Ch 87 - The Grandmasters' Onslaught

The soldiers stationed outside the palace were lounging in the crisp afternoon air, their idle chatter filling the quiet courtyard. The day had been uneventful, and the guards were relaxed, their spears leaning lazily against their shoulders. But then, a deep, thunderous rumble echoed from within the palace walls, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Before they could react, a section of the palace’s outer wall exploded outward in a shower of stone and debris.

A massive, glowing figure hurtled through the gaping hole, crashing into the courtyard with the force of a falling meteor. The giant body tumbled across the cobblestones, carving a deep trench into the ground before slamming into a marble fountain. Water erupted into the air, drenching the surrounding area as the figure came to a halt, half-submerged in the shattered basin.

The soldiers sprang into action, their training kicking in as they rushed toward the scene, weapons drawn. “Apprehend the intruder!” one of them barked, his voice sharp with urgency. But as they closed in, their bravado faltered. The figure in the fountain wasn’t an enemy—it was Grandmaster Ajax, his hulking form limp and unconscious, his glowing veins flickering faintly like dying embers.

“By the gods…” one of the soldiers muttered, lowering his spear. “It’s the Grandmaster!”

Another soldier, a grizzled veteran with a scar running down his cheek, knelt beside Ajax, checking for signs of life. “He’s alive,” he confirmed, though his voice was tight with concern. “But he’s in bad shape. What the hell happened there?”

The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier confidence replaced by a growing sense of dread.

“Sound the alarm!” the veteran barked, rising to his feet. “Now! The palace is under attack!”

One of the younger soldiers fumbled for a horn at his belt, raising it to his lips and blowing a long, mournful note that echoed through the courtyard and beyond. The alarm reverberated through the palace grounds, a call to arms that sent servants scattering and guards rushing to their posts.

Inside the council chamber, the atmosphere was no less tense. Belarus stood at the center of the room, his crimson scales glinting in the dim light, his golden eyes gleaming with predatory amusement. The sheer force of his punch, which had sent Ajax flying through the palace walls, had left the remaining grandmasters momentarily stunned. But they were not ones to back down.

“Now then... who's next?” Belarus taunted, his voice dripping with mockery as he flexed his claws, the air around him shimmering with heat.

Grandmaster Pierre, his face set in a grim mask, was the first to act. With a swift motion of his hand, he summoned two hovering cannons, their barrels glowing with magical energy. “Fire!” he commanded, and the cannons roared, launching massive projectiles straight at Belarus.

The Virtue didn’t even flinch. With a casual swipe of his hand, he batted the incoming projectiles aside as if they were nothing more than pesky insects. The deflected shots slammed into the upper walls of the palace, exploding in a shower of stone and fire that rained down on the chamber.

Before the dust could settle, Grandmaster Hamanthra and Grandmaster Travis closed in from either side. Hamanthra’s lion-flame suit radiated heat, her claws wreathed in fire, while Travis’s transmutant form bristled with red scales, his own claws poised to strike.

The two attacked in unison, their movements a blur of fire and fury. Hamanthra’s flaming claws slashed through the air, leaving trails of fire in their wake, while Travis’s strikes were swift and precise, aimed at Belarus’s vulnerable spots. But the Virtue moved with an almost unnatural grace, his body twisting and turning as he dodged their attacks with ease. It was like a deadly dance, the flames from their claws illuminating the chamber as they pressed their assault.

Yet, for all their skill and coordination, they couldn’t land a single blow.

Belarus’s tail lashed out suddenly, catching Hamanthra mid-strike and sending her flying across the room. She crashed into a pillar with a sickening thud, the impact cracking the stone and leaving her dazed.

Travis, undeterred, lunged at Belarus, his claws aiming for the Virtue's chest. But when they struck, they sparked harmlessly against his scales, failing to penetrate. “What?!” Travis gasped, his eyes widening in disbelief. “This is impossible!”

Belarus chuckled darkly, his grin widening as he grabbed Travis by the tail. “Oh, what’s this?” he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “Red scales, like mine? But you’re nothing more than a lizard playing at being a dragon.”

