Chapter 1703: Despair



The sighting of elf reinforcements brought a crushing weight of dread to Emery and his companions. The distant hovering ship, the unmistakable herald of the elves' arrival, drove Master Borin to the edge of panic.

"That's it! We are going to die!! Die!!" he shouted, his voice cracked with despair.

Atlas, the mechanical wonder by Emery's side, began to emit a series of broken sounds. The machine was scanning the number of dark elves approaching, its digital display flashing ominously.

Emery's eyes flicked to the pale commander, desperately seeking a command or strategy.

But the commander's face was ashen, his eyes hollow. The arrival of the elf reinforcements had extinguished the last flicker of hope in him. He stood frozen, a shell of a man, unable to even voice a reaction.

Emery's own anxiety gnawed at him. The information about the Khaos champion, revealed to him by Chututlu, weighed heavily on his mind. Yet, within him, a spark of determination still glowed. He would not give up. Not yet.

With a resolve born of desperation, Emery approached the panicked blacksmith. He spoke urgently, reminding him of the device that could summon the Nephilim's special cloaking ship. His words were intended to infuse Master Borin with hope.

The response he received was anything but hopeful. Master Borin's voice trembled with despair as he cried, "I am telling you, without any sort of blood or remains of your Nephilim friend, there is no hope!"

Emery's heart sank. He was at a loss, unsure of how to convince them to fight on. He even considered grabbing Atlas and fleeing, abandoning everything.

It was at this moment that the commander finally reacted. He turned his gaze to Emery, and his words were like a cold dagger, revealing another truth. "If this is your missing Nephilim prince, I lied about not knowing him... I left him to die in the last base... just like I did to you all just now."

The revelation was like a thunderbolt. The commander's betrayal, his lies, left a gaping wound. The terrified blacksmith's face twisted in rage, and he burst into anger, a storm of emotions swirling in his eyes.

Emery's swift reflexes came into play as he held back the furious blacksmith. "Listen!" he snapped, urgency clear in his voice. "Time is not on our side. Commander, I need to know the location of that base. If there's the slightest chance of finding the Nephilim's remains, I have to take it. Our survival depends on it."

The commander, lost in his desolation, appeared reluctant to share. But Emery's patience had worn thin. Grabbing the commander by his collar, he forced their gazes to meet "Listen closely, Commander. I carry with me the spirit and soul of 130 of our fallen comrades. Help me now, and we might still salvage something from this nightmare."

It took a few heartbeats for the commander to find his voice, the gravity of the situation finally piercing his fog of despair. "Travel 1300 miles southwest," he whispered, his voice rough, "near a mountain shaped like a crescent. That's where our brothers fell... three years ago."

Emery nodded, determination renewed. "Right, it's time to move. Let's go!" He turned to the blacksmith, who nodded in agreement.

But just as they were steeling themselves to leave, the very fabric of space seemed to waver and ripple. A chilling spatial distortion materialized on the northern side of the citadel. From this shimmering rift stepped multiple magus dark elves, their presence an omen of further danger.

"Spatial magic..." Emery hissed, recognizing the danger they would face.

Emery, using his innate abilities, quickly assessed their adversaries. Seven dark elf magi. To make matters worse, half of them hailed from the dreaded Full Moon realm - a force to be reckoned with. The overwhelming power they presented made it clear to Emery that combat was not an option. Moreover, the presence of a spatial magic wielder among them made escape a daunting challenge.

But amid this chaotic tableau, Commander Shepherd found his resolve. With a look of fierce determination, he locked eyes with Emery. "Get everyone out of here. Now!" Without waiting for a reply, he began to chant, his fingers tracing intricate patterns in the air. A brilliant formation, composed entirely of radiant light, took form around him.

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"Go!" Shepherd's command echoed in the tense air, his protective barrier physically propelling them away from danger.

As Emery sped away from the imminent danger, he couldn't help but steal one last look over his shoulder. The citadel yard was now swarming with dark elf magus, their sinuous movements and muted conversations painting an eerie scene. Among them, one figure stood out, drawing Emery's attention. It was a dark elf he recognized - the formidable Full Moon magus from the Khaos Domain, one of the Khaos Champions.

Ezzekiel's eyes locked onto Emery's, a malevolent gleam shining in their depths. With a voice dripping with menace, he warned, "Dont you dare to leave!"

Muttering incantations under his breath, Ezzekiel tried to bind Emery in place with a restraining spell. But to his astonishment, the spell dissipated before it could take hold.

Ezzekiel's eyes widened in realization. "Anti-Magic? An arcane formation? An arcane magus!" His gaze shifted to Commander Shepherd, who stood defiantly between the escaping party and the advancing dark elves.

With pride and determination evident in his voice, Shepherd declared, "Indeed, I am Shepherd, an Arcane Paladin, And you shall not breach this formation."

Ezzekiel's countenance darkened, his anger palpable. He had not expected such resistance. With a swift hand gesture, he signaled three of his elite warriors, who charged at Shepherd with murderous intent.

The dark elves, finding their magic useless against the arcane barrier, drew their weapons. The sound of unsheathing swords echoed ominously, followed by the low hum of a readied spear. But Shepherd, unyielding and resolute, had already woven a second, sturdier formation around him. As the elves lunged with their weapons, the arcane shield shimmered and absorbed their blows, deflecting each attack with a bright flash of light.

Ezzekiel's eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. His lip curled in a sneer of disdain as he said, "You Arcane magus, always troublesome. But alas, you face the wrong adversary today."

With an elegant flourish of his hand, the very fabric of reality seemed to respond to his command. The ground beneath the citadel began to tremble, and the walls shuddered violently as if the entire structure was convulsing in terror.

Ezzekiel had conjured a space anomaly, a localized distortion of gravity, capable of crushing stones and splintering fortifications. The citadel seemed to groan in agony as it was torn apart by invisible forces, the once-imposing fortress crumbling to rubble.

Shepherd's face turned ashen, recognizing the nature of the spell. "Gravity spell!" Shepherd shouted knowing that gravity was the bane of his Arcane formation.

Desperate to hold his ground, Shepherd channeled the last reserves of his spirit energy into the formation, strengthening it with a desperate fervor. His face twisted with effort, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead as he fought to maintain the shield.

Ezzekiel, however, was relentless. It took only half a minute for Shepherd's formation to give way, the arcane shield shattering into fragments of light, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

With a simple, almost casual gesture, he reached out with his power and seized Shepherd's body in a grip of invisible force. Shepherd's limbs were pulled taut, his body suspended in mid-air as if pinned to an unseen wall.

"Now you die!" Ezzekiel hissed, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Ezzekiel's hand slowly clenched into a fist, and Shepherd's body was torn asunder. The gruesome spectacle ended with a wet, ripping sound, and the once-proud Arcane Paladin was reduced to a scattering of gore.

Turning to his subordinates, Ezzekiel's face was a mask of cold determination. "Now go after them!" he commanded, his voice ringing with authority.

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