Under the shroud of the night, the moonlight pierced through the thick veil of mist that enshrouded God's acre, casting a silvery glow upon the figure adorned in resplendent golden armour. In this ethereal illumination, Boris assumed an air of majesty more captivating than ever before. His countenance bore an unmistakable sense of pride, a profound emotion that seemed to resonate with the very atmosphere around him. With a sweeping gaze, he absorbed the surroundings, as if etching the moment into his memory.
In the presence of this formidable Asura, others of equal rank stood erect, their stances emanating a mixture of respect and keen expectation. Awaiting the imminent unfolding of a legendary event, they held themselves with unwavering composure.
His gaze was drawn inexorably to a scene of profound significance. Two figures of immense importance occupied a space just below the elevated altar. There, behind an imposing black urn adorned with intricate golden motifs, they stood—a tableau of exalted authority. Awe pulsed within Boris as his eyes fixated upon this arrangement. The urn rested upon a white cylindrical pedestal, upon which sat a detached bowl, the two elements uniting to create an intricately crafted Table of Offering.
A surge of longing coursed through Boris. The position he had coveted for an eternity seemed to hover tantalizingly within his reach yet remained elusive, just beyond his grasp. His journey had been one of ambition, of relentless pursuit, yet the culmination he yearned for remained a distant mirage. And so, he stood there, amidst moonlit enchantment, on the precipice of a destiny he yearned to claim but could not yet attain.
Arrayed with stern countenances, the two Generals stood resolute, their unwavering focus directed upward toward the towering figure of General Genkai. Positioned atop the elevated altar, General Genkai orchestrated and oversaw the sprawling formation's intricate machinations. A battalion of black-robed formation masters, numbering in the hundreds, assisted him in this complex endeavour.
Nestled at the very heart of the central continent, God's acre emerged as the epicentre of the world. However, this site was dreaded by many, perceived as a mortals' graveyard due to the oppressive mana emanating from both the celestial and infernal realms. The sheer density of this energy veiled the region in a palpable haze, a fog so impenetrable that survival within its bounds remained implausible—not just for mortals, but even for those who wielded the power of cultivation. Within these confines, the land harboured the legacies of both gods and demons, their inheritances strewn throughout the area. Aspiring cultivators were tasked with surmounting trials to claim these inheritances, each trial's difficulty hinging on the quality of the legacy it guarded, a reflection of the interconnected nature of the world governed by the laws of causality.
The atmosphere that enveloped the land, with its towering arboreal sentinels ascending towards the heavens and the ever-present shroud of dense fog, deviated slightly from its customary eerie ambience. Amidst the surroundings that seemed veiled in otherworldly mystique, an undercurrent of achievement surged through the Asura commanders assembled within God's acre. For this night marked the fruition of the Asura's enduring objectives, centuries of meticulous planning coalescing into tangible reality. Mere minutes remained before the culmination of the celestial alignment—a precise configuration wherein the seven heavens and seven earths realigned to their original positions during creation. In this harmonious convergence, God's acre would assume its rightful place as the nucleus of the entire universe, the expansive formation reaching its zenith. United with the entirety of the cosmos as its wellspring of power, the land stood poised to unleash unfathomable might.
Boris was swept up in elation as he surveyed the assembly of Asura elites congregated before him, their collective anticipation palpable as they stood on the precipice of a historic event heralding the dawn of a new era. Yet, this jubilation was abruptly supplanted by a bitter pang as his gaze alighted upon the figure of the fourth general present—Quintus Servilius. This unexpected sight stirred a cauldron of emotions within Boris: envy mingled with a melancholic nostalgia. Servilius, who had once fought alongside him, now assisted the great general in controlling the formidable formation. The bitter twist of fate was undeniable; a man Boris had formerly regarded as beneath him had managed to eclipse him, ascending to the exalted rank of an Asura general.
Unintentionally, Boris fixated on Servilius for an extended moment. It was as though his intense scrutiny had been sensed, for Servilius turned his head in Boris's direction. In that gaze, Boris perceived a question wordlessly posed, a query that seemed to inquire, ‘courting death?’ Despite his disdain for Servilius, Boris remained bound by the hierarchy established by their master. Thus, in deference to this structure and the potent undercurrent beneath Servilius's gaze, he averted his eyes promptly, demonstrating both respect and an understanding of the latent pressure that accompanied the stare. Almost as swiftly as his gaze had lingered, Boris dissolved into the very air.