Before Travis could react, Belarus seized him by the neck, lifting him off the ground. With his free hand, he slashed at Travis’s chest, his claws cutting through the transmutant’s scales as if they were paper. Travis screamed in agony as the Virtue's claws carved a deep gash into his chest, the wound bleeding profusely. Belarus twisted his claws slowly, deliberately, savoring the torment.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” Belarus growled, his voice low and menacing.

Just as Travis’s screams reached a fever pitch, a cannonball from Pierre struck Belarus square in the face, the impact sending a shockwave through the room. Belarus staggered slightly, his grip on Travis loosening just enough for the grandmaster to break free. Travis stumbled away, clutching his chest as blood poured from the wound.

Grandmaster Casia, who had been preparing a spell in the background, stepped forward, her hands glowing with healing energy. “Hold still, Travis,” she murmured, her voice calm despite the chaos. The magic flowed from her fingertips, knitting his flesh back together and staunching the bleeding.

Belarus shook off the cannonball’s impact as if it were nothing more than a mild annoyance, his golden eyes narrowing as he turned to face Pierre. “Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted, his grin widening with every word. “I was hoping for more of a challenge.”

Before anyone could respond, the air in the chamber grew heavy, and a thick, black mist began to swirl around Belarus. It coiled and twisted like a living thing, tendrils of darkness reaching out to envelop him. At the center of the mist stood Grandmaster Messindra, her hands raised as she channeled her power. Her eyes glowed with an eerie light as she commanded the mist, her voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate through the very walls.

The mist solidified into a grotesque creature, its form shifting and writhing as it took shape. It had a pale, veiled face with a single, glowing eye etched into the fabric, and its tendril-like arms stretched out, wrapping around Belarus and holding him in place. The creature’s eye began to pulse with a hypnotic light, its gaze locking onto Belarus as it leaned in close, its veiled face inches from his own.

For a moment, it seemed as though the Virtue had finally been subdued. His golden eyes wavered, their usual fiery intensity dimming as he fell into a trance-like state. The room grew eerily silent, the only sound the faint hum of Messindra’s spell as it tightened its grip on Belarus.

But then, a low, rumbling chuckle broke the silence.

“Hypnosis spells,” Belarus muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. “How utterly… boring.”

His eyes, which had seemed so vacant moments before, suddenly blazed with a fiery light. A searing beam of flame erupted from his gaze, slicing through the veiled creature like a blade through paper. The tendrils holding him burst into flames, their wooden forms crumbling to ash as the creature let out a shrill, otherworldly scream. The black mist dissipated, the room returning to its normal state as the creature was reduced to nothing more than a smoldering pile of embers.

Messindra, still floating in the air, let out a piercing cry of pain as the backlash of her spell being destroyed hit her. She plummeted to the ground, landing hard on the stone floor, her body trembling from the strain. The black mist that had once surrounded her now faded into nothingness, leaving the chamber eerily quiet once more.

Belarus stepped forward, his scales shimmering with an almost playful glow as he looked down at Messindra. “That’s the way of cowards to fight,” he said, his tone mocking. “Real men—or women, I suppose—should fight physically. But then again, I suppose you’re not much of a fighter, are you?”

Belarus turned his gaze, his golden eyes narrowing as he noticed Grandmaster Pierre standing at the far end of the chamber. The grandmaster was deep in concentration, his hands moving with practiced precision as he drew intricate patterns in the air with shimmering strands of mana. A massive magic circle had begun to form, its glowing lines intersecting in complex geometries. Floating within the circle were dozens of firearms—cannons, rifles, and other arcane weapons—all positioned at precise angles, their barrels pointed directly at Belarus.

Pierre’s face was a mask of focus, his lips moving silently as he chanted the incantation needed to complete the spell. The air around him crackled with energy, the magic circle growing brighter with each passing second.

Belarus tilted his head, his grin widening. “You think I’ll just stand here and let you complete that little spell of yours—” he began, his voice dripping with mockery. But before he could finish, a series of glowing rings materialized around him, hovering in the air and encircling his body.

