Chapter 670 - 69: It’s Not Your Turn to Die

Chapter 670: Chapter 69: It’s Not Your Turn to Die

"Ancestors above, your descendant Mira implores you to face the enemy!"

RUMBLE!

From beneath the soil, a stench that had been sealed for untold years erupted—a foul mix of man and beast, impossible to distinguish.

And with the odor came creatures of every kind.

The first to crawl out had a pair of tattered, scale-covered wings on its back, like some long-extinct species of ancient dragon.

As it rose from the earth, its wings dragged a deep furrow in the ground, and its scales scraped against stone, kicking up a shower of sparks.

It stood unsteadily, bones protruding beneath skin so thin it looked ready to split open at any moment. But its chest swelled as it took a deep breath.

Then, a torrent of grayish-white dragon’s breath, carrying gravel and dirt, erupted from its mouth and slammed straight into the crimson sword light pinning Mira’s chest.

Struck, the sword light was dislodged from Mira’s chest. It tumbled through the air, leaving a crimson trail as it flew up into the night sky above the cliff.

The hole in Mira’s chest began to heal.

She lay on the ground, watching the sword light that had been knocked away, and began to laugh. The sound echoed between the tombstones, tinged with a triumphant, almost frenzied glee.

"Grandpa Oulus!"

She recognized the monster that had spat the dragon’s breath—the half-remaining face, the scar that ran from his brow to the corner of his mouth, and the perpetually squinted left eye.

He had taught her to identify herbs when she was six, had led her up the highest mountain behind the village, and had pointed west from the summit as he spoke.

Over there was Ephialtes, the place where the Divine Spirit closed Its eyes, and the place she would one day guard.

"Go! Kill that intruder!"

The monsters that had crawled out of the earth began to move.

They spread their tattered wings and launched themselves from the ground.

Some had wings like bats, their membranes riddled with holes.

Some resembled ancient dragons, their scales gleaming with a bronze luster under the moonlight.

Some looked like moths, with enormous, eye-like markings on their wings.

Some were impossible to describe, their wings mere flaps of thin, translucent flesh that filtered the moonlight into slivers of silver as they beat.

They swarmed into the night sky, a dense cloud of moths emerging from Hell, and lunged toward the crimson sword light.

The sword light steadied itself in the air, then swooped down.

The first strike cut the three foremost monsters in half at the waist.

Their upper bodies flew off, while their lower halves flapped their wings a few more times before plummeting.

The second strike cleaved a hawk-winged, beast-like monster in two from head to tail. The two halves split apart, its entrails slithering from the wound, still writhing. Each half kept flying forward, beating its single wing.

For the third strike, the sword light transformed into a sweeping arc of energy that sliced across a row of newly ascended monsters, cleanly severing their necks. Their heads tumbled down, but their headless bodies continued to fly for a while, wings still beating, like kites with their strings cut.

But the ones that had been hacked to pieces did not die.

From the cuts of the monsters severed in two, black, viscous blood surged forth. The blood, thick with shattered bone and flesh, churned and bubbled in the air before re-forming.

The ones cleaved in half each grew a new, complete other side.

One became two, two became four, and each new creature was more deformed and twisted than the last.

Bones sprouted from where they shouldn’t, joints bent in the wrong direction, wings burst from chests, and tails extended from eye sockets.

Those that still retained some semblance of a human form lost it completely after this reconstruction.

Faces were squeezed onto their backs, limbs became feathered tentacles, and three or four pairs of mismatched wings sprouted from their ribs, all beating to different rhythms, like a kite that had been taken apart and then haphazardly pieced back together.

Not only that, but the shattered pieces of different monsters began to fuse together.

A snake-tailed wolf creature, hacked to pieces, and a cloven humanoid monster tumbled together in a pool of blood. Their mangled flesh kneaded into each other like dough, their bones locking together like building blocks. In an instant, a new thing rose from the bloody mire. It had the upper body of a man, the wings of a hawk, the hind legs of a wolf, and a forked serpent’s tail dragging from its spine. Three pairs of wings grew from different places on its body, and its every flap sent it wobbling through the air.

It opened its mouth in the moonlight, revealing three rows of jagged teeth. A shriek, a mixture of a human voice and a beast’s roar, tore from its throat as it lunged at the sword light.

Mira lay on the ground, watching the monsters hurl themselves at the sword light in wave after suicidal wave, the smile on her lips growing ever wider.

"Kill him! Kill him!"

Her voice echoed in the night sky, filled with a searing glee.

"Cornelius!"

She recognized another one.

The one that had just emerged was now flying at the very front. It moved on all fours yet had six wings, and the dark, birthmark-like patch on the back of its neck was still there.

He was her father’s uncle, a man who had died before she was even born.

The villagers used to say he was the bravest Warrior, that he had once slain a great dragon in single combat.

Now, here he was. His spine was arched like a fully drawn bow, a ruff of fur like a lion’s mane encircled his neck, and six wings—two large and four small—protruded from his ribs, emitting a low HUM as they beat.

"Kill! Kill him!"

More and more monsters swarmed out.

There were those with the antlers of a deer, the upper body of a human, and the trailing tail feathers of a peacock.

There were those covered in fish scales, with webbed fingers and dragonfly wings sprouting from their backs.