A collective gasp of astonishment rippled through the nearby commanders; their astonishment clear. Yet, as their attention shifted toward Servilius's composed countenance, the tension abated. The unspoken questions that likely surged within their minds were set aside, buried beneath the surface, as they opted to relinquish any inquiries. In this pivotal moment, the assembly held their queries in abeyance, allowing the unfolding events to envelop them once more.
Deep within the cavern's depths,
"Commander, the intruder is nearing the centre," reported the vigilant Asura who diligently monitored the unfolding events within the cave.
Huh! While it was an expected outcome, the intruder's progress has outpaced our projections. How much time remains until the celestial alignment occurs?
Approximately one hour, sir.
"Ayyissh!! It seems we're in for some improvisation. Tsk, It’s going to be such a pain. ," the commander grumbled.
"First squad!"
"Sir!" The response came in a swift, unified chorus as the squad members swiftly converged before their commander.
"You will charge forward the instant the formation gives way, engaging the adversaries head-on. Draw them closer, into the cannon's effective range."
"Second squad!"
"Yes, commander."
"Unexpected guests have decided to grace us with their presence; it's time to escort them from our midst. Everyone, brace yourselves and ensure the cannons are primed."
"At the sight of the enemy, unleash the cannon fire," the commander commanded.
Amidst the preparations and plans taking shape, a thought wormed its way into his mind: "Ayyissh!! Why must the mantle of responsibility rest upon my shoulders? And why now—right before the dawning of a new era?" This silent lament echoed within him as he shook his head, bracing for the impending storm that loomed on the horizon.
*******************
With the artefact cradled securely in their possession, the Brandenburgers basked in the triumphant sense of accomplishment that radiated through their weary bodies. Their fortitude and ingenuity had prevailed against the intricate challenges presented by the ancient temple. Now, their journey led them back through the dense jungle, a cautious retreat orchestrated to evade the watchful gaze of the encroaching allied forces.
The searing memory of the collapsing temple lingered in their minds, a testament to the perils they had overcome. Lucas, had transmitted their success to command via the radio, assuring them that their mission was successful. The response had been swift and precise, directing the team to converge at a nearby river – a designated rendezvous point that promised their extraction.
As they advanced, their senses heightened, attuned to every rustle of leaves, every hint of movement in the shadows. This was not only a journey through the wilderness but also a dance with danger – a ballet of stealth and evasion to outwit the vigilant eyes that sought to uncover their presence.
In the midst of this calculated retreat, the radio once again crackled to life, relaying the confirmation of their rendezvous with the seaplane. A nearby river lay ahead, its tranquil waters promising both a lifeline and a means of escape. It was here that the final act of their mission awaited – a seamless transition from the jungle's embrace to the aircraft's waiting wings.
As they neared the riverbank, the sound of rippling water seemed to serenade them, a melodic reassurance that their arduous journey was nearing its conclusion. Their steps grew steadier, a shared determination etched into their expressions as they readied themselves to exchange the jungle's suffocating grip for the embrace of freedom that soared above the clouds.
In the waning moments of their jungle odyssey, a sudden disruption shattered the tranquillity that had momentarily settled over the team. Yuvan, standing at the precipice of their escape, felt a blunt force collide with the back of his head. The impact was accompanied by a chilling jeer from Lucas, “Rot in hell mongrel”, the venomous words a stark contrast to the camaraderie they had seemingly shared.
As Yuvan's vision blurred and darkness encroached upon his consciousness, he was aware of the hurried footfalls of his erstwhile comrades, Lucas and Liebert, fleeing toward the awaiting seaplane. The rush of betrayal struck him deep, though not entirely unforeseen. The tendrils of exhaustion had wrapped around his senses, dulling his awareness just enough for his defences to falter. The weight of fatigue and the relentless trials he had endured had taken their toll, leaving him vulnerable at the most critical juncture.