Grandmaster Biswaq stepped forward, his hands raised as he manipulated the rings with precise movements. “Apologies, Sir Virtue,” he said, his tone calm but firm, “but I’ll be the one entertaining you until Pierre is ready.”

Belarus glanced at the rings, his expression one of mild curiosity. “These things will stop me?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

The rings began to spin, generating a powerful vortex of wind that trapped Belarus in the center. The gusts howled like a storm, whipping through the chamber and sending loose debris flying. But Belarus remained unfazed, his scales glinting as he stood unmoving within the maelstrom.

Biswaq, undeterred, twirled his fingers in a complex motion, summoning another set of rings above Belarus. Dark clouds gathered within them, crackling with electricity. A moment later, bolts of lightning erupted from the clouds, striking Belarus with deafening cracks of thunder. The lightning merged with the swirling winds, creating a chaotic tempest of electricity and tornado-like forces that enveloped the Virtue completely.

For a moment, the chamber was filled with the blinding light of the lightning and the deafening roar of the storm. But when the light faded, Belarus stood unharmed, his golden eyes glowing faintly through the dissipating smoke.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, his voice low and disdainful.

With a flick of his scaly tail, he sent a chunk of nearby debris hurtling through the air. It struck Biswaq squarely in the face, the impact sending the grandmaster sprawling to the ground. The rings faltered, their magic dissipating as Biswaq lost control, and the storm around Belarus vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Belarus stepped forward, his grin returning as he flexed his claws. “Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted, his gaze shifting between the grandmasters. “I was hoping for something a bit more… this is just a group of nobodies.”

Pierre, still working on his spell, glanced up briefly, his expression grim. The magic circle was nearly complete, the floating firearms humming with energy. But time was running out, and Belarus was already moving, his golden eyes locked on his next target.

The king, standing in the corner of the chamber under the protection of Gunther and Harnold, watched in horrified silence as his most powerful grandmasters were systematically dismantled by Belarus. The Virtue of Valor moved with an almost casual ease, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement as he brushed aside their attacks like they were nothing more than minor annoyances. The king’s hands clenched into fists, his mind racing. He knew they couldn’t win this fight through brute force alone—they needed a plan, and they needed it fast.

“Gunther,” the king said, his voice low but steady, “gather the grandmasters. Keep him busy for ten—no, five minutes. I need time to finish my spell.”

Gunther glanced at the king, his expression a mix of confusion and determination, but he nodded without hesitation. “Understood,” he said, rising to his feet. He exchanged a quick look with Harnold, who gave a firm nod, signaling that he would stay behind to protect the king.

As Belarus advanced toward Pierre, who was still frantically working on his spell, Gunther stepped forward, his hands moving with practiced precision. A translucent map of the room materialized in the air before him, glowing faintly as he manipulated it with swift gestures. With a flick of his finger, a shimmering, translucent wall appeared in front of Belarus, blocking his path.

Belarus paused, tilting his head as he examined the barrier. He reached out, his claws scraping against the surface, but to his surprise, the wall held firm. “Interesting trick,” he muttered, his grin widening. He stepped to the side, attempting to go around the wall, but Gunther was already creating more barriers, his fingers dancing across the map as he erected a maze of translucent walls to slow the Virtue down.

“Everyone, on your feet!” Gunther barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. “We’ll coordinate our attacks. Follow my lead and keep him contained until the king finishes his spell!”

The grandmasters, battered but not broken, quickly rallied. Their eyes flicked toward the king, who had cut his palm and was now using his blood to draw an intricate magic circle on the ground. The air around him shimmered with power as he chanted under his breath, the spell taking shape with each passing second.

Belarus, growing increasingly annoyed, slashed through the translucent walls with his claws, his movements growing more aggressive as he closed in on Pierre. But Gunther was relentless, his hands moving in a blur as he continued to create new barriers, buying precious seconds for his comrades.

“Defeating him in close combat is impossible,” Gunther said, his voice calm despite the tension. “Keep him in the center of the room. Messindra, you’re up!”

