The battle between Derek and me continued to rage on, neither of us gaining a definitive upper hand.

His relentless strikes and my adaptive defenses clashed endlessly, creating shockwaves that echoed across the battlefield.

Yet, as time passed, I could sense the tide shifting.

The hunters were struggling against my golems.

Though their coordinated efforts and individual strengths kept them alive, the relentless assault of sand and stone was slowly wearing them down.

Cracks began to show in their formations, fatigue evident in their movements.

But three of them—Shaun, Cecilia, and Victor—stood out.

Together, they were the backbone holding this fragile resistance together.

Shaun’s wind magic shielded the group, Cecilia’s precise arrows disabled key golems, and Victor’s spear decimated any enemy that came too close.

They moved with an unspoken rhythm, their synergy undeniable.

They were a problem.

I needed to break them.

From above, I surveyed the battlefield, my wings flapping steadily as I planned my next move.

Derek was relentless, leaping into the air to engage me again.

His greatsword gleamed with that stubborn red energy, and his strikes came with the force of a battering ram.

I dodged his attack, twisting in the air as he came crashing down.

A swarm of my golems surged toward him, their bulky forms converging in an attempt to stall him.

Derek cut through them like paper, his blade a whirlwind of destruction.

But they had done their job.

They bought me time.

I shifted my attention to the other hunters.

My gaze locked onto Cecilia, the archer whose deadly precision had caused my forces significant trouble.

She’s the linchpin.

If I take her out, the others will crumble.

Forming a massive spear with my matter manipulation abilities, I hurled it toward her with unerring force.

Simultaneously, I commanded a group of sand golems to charge at her in their fluid, shifting forms.

The battlefield roared in chaos as my attack closed in on her.

Victor was the first to react.

His spear gleamed with a sharp aura as he stepped forward, intercepting the spear mid-flight.

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With a grunt of effort, he deflected it, sending it crashing into the ground with a deafening thud.

At the same time, Shaun’s wind magic surged to life, sweeping the sand golems away before they could reach Cecilia.

The gusts of wind tore through their unstable forms, scattering them into harmless grains.

But that was exactly what I had anticipated.

For a brief moment, Shaun and Victor were fully occupied.

The protective winds and buffs that had shielded the other hunters were momentarily gone.

In that fleeting opening, my golems attacked.

They descended upon the remaining hunters like an unstoppable tide.

Blades of stone and fists of sand crushed through weakened defenses.

The cries of pain and terror from the hunters echoed as several were cut down in quick succession.

Shaun’s face twisted in horror as he realized what had happened.

He tried to summon his winds again, but it was too late.

The damage was done.

Of the forty hunters who had entered the battlefield, less than fifteen now remained.

The survivors were battered, bloodied, and gasping for air.

Those who still stood were barely able to hold their weapons steady, their eyes wide with exhaustion and fear.

From above, I watched their despair with a cold satisfaction.

Derek let out a roar, his aura flaring as he cut through the last of the golems in his way.

He turned toward me, his crimson eyes blazing with fury.

But it didn’t matter.

The battlefield was mine now.

The hunters were broken, their numbers halved, their morale shattered.

I hovered above them, my wings casting a shadow over the battlefield.

My voice boomed as I declared, “Look around you, hunters. This is the fate of those who dare defy me. Surrender, and I may grant you a swift end.”

But even as I spoke, Derek stepped forward, his greatsword raised.

His voice was firm, unwavering.

“We’re not done yet,” he growled, his red aura burning brighter than ever.

The remnants of his team rallied behind him, their fear giving way to a grim determination.

I smirked.

Let them struggle.

Their defiance will make their fall all the sweeter.

-------

The battle between Magal and Morris had reached its zenith, a savage dance of predator and prey where the roles shifted with every passing second.

The air was thick with tension, the battlefield eerily silent except for the sounds of their relentless clashes.

Neither hunter nor insects dared to intervene, knowing that this was a fight that could only end with the death of one combatant.

Magal stood like a looming beast, his monstrous frame shrouded in an aura of demonic energy so dense it seemed to warp the air around him.

His claws glistened with a deadly sheen, each swipe capable of rending flesh and bone.

His black, multifaceted eyes burned with malice as he screeched, a sound that sent shivers down even the most hardened spines.

Facing him was Morris, a man far smaller in stature but no less terrifying in his resolve.

His green aura pulsed like a living thing, delicate but fierce, wrapping around him like a second skin.

His twin daggers gleamed with venomous intent, each strike precise and calculated.

Both were battered and bloodied, but neither showed any intention of backing down.

Magal lunged forward, his claws slicing through the air with brutal speed.

Morris sidestepped at the last moment, the wind from the attack grazing his face.

He retaliated with a low slash aimed at Magal’s legs.

The blade connected, leaving a deep gash in the chimera ant’s armored carapace.

Dark liquid oozed from the wound, sizzling as it hit the ground.

Magal snarled in pain but countered with a vicious swipe.

Morris barely ducked under it, his movements growing slower and less precise.

Despite his best efforts, his body was beginning to betray him.

The battle was primal, raw.

There were no tricks, no strategies—just sheer willpower and determination.

Magal’s once-imposing carapace was riddled with cracks, his wings shredded and useless.

His movements, though still fast, had grown less coordinated.

The healing that once sealed his wounds with ease was now faltering, unable to keep up with the damage Morris inflicted.

Yet the chimera ant didn’t falter.

His attacks became more feral, more violent.

Each step forward left the ground trembling, his claws carving deep trenches into the earth as he charged.

Morris, too, was nearing his limit.

His breaths were ragged, his arms trembling as he gripped his daggers tightly.

Every dodge, every strike came at a cost.

His vision blurred as exhaustion and pain took their toll.

And then there was the price of Jökull’s power.

The green aura surrounding him was no his own aura.

It was also mixed with his very life force burning away, fueling his body beyond its natural limits.

Every second he stood, every attack he launched, drained him further.

His skin had grown pale, his veins visible beneath the surface, glowing faintly with the eerie green light.

But he refused to fall.

With a final roar, both combatants charged at each other once more.

Magal’s claws, sharp and unyielding, met Morris’s daggers in a thunderous clash.

Sparks flew as the two forces collided, neither giving an inch.

Yet, Morris’s strength wavered.

His knees buckled for a fraction of a second—just long enough for Magal to take advantage.

The chimera ant’s claws plunged forward, piercing through Morris’s chest with sickening force.

Blood spurted from the wound, staining the green aura that surrounded him.

Morris’s daggers slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground.

His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.

Magal screeched triumphantly, his victory cry echoing across the battlefield.

The chimera ants and other insects, who had been watching in tense silence, took this as their signal.

With a unified roar, they charged toward the remaining hunters.

But Morris’s lips curled into a faint smile, even as his vision dimmed.

His trembling hand gripped Magal’s arm weakly, his green aura flickering like a dying flame.

"Not… yet," he whispered.

A green fog slowly started to surround the battlefield, engulfing Magal and the insects in a poisonous miasma.

Even as Morris fell to his knees, he unleashed one final act of defiance—his poison spreading through the battlefield, weakening the enemies he could no longer fight.

Morris’s body collapsed to the ground, lifeless, but his sacrifice left its mark.

The hunters, though grief-stricken, gripped their weapons tighter.

Their Guildmaster had fallen, but his spirit burned brighter than ever in their hearts.

With a unified cry, they charged into the fray, determined to honor his sacrifice.

And Magal, despite his victory, staggered.

His carapace cracked further, and his demonic energy wavered under the effects of the poison.

This was far from over.