Time slipped through his grasp as Yuvan's world swirled in a haze of unconsciousness. When awareness returned, he found himself suspended in a waking nightmare. The seaplane was now a distant speck on the horizon, receding rapidly into the embrace of the open skies. Panic surged within him as he realized the dire implications of his situation. The familiar crescendo of battle cries and the thunderous clamour of the allied forces grew louder, a relentless tide surging ever closer.
Desperation fuelled Yuvan's instinct for survival as he fought to regain control over his body. The din of approaching chaos was accompanied by the rhythmic whoosh of bullets and the shrill screams of conflict. He forced himself to his feet, his limbs protesting against the effort, and surveyed his surroundings. The dense jungle loomed, a refuge that could provide cover but also conceal untold dangers.
Every fibre of his being urged him to move, to escape the clutches of imminent danger. Adrenaline surged through his veins as Yuvan plunged into the under-brush, a solitary figure navigating the treacherous landscape. The air was thick with tension, alive with the echoes of a battle that raged unseen. Leaves rustled, foliage trembled, and the ground beneath his feet seemed to vibrate with the relentless march of combat.
As Yuvan pressed forward, the cacophony of warfare intensified, each sound a testament to the chaos he had been thrust into. The shouts of soldiers, the staccato rhythm of gunfire, the distant explosions — all merged into a symphony of conflict that played out on the canvas of the jungle. His path was a delicate dance, a calculated evasion between hazards both human and environmental.
Though exhaustion gnawed at his bones and the taste of betrayal lingered like a bitter after-taste, Yuvan's will remained unbroken. He was driven by a singular goal – to survive the onslaught that pursued him and to ultimately overcome the unforeseen treachery that had left him stranded. With each determined step, he moved further away from the sounds of his betrayal and deeper into the heart of the jungle, where the secrets of survival awaited amidst the tangled web of foliage and shadows.
*******************
At the centre of the cavern,
Yuvan battled with unwavering determination as his life hung in the balance. The onslaught of incoming arrows posed an ever-escalating challenge, their numbers multiplying in direct proportion to his advances. His hands, weary and strained, refused to relent in their struggle even as the encroaching fatigue sought to engulf him. Despite these formidable odds, he pressed forward with a tenacity born of desperation.
Through the tumultuous skirmish, a sense of intuition guided him toward the epicentre of the chaos. Each step he took brought him closer to the heart of the maelstrom, where the power source of the formation resided. Progressing by mere inches, he navigated the onslaught, resolute in his purpose. Finally, he reached his coveted destination, standing at the very centre of the storm.
There, emanating an eerie purple glow, lay the source of the formation's potency—a colossal crystal pulsating with energy. Summoning every ounce of strength that remained within him, Yuvan wrested the power source from its moorings. In that pivotal moment, the formation's resolve crumbled as if bowing to his determination. As the power source was wrenched away, the formation's intricate mechanisms unravelled, and like a fragile mirage, it dissolved into nothingness.
The battle's cacophony yielded to a silence that resonated with the weight of Yuvan's triumph. Amidst the stillness, he stood, having accomplished the seemingly insurmountable task that had stood before him. With a profound mixture of exhaustion and elation, he gazed upon the deactivated formation, a testament to his indomitable spirit and unwavering resolve.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
As the dense fog within the cave began to disperse, the reverberating cries of charging men filled the air, emanating from both opposing sides. In this tumultuous symphony, Yuvan swiftly accessed an artefact of considerable significance from his spatial ring—the 'Shoes of Vidar,' an epic-grade relic known for enhancing speed by harnessing the circulation of mana. With deft proficiency, he adorned the artefact, feeling the infusion of power surge through him as he readied himself for action.
Setting his sights on the cave's entrance, a path to safety amid the chaotic battleground, Yuvan's resolve solidified. With the 'Shoes of Vidar' empowering his movements, he launched himself forward in a sprint. The acceleration brought on by the artefact's enchantments allowed him to traverse the distance with remarkable celerity, a streak of determination amidst the chaos. His aim was simple: evade the crossfire erupting between the warring factions and emerge from the cave unscathed. Guided by instinct and bolstered by the artefact's magic, he surged toward the exit, a beacon of agility amidst the maelstrom of conflict.