Messindra, though still recovering from her earlier injuries, raised her hands, summoning a thick, black mist that enveloped Belarus. Woody, tendril-like arms emerged from the shadows, wrapping around the Virtue and pinning him in place. Gunther quickly reinforced the hold, using his map to summon ethereal chains that bolted Belarus to the ground.

“Harnold! Reinforce the bindings!” Gunther commanded.

Harnold stepped forward, his iron hammer glowing with golden light as he struck the air. The impact sent a wave of energy through the chains, strengthening them and tightening their grip on Belarus. Virtue struggled against the bindings, his muscles straining as he tried to break free, but for the first time, he seemed genuinely restrained.

“Biswaq, create a whirlwind around him—now!” Gunther ordered.

Biswaq obeyed without hesitation, his hands moving in a circular motion as he summoned a swirling vortex of wind around Belarus. The air crackled with energy as the whirlwind intensified, trapping the Virtue in a bubble of raging storm.

“Travis, Hamanthra! Launch your strongest ranged attacks!”

Hamanthra joined her hands, her lion-flame suit glowing brightly as she unleashed a searing beam of fire. Travis, his transmutant form bristling with energy, opened his jaws wide and released a torrent of infernal flames. The two attacks merged with Biswaq’s whirlwind, creating a fiery inferno that engulfed Belarus completely. The force of the combined spells was so immense that it blew away the palace walls, leaving the grandmasters exposed to the open air.

“Casia, double the blessings!” Gunther shouted.

Casia raised her hands, her voice soft but steady as she chanted a prayer. A golden light enveloped the grandmasters, amplifying their strength and enhancing their spells.

“Pierre, fire when ready!”

Pierre, his magic circle now complete, looked up with a grim expression. Hovering above the battlefield was a colossal cannon, its barrel glowing with concentrated mana. The air hummed with power as the weapon charged, its metal gears revolving with a deafening clatter.

“Fire,” Pierre said, his voice calm but resolute.

The cannon roared, unleashing a beam of pure energy that slammed into the fiery tornado with devastating force. The blast was so powerful that it vaporized everything in its path, carving a deep crater into the ground and sending molten lava churning to the surface. Gunther, anticipating the destruction, quickly summoned a cylindrical barrier to contain the explosion, shielding his comrades from the fallout.

The palace shook violently, its foundations crumbling under the sheer force of the attack. For a moment, it seemed as though the entire structure would collapse, but somehow, it held.

The grandmasters stood in a heavy silence, their breathing ragged and uneven from the strain of their combined attack. The colossal crater where Belarus had stood moments before was now a smoldering pit, its surface cracked and charred from the intense energy unleashed upon it.

Pierre was the first to speak, his voice hoarse but filled with tentative hope. "It’s over," he muttered, barely believing it himself. "We did it. We actually did it."

For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind outside, the air thick with the remnants of the intense battle. It felt like time had stopped, the calm settling over them like a blanket after a storm.

A deep, rumbling chuckle cut through the tense silence, sending a shiver down the spines of the grandmasters. Their eyes widened in horror as they turned toward the crater. Through the thick smoke, a shadow began to take shape—taller, more imposing than ever before.

Belarus. Unscathed. His massive wings unfurled with a powerful snap, and he ascended into the sky. His golden eyes burned with a malicious fire, gleaming brighter than the inferno that had raged moments before. A twisted grin spread across his face, widening with mocking amusement.

"Not bad," he purred, his voice rich with dark mirth. "But did you honestly think you could kill me with fire? I am the fire dragon, the sovereign of flames. And your grand plan to defeat me is... fire?" He chuckled again, the sound reverberating like a thunderclap. "This is almost laughable."

The grandmasters stood frozen in disbelief, their minds reeling, unable to process what they were witnessing. They had thought him defeated, but now, it seemed impossible even to imagine victory.

"A commendable effort, I'll admit," Belarus continued, his voice dripping with derision. "But you’ll need far more than mere flames if you hope to stop me." His eyes blazed with an intensity that promised only destruction.

The battle was far from over.