Chapter 67: Strange Tendencies

The battlefield froze for a fraction of a second.

​The collision between Morghanna and Nyxara had shaken the very air, gravity and shadow energy tearing through the surroundings like invisible storms.

Yet before anyone could properly react, Nyxara twisted her scythe, guiding the tremendous force harmlessly away.

​The massive axe slid across the curved blade with a shower of violent, violet sparks.

​Using her opponent’s own momentum against her, Nyxara shifted fluidly aside, causing Morghanna to stumble half a step forward.

​That single opening was all Cassian needed.

​Violet light erupted from his right arm as three shadow circles rotated around his forearm like miniature Hung Gar Iron Rings, their surfaces rippling with dense, compressed mana.

​Morghanna’s crimson eyes narrowed instantly, and a crushing gravitational force descended toward Cassian’s position, shattering the ground beneath him.

​But Cassian was already gone.

​[Burst]

​A violent explosion of kinetic momentum propelled him sideways. The crushing gravity struck empty air, pulverizing the earth where he had stood a microsecond before.

​His sky-blue eyes glowed with brilliant intensity.

​[Soul Gaze]

​The world seemed to slow to a crawl. He saw the intricate flow of mana, the subtle movement of muscles, and the shifting vectors of intent.

​Then, he materialized directly beside Morghanna.

​His fist shot forward. The Orc Chief reacted instantly, yet she froze for the briefest moment when she realized a bizarre truth: the punch wasn’t aimed at her body.

​It stopped mere inches from the side of her face.

​A shadow circle detached from Cassian’s arm at point-blank range.

​BOOM!

​The circle smashed squarely into Morghanna’s cheek, and the impact detonated. The air burst apart as violent shockwaves rippled outward.

​Morghanna’s massive body was launched across the battlefield like a cannonball, tearing through several wooden structures before crashing straight into a massive command tent.

The entire structure collapsed around her as a plume of dust exploded into the sky.

​A suffocating silence followed.

​Cassian slowly lowered his arm. The shadow circle spun through the air before returning to him, merging seamlessly with the others rotating around his forearm.

His expression remained completely calm, as if he had merely tested a minor martial theory.

​Tens of thousands of Orcs stared in absolute disbelief.

​Their Chief, their invincible Chief, had just been sent flying.

​Cassian swept his cold gaze across the battlefield, taking in the stunned, frozen ranks of the enemy horde.

​Then, he issued a single, quiet command:

​"Attack."

​The moment the word left his mouth, the battlefield erupted into total war.

​Thousands of undead surged forward in terrifying unison. Skeleton Knights charged with swords raised, Skeleton Tanks advanced like moving walls of bone, Archers filled the emerald sky with glowing projectiles, and Assassins vanished silently into the shadows.

​Special Units unleashed bestial roars as they slammed into the Orc lines, while behind them, the Death Chanters raised their bone staves.

​Dark, rhythmic melodies echoed across the valley.

​Massive area-of-effect buffs descended upon the undead legion, while debilitating curses spread like a plague through the panicked ranks of the Kragmar Dominion.

....

Morghanna lay motionless amidst the shattered rubble, staring quietly up at the emerald sky.

​The side of her face throbbed with a dull, heavy ache.

​It hurt.

​The realization was strangely novel. For as long as she could remember, no one had ever managed to strike her hard enough to leave a lasting mark.

Yet now, as dust drifted through the air and the sounds of war raged around her, she found herself paying little attention to the physical pain.

​Instead, her crimson eyes remained fixed on the heavens above.

​The emerald sun seemed brighter today, more vibrant, more beautiful. Perhaps it was because she was lying on her back in the middle of her own destroyed courtyard, or perhaps it was because, for the first time in decades, something entirely unexpected had occurred.

​Morghanna couldn’t tell. All she knew was that she felt... peaceful, a sensation she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

​The image of the Starbound Intruder’s fist stopping mere inches from her face flashed through her mind once more.

​Then—

​BOOM!

​The point-blank shadow construct. The violent impact. The overwhelming sensation of being launched backward like a cannonball.

​The memory caused the corners of her lips to twitch upward into a faint, bitter smile. That was the first time in her life someone had punched her squarely across the face.

​Yet instead of surging rage... she felt a strange, electric excitement.

​No, that wasn’t quite right either. She didn’t fully understand what she was feeling, only that it wasn’t anger.

​"CHIEF!"

​A desperate, bloodcurdling scream shattered her peaceful reverie.

​"Chief, help us! We need your assistance!"

​"We are being overwhelmed!"

​Morghanna’s eyes narrowed, and the peaceful sensation vanished instantly, replaced by something far more familiar: pure frustration.

​It was the exact same frustration she had carried her entire life, the frustration of being born into this tribe, the frustration of constantly being surrounded by incompetent fools, and the frustration of being forced to shoulder the entire weight of the Dominion alone.

​The Orc Chief slowly rose from the rubble.

​Dust and pulverized stone slid from her shoulders as she surveyed the battlefield, and what she saw made even her pause.

​Thousands of Orc warriors filled the settlement, yet they were dying rapidly.

The invaders were vastly outnumbered, but every movement they executed was terrifyingly efficient.

Every attack killed, every formation held, and every tactical maneuver operated with mechanical precision.

​Morghanna’s gaze shifted toward her remaining council elders. Her eyes immediately locked onto the figures leading the slaughter:

​The Gravewall Commander stood like an immovable fortress of bone, its massive tower shield intercepting devastating attacks meant for its vanguard.

​The Dreadlance Commander rode wildly through the ranks atop its skeletal warhorse, carving bloody paths through entire platoons with crushing momentum.

​The Nightveil Commander flickered seamlessly between shadows, appearing and disappearing like an executioner given physical form.

​Meanwhile, the Soulpiercer Commander stood back on elevated ground, each spectral arrow it released bypassing armor to claim another life directly.

​Four council elders were currently locked in a desperate struggle against those commanders, and they were losing badly.

​The fifth elder—the head shaman—was desperately attempting to support them from afar, weaving curses, hexes, and spiritual interference.

Yet dozens of SSS-Grade Death Chanters stood clustered behind the undead vanguard, their dark, haunting melodies completely drowning out his incantations.

Every curse he cast was instantly dispelled, and every tribal blessing he attempted to weave was stripped away.

​For the first time in his long life, the old shaman looked utterly terrified.