Leading the charge from the forefront, the commander of the Zaštitniks espied Yuvan steadily approaching. "Kudos, my boy!" he shouted, his voice carrying a tone of admiration for the young combatant. However, as Yuvan drew nearer, an unexpected revelation greeted the commander's eyes: Yuvan was now bereft of the protective armour he had once worn.
"What happened to the armour?" The commander's curiosity was palpable in his inquiry.
With a hint of nonchalance, Yuvan retorted, "You'll have to pay for it." This cryptic response left the commander momentarily taken aback, unsure of the implications hidden within Yuvan's words. Without lingering, Yuvan moved past them, his path unwavering.
The commander found himself grappling with confusion at this exchange. "Did he discover something? But how?" he pondered, wrestling with the idea that Yuvan might have unearthed a hidden truth. In reality, Yuvan was unaware of any such revelation, merely responding to a hunch born of the commander's question. The reality was simpler: Yuvan had made a calculated decision to discard the armour midway through his journey. Recognizing its ineffectiveness against the onslaught of arrows and unwillingness to be hindered by its weight, he had chosen to discard it, prioritizing agility over a cumbersome defence.
As the formation disintegrated, the commander, driven by urgency, had initiated a charge without casting a glance toward the discarded armour. There was no basis for him to suspect that Yuvan, upon entering, would abandon a vital defensive asset at the very entrance simply because he deemed it burdensome. From the commander's perspective, such a decision would have appeared implausible and inconsequential.
Before making his decisive charge, the commander had sought counsel from a formation expert. This consultation had yielded valuable insights, revealing that even if the mana particles dissipated before reaching a certain threshold, a residual risk of activation persisted. Faced with imminent danger and confronted by the pressing need to address it, the commander elected to confront the peril head-on. In his judgement, it was more pragmatic to grapple with the immediate, tangible threat rather than expend energy on contemplating a seemingly remote eventuality that might or might not come to pass.
Drawing forth his dual blades, the commander lunged forward, a crimson aura enveloping the whirling weapons in his grip. With seemingly effortless grace, he carved a path through the enemy ranks, cleaving through defences as if they were mere illusions. His fluid movements instilled awe and courage, a surge of morale rippling through both his ranks and the soldiers at his side. Overwhelmed by his prowess, the Asura squad faltered, their resistance faltering as they began to retreat. Though death was a fate they embraced, their fear was that they would meet their end before accomplishing their designated objective.
Yet, amidst this tumult, the squad leader emerged from their midst, stepping into the forefront to confront the onslaught. His shield raised in a desperate bid for defence, he barely managed to parry the incoming strikes, stumbling as he yielded ground. A resonant clang echoed as the blows struck his shield, and with a subsequent strike, his shield shattered, leaving him vulnerable. The next attack pierced through, delivering a mortal wound. Despite his grievous injury, the squad leader held his ground, his sacrifice buying invaluable moments for his comrades.
“Tang!!” In response, the commander's irritation ignited a surge of unrestrained power. With a swift and decisive strike, he ended the squad leader's stand, severing the thread of his resistance. "Charge forth, eliminate every last one of them!" his thunderous command rang out.
The Asuras sprinted through the confines of the narrow tunnel, the pursuing footsteps of the commander and his forces trailing behind. Bereft of their fallen squad leader's guidance, their defences collapsed. Death loomed from every direction, but they pressed on unwaveringly. Their singular goal loomed ahead: the cannon. All they needed was to survive until that pivotal moment, ready to become martyrs for their cause—a cause only their supreme leader, the great Hubal, could fulfil.
“Boom!” The Asuras transformed into beams of light, their actions resolute and fearless.
"Oh, no!" The commander responded with urgency, channelling a substantial amount of qi into his blades to establish a staunch defence against the impending cannon blast. Locked in a fierce struggle, he grappled with the luminous beam, its force propelling him backwards. While he possessed the capability to deflect it, he refrained from doing so. Such a move risked inflicting severe harm upon his comrades and would constitute a considerable setback at this advanced stage of the conflict.
An anguished scream tore from his throat, a release of pressure from the immense strain he bore. Engaging in a desperate contest of strength, he strained to halt the beam's advance, every fibre of his being dedicated to the task. As he prepared to surge forward, ready to charge into the fray once more despite his injuries, a command rang out, penetrating the chaos.
