SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

Chapter 977: Hell Pagoda!

Just as Kent vanished into the depths of the Forbidden Cave, a furious roar echoed across the battlefield. Ancestor Khagara, bloodied and wounded from his clash with Neela, floated high above the battlefield, his coral staff burning with unrestrained rage. His eyes, sunken and burning red, locked onto the weakened figure of Princess Neela.

He didn’t speak.

There was no chant. No ritual. Just a single thrust.

From the tip of his staff, a crimson flame surged forward—a spear of vengeance forged in wrath. It tore through the sea, slicing the currents like paper.

Neela, still struggling to hold herself upright after unleashing the Eternal Night Witch Form, barely noticed.

The flame struck.

A gasp escaped her lips. Her body convulsed.

But before the flame could consume her completely—

Flash.

The Naga Patriarch, with impossible speed, appeared between them. His left hand absorbed the impact, his right arm wrapping around Neela’s collapsing figure.

The water exploded around them, force radiating in every direction, sending nearby soldiers tumbling backward.

“You’ve lost your sanity, Khagara!” the patriarch roared.

Without waiting for an answer, he vanished again—his cloak swirling behind him like a serpent’s tail—disappearing deep into the heart of the Naga army, shielding Neela within a protective bubble of spiritual mist.

Khagara stood still for a moment, panting heavily. His eyes twitched. Then he howled.

“You dare humiliate me and still escape!? YOU DARE!?”

Madness had taken hold. His aura surged violently, the surrounding water turning red from the pressure.

Back within the formation, the Naga warriors rallied quickly.

The Second Princess, Nyara, her body wrapped in a sea-mist cloak, stood atop her beast-drawn chariot, issuing commands with military precision.

“Form the Nine Heaven Shields! Defend the breach! Cover the retreat!”

Beside her, the First Prince, Varun, materialized, dressed in sapphire armor, a crescent spear in hand. With a sharp nod, he raised his voice.

“Divert all flank guards to center left. Beast tamers—cover rear line!”

Soldiers moved with mechanical synchronicity. The Nine Heavens Formation shifted. What was once an arrow formation became a protective cocoon. Massive layers of spiritual shields flickered to life—translucent walls of sea-aura, forged through centuries-old rituals.

The front was still chaos.

But now, the core of the Naga army was moving back with precision, carrying the wounded, regrouping in disciplined lines. They weren’t running. They were withdrawing—like a serpent curling into defense.

But the enemy smelled blood.

Lord Russ, the Abyssal Shark leader, growled through clenched teeth.

“They dare retreat now? After slapping us in the face!?”

Khagara’s eyes were wild. “Chase them! Break the shields! Slaughter them all! Show the world what happens when you defy the Coral Spirits!”

The Coral Spirit Clan and Abyssal Shark Clan combined their remaining forces.

With rage burning in their eyes, they launched a rampage.

Spirit beasts were unleashed—glowing eel-basilisks with poison breath, thunderfish capable of shattering shields. Shark-fang monks chanted forbidden verses that dissolved barriers.

Flames of wrath clashed against the icy precision of the retreat.

It was not a battle anymore. It was fury chasing purpose.

The Naga warriors didn’t strike back. They formed walls, absorbing strikes. Spiritual healers moved between ranks, sealing wounds, reviving the unconscious. Mages took rear positions, casting wave shields and mist clouds to obscure vision.

Nyara stood at the rear, her hand never leaving her weapon.

“Hold,” she said, even as a flaming harpoon struck her barrier.

“Hold!”

They did.

One general fell. Another took his place.

Tidal constructs tried to breach the line—Nyara struck them down. Coral spirit monks summoned spirit worms—Varun dissolved them with cleansing flame.

The discipline of the Naga army was a testament to their training.

And slowly, the retreat line inched back toward the Sea Ancestral Temple.

At one point, Khagara himself tried to burst through the shield line. He was met by four Naga Grandmasters and the eldest priestess of the Trident Hall, who held him at bay with divine inscriptions.

The two enemy clans howled—but the Naga clan remained firm.

Kent had entered the Forbidden Cave. They needed no other victory.

–

The retreat had been difficult, but it was not impossible. The Naga army had reached the final stretch—just a few miles from the Sea Ancestral Temple. The sacred spires of the temple glimmered beneath the seabed, their divine aura spreading out in glowing rings.

The weary but resilient Naga warriors raised their spears and tridents toward the watery sky, and began to chant—

“Victory for the Scaled One!”

“The Path is Opened!”

“The Legacy will Return!”

The chorus echoed across the trenches and trenches, even the wounded joining in, their voices defiant in pain. Amidst the chaos and suffering, their spirits soared. The forbidden cave had accepted Kent. They had done their duty.

But peace, even for a breath, was not destined.

Above them, the sky cracked with a violent tremor. A crimson pulse descended from the horizon like a blade cleaving the heavens.

Ancestor Khagara had not retreated.

Hovering above the battlefield, blood streaming down his aged face, the Coral Spirit Clan’s ancestor held an ancient object in his hand—a twisted, blackened pagoda pulsing with demonic inscriptions.

“Enough,” Khagara hissed, voice like grinding coral. “If I cannot stop the Scaled One, I shall erase the Naga Clan itself!”

He raised the pagoda and chanted an unspeakable mantra—The Hell Awakening Spell.

The sea grew still for a heartbeat.

Then all broke loose.

Darkness fell like a storm.

The pagoda released spirals of void smoke that corrupted the water itself. Cracks opened in the sea floor, and from them burst forth black demonic beasts—creatures born of nightmare, with skeletal fins, bloodless eyes, and mouths that screamed without sound.

Hundreds. Then thousands.

They fell upon the retreating Naga army like a cursed tide.

The formation crumbled under the unexpected assault. Beasts tore through the rear ranks, devouring mages, snapping the backs of warriors, swallowing chariots whole. The scent of burnt scales and acidic venom filled the water.

Nyara screamed commands, “Reform formation! Defend the wounded!” But even she, brave and fierce, felt a chill of terror. Her spiritual energy was half-spent from battle, and the beasts were immune to conventional magic.

One of the creatures—a serpent with three skulls—lunged at her. She barely avoided the fangs, but her spiritual shield cracked. Blood gushed from her right shoulder.