal Red Dragons—burning, looting, killing for sport, relishing mortal fear, savoring their pain.
That was childish.
Now, Kazul cared for only one thing—Deification. The transcendence beyond matter. The elevation into a higher form of existence.
Deep in his throat, molten lava-like dark golden light pulsed. With every contraction, the air screamed in protest. Light bent and warped violently.
This was the gathering of ancient power—so immense it could annihilate all existence, rewrite the very order of the world.
The final silence before the Judgment of the End.
Philippe, standing atop the altar, raised the Scepter of Woe, declaring in the rain of fire:
“Praise the Great Burner of the World, God of Destruction, End of the Ancient Era—Kazul! Behold! The King of the End has descended!”
“He stands upon molten lava, suspended in the dark clouds. His wings blaze like burning banners, blocking the sky. The end of this battlefield has come—all resistance, all glory, shall be reduced to ash beneath His Dragon Flame!”
(End of Chapter)
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