"Fire!" But before Musashi's directive could fully materialize, a remarkable twist of fate unfolded. Anton, seizing a decisive opportunity, hurled one of his swords towards the cannon. This projectile cleaved through the air like a streak of lightning, penetrating the cannon's chamber with unerring precision. In a brilliant explosion, the sword detonated, its impact radiating outward and claiming the lives of nearby Asuras. The cannon's intended destructive burst was thwarted, leaving both the commander and his men with a chance to regroup and reposition in the midst of the tempestuous battleground.
“Yare-yare! That was an expensive cannon.” Musashi exclaimed in exasperation. “Subaro, how much time remains?”
“Only ten minutes have passed, sire.”
“Chotto Matte! Just ten minutes? This is going to be quite a drag," Musashi sighed, retrieving his longsword and dragging it behind him with a sense of nonchalance.
"Troops! Encompass the commander, and sever his connection to his forces. Keep him at bay while I take care of the small fries first," Musashi commanded, orchestrating the battlefield with precision. With his orders issued, he dashed headlong into the midst of the enemy throng.
"Jigen-ryu!" Musashi's call echoed as his blade swung forth. A single slash cleaved through the adversaries, leaving a trail of devastation in its wake. The arc of his strike connected with the left shoulders and hips of numerous foes, rendering them incapacitated.
On the other hand, Anton now found himself armed with only one of his primary swords and a replacement. While he decimated his opponents, the Asuras' relentless numbers posed an inescapable challenge. Despite his considerable prowess, it was his own side that was diminishing more rapidly. The sight of his comrades being cut down in droves filled him with unease; he comprehended their grim fate. "Everyone! Initiate the forbidden tantra!" Anton's command resonated through the ranks. In unison, the soldiers triggered the forbidden formation, Anton himself included.
From each participant, a sinister aura began to exude, casting a shadow over their once-vibrant forms. Their eyes transformed into pools of darkness, resembling ink-black voids. Small droplets of blood trickled down like tears, an eerie manifestation of the price they were willing to pay for accessing the immense power concealed within the forbidden tantra.
"Oi-oi-oi! Aren't you guys supposed to be part of the righteous faction?" Musashi's incredulous exclamation pierced the battlefield.
"Every method is permissible to thwart demons like you from acquiring power and sowing chaos throughout the world," Ian retorted as he deftly blocked Musashi's blade with a display of skill and resolve.
The captain's unexpected ability to withstand the impact of Musashi's potent "Jigen-ryu" left the swordsman momentarily taken aback. The technique itself demanded an immense sacrifice, raising the question of how long Ian could endure the strain.
"Men! Change of tactics. We're shifting to a defensive stance. Form the Testudo formation, and let's swap our opponents. I'll handle their commander," Musashi directed, rapidly adapting to the evolving circumstances.
The Asura forces swiftly complied, summoning their shields and arranging themselves into the Testudo formation. The shields were manoeuvred into place with such precision that they melded seamlessly, presenting an unbroken surface devoid of any gaps. Each Asura infused mana into their respective shields, a shared effort that catalysed a resonance among the shields, evoking a sinister aura. Gradually, the Testudo formation underwent a remarkable transformation, its collective energy coalescing to manifest a fearsome and unnatural metamorphosis.
What emerged was a colossal manifestation resembling a titanic turtle, its visage armed with a mace-like head and a tail that mirrored the weapon's design. The formation had metamorphosed into an imposing and unearthly entity, poised to act as a bulwark against the oncoming onslaught.
"You shameless cowards! Have you no honour? Come face us like true warriors!" Anton's furious cry echoed across the battlefield. The tactical manoeuvring executed by Musashi was proving to be a vexing challenge for Anton and his forces. Their primary objective remained to reach the formation and dismantle it before the effects of the forbidden tantra dissipated, a pressing goal that necessitated swift action. Failure to do so would render their sacrifice in vain. The forbidden tantra they had harnessed tapped into their life force, bestowing them with unparalleled strength while consuming their vitality until nothing remained, not even their lifeless bodies, which were reduced to mere dust. To achieve their objective, they had to breach the formidable line of defence erected by the Asuras.
"Oi-oi-oi! Just who do you think we are, from the righteous faction? Can't you at least come up with a more substantial taunt?" Musashi interjected wryly, his retort dripping with sarcasm. "Allow me to enlighten you on the art of incitement: ‘If you want some come get some.’ Come on, what's the hold-up? Waiting for a formal invitation? Because I've got all the time in the world—unlike you."
The ceaseless stream of banter from Musashi had worn thin on Anton's patience, prompting him to surge forward in a charge. "Break through the turtle's defence and target the formation!" Anton commanded his troops, his resolve unwavering as he clashed with Musashi's longsword, his own dual blades engaged in a fierce dance of combat. The impact of their clash drove Musashi back, but his stoic expression betrayed no signs of faltering. Empowered by the forbidden tantra, select Zaštitniks endeavoured to breach the protective line of the Testudo formation, while their counterparts provided covering fire in a synchronized effort.
"Quite the cunning plan you've devised, but it's riddled with three notable flaws," Musashi began to retort, but his words were abruptly cut short as agonizing screams reverberated through the battlefield. The sudden intrusion of a spiked tail and a lethal beam of light emitted by the turtle-form Testudo formation left the Zaštitniks in shambles, their bodies rent asunder.
As the clash between Anton and Musashi resumed, Musashi continued to elucidate his point. "The Testudo is far from being the purely defensive formation you surmised it to be; it boasts considerable offensive capabilities." Despite a momentary lapse in the Zaštitniks' morale, their conviction remained unshaken. The versatile power of the formation was not without its drawbacks—the taxing exertion required to maintain it would inevitably deplete its users, rendering it unsustainable for prolonged periods. The Zaštitniks calculated that the formation would falter before their own forbidden tantra reached its limit, and they still retained their commander's strength as a potent asset.
Drawing upon the collective resolve of his comrades, Anton dismissed his own wound's pain, intensifying his assault to elevate the offensive pressure. Although he held an advantage against Musashi, his determination to overcome proved insufficient. Anton struggled to breach Musashi's impervious defence, as the enigmatic technique employed by the swordsman deftly parried and countered every move. Frustration mounting, Anton recognized the pivotal nature of the moment. "If I could overcome him now, the entire tide of battle could shift," he mused, his aspirations converging upon this decisive confrontation.
Musashi's interruption cut through Anton's thoughts like a blade, "The second flaw: you're expecting to overpower me with your forbidden tantra; well, you've thought wrong."
As the seconds slipped away, Musashi managed to hold his ground against the encroaching Zaštitniks, who were succumbing to the relentless Testudo formation one by one. Time grew scarce, and Anton contemplated a desperate gambit—self-sacrifice within the Testudo—to obliterate the formation and possibly Musashi with it. The intention was to clear a path for the remaining members to reach the formation. However, Musashi proved a formidable obstacle, doggedly countering Anton's every move, leaving him with few opportunities to execute his plan.
“Kaboom!!” A resounding explosion disrupted the turmoil as the armour present in the cave detonated with a thunderous roar, causing the very earth to tremble. This unexpected eruption offered the distraction Anton had been yearning for. Seizing the chance, he broke away from Musashi, who momentarily faltered due to the unexpected event. Anton's focus shifted to the Testudo formation, and in a move unexpected by Musashi, the swordsman refrained from pursuing. With a glance exchanged between Anton and the captain, a silent understanding passed between them. Evading the tail's assault, Anton propelled himself upward, his twin swords plunging into the Testudo's shell. An aura of destruction enveloped him as he was engulfed by the formation's incinerating energy. His eyes shut, Anton channelled an immense surge of qi through his blades, an act of self-immolation that reduced him to ashes within the heart of the formation.
“Kaboom!” The Testudo formation erupted in a detonation that shattered its shell from within, an explosion that shattered the calculated defence. Seizing the opportunity presented by the turmoil, Ian swiftly divided the remaining seventeen Zaštitniks into two teams, each tasked with a distinct objective. One unit was assigned to assault the formation, while Ian himself led the other contingent to confront Musashi head-on.
"Ayyissh!" Musashi's anguished cry was interpreted by Ian as a sign of surrender, emboldening him to charge forward with unwavering determination.
But the echoes of agony didn't end there. "Arrgh!" Resounding cries of Zaštitniks reverberated once more, underscoring the harrowing reality that their calculated plans had suffered another devastating blow. "The third flaw: Testudo wasn't the final line of defence," Musashi's voice emerged, devoid of the earlier resolve.
"You disappoint me, Musashi!" Ian turned his attention to the origin of the voice, only to have his head abruptly severed from his body. His head tumbled to the ground, his gaze resting upon the figure donned in resplendent golden armour, a potent embodiment of formidable power that had entered the fray with chilling determination.
"You didn't have to come, Boris; I had everything under control."
"If everything was truly under control, I wouldn't find myself standing here beside you, facing this turmoil. And for the record, it's 'Sir' Boris to you. I held the rank of commander long before you took your first breath."
"And still is."
"What was that?"
"I meant that the planetary alignment is on the cusp of commencing, and we have yet to contend with the incoming adversaries."
"Rest and recover, Boris; I'll manage the incoming foes."
"Oi!" Musashi's protest rang out, his displeasure palpable.
"I'm not finished," Boris asserted calmly. "I'm advising you to rest and recover, not out of personal concern or for the sake of displaying any superiority. It's because if you falter again, both of us will meet our end. The next one coming through will be a General."
“Hmm!” Musashi had been ready to heed Boris' advice and retreat for a much-needed rest when an unexpected development unfolded before them. Two commanders, flanked by three Order captains, emerged from the tunnel, throwing a wrench into their plans.
Cursing under his breath, Boris's initial suggestion shifted swiftly, "On second thought, Musashi, we have only about ten minutes left until the alignment. Join me, and let's expedite this confrontation."
For a fleeting moment, Musashi pondered ignoring Boris's words, but the potential repercussions of clashing with a General weighed heavily on his mind. Making a calculated decision, he abandoned his initial inclination and charged into action alongside Boris. Employing his enigmatic technique, Musashi defended against the dual onslaught of two commanders and Boris's attacks from the rear.
The standstill endured for several minutes, with reinforcements gradually streaming onto the scene. More captains and commanders arrived, escalating the complexity of the engagement.
With only five minutes remaining until the alignment's climax, an air of urgency engulfed the battlefield. The Zaštitniks, sensing the ticking clock, initiated their forbidden tantra one after the other. "Oi-oi-oi! Not this again," Musashi exclaimed, a mix of frustration and exasperation evident in his voice.
"Sir Boris, it seems the time has come for you to unleash your full strength," Musashi suggested with urgency.
"Very well, let's observe how their tantra fares against my own," Boris agreed, his resolve unwavering. With a resolute nod, he activated his raktatyaga tantra—a forbidden blood sacrifice technique belonging to the raktapada, or blood path. The technique harnessed the power of blood to enhance agility and strength. A crimson mist enveloped Boris as he raised his head and exhaled a cloud of red smoke, vanishing in the blink of an eye. His reappearance was just as swift, his form materializing amidst the enemy ranks, leaving only chaos and devastation in his wake.
Amidst the tumult, Musashi held the line against the advancing captains, fending off their assaults with deft expertise. As time slipped away, the pressure from the relentless Zaštitniks escalated to a fever pitch. Musashi's gaze flickered toward Boris, concerned for the berserker-like state brought about by his blood-powered tantra. Boris fought with unbridled aggression, disregarding defence in favour of relentless attack. His body bore a web of wounds, yet his recovery rate was remarkable, sustained by the blood he drew from the fallen Zaštitniks, each slash replenishing his strength.
The momentum of the battle had shifted decisively against the Zaštitniks, leaving them with but a single desperate course of action—to initiate a self-destruct sequence, aiming to take their adversaries down with them. An atmosphere of foreboding doom pervaded the scene as the countdown to their final, desperate gamble inched closer with every passing moment.
With unanimity, the Zaštitniks began to rally behind this dire strategy, moving to trigger the self-destructive tantra. However, before they could execute their fateful decision, Musashi's exultant cheers echoed through the tension-laden air.
"ALAS!"
Yet, amid this sudden distraction, a rapid and ominous surge of dark energy began to coalesce around them. The very formation that they had sought to protect was awakening, stirring to life with an unsettling potency. The very earth trembled in response, and the air hummed with an eerie resonance as the countdown to both self-destruction and the formation's activation neared its climax.