The dark, oppressive night sky was gradually illuminated by an ever-widening band of white light along the horizon. The receding, gentle waves relentlessly pounded upon the stranded, floating corpses on the beach. Beneath a nearly faded, pale blue crescent moon, subtle ripples began to reappear in the heavens.
Then, as if emerging from an otherworldly mirage, Chronos—the Master of Time—materialized like a specter from those eerie ripples, hovering ominously above the nocturnal vault. His face, lined with throbbing veins and contorted in unbridled anger, bore a visage of ferocity. The tremendous toll of employing his temporal power—and the fact that he had already lost the Underworld Demon Crystal which once concentrated his might—had forced him to expend vast reserves to evade the previous onslaught.
The intensity of the battle had unsettled even the ever-composed old god of Atlantis, who now, with a haughty sneer, declared, “Truly, you are a pitiful, intractable swarm of vermin! Cease your futile resistance, and allow me to administer a proper reckoning. No matter how you struggle, the outcome remains unchanged: the iron hoofs of the three great lords shall rend your lands asunder, and Lucifer himself will come to reign over this world.”
“Even if we perish, we shall die on the field of honor! Knighthood’s glory shall never bow to demons!” came the defiant cry from the allied forces.
Sir Benjamin and Sir Famas, together with the last three knights of the Blue Shield Order, interposed themselves in a protective barrier before the now-weary Guan Feng. Guan Feng longed to speak more, but Sir Benjamin, his deep brown eyes full of quiet determination, urged him, “Leave the rest to us. Do not overexert yourself, knight of the Dragon Kingdom—rest awhile. The final victory depends on you.”
Cheng Wei, with gratitude, nodded and helped support Guan Feng as they retreated to the rear. Medical mages hurried to tend to his wounds, while other knights formed an unyielding human wall to shield their beleaguered comrades.
Above, Chronos slowly spread his immense wings and laughed scornfully. Observing the determined struggle below, he sneered with contempt: “It is almost inconceivable—these insignificant ants, so foolish and deluded, knowing full well that they are doomed, yet willingly marching to their own annihilation. They persist in their vain defiance with hollow promises, friendship, and that wretched spirit, leaping headlong into the abyss. In my eternal sojourn through the chronicles of humankind, I have witnessed their obstinate folly time and again. The outcome is always the same, and thus my resolve to obliterate you grows ever firmer. It appears you shall never behold the splendid banquet of the Purification Altar; therefore, I shall expend every ounce of my power to erase you utterly!”
Then he beat his ebony wings, descending slowly. With his eyes closed, he began to intone softly in a language reminiscent of ancient Persian verses. The blue runes on his arms glowed faintly, gradually deepening to a blood-red hue. At the same time, upon the scarred earth emerged a six-pointed red totem. At its center, a conflagration roiled, encircled by a ring of ancient, spiraling Persian incantations. Black miasma ascended languidly from the heart of the totem, intertwining with the looming figure of Chronos above.
“Had I not seen such a vision, I would have had no doubt that hell itself is thus manifested,” murmured a high-bridged, golden-haired knight of the Xiwier Order in low tones.
“Keep alert—for I wager that this power is far from ordinary,” replied another North Lanstown knight clad in a white cloak.
At that moment, Chronos’s right arm—entirely overlaid with dense red runes—began to emit a fierce red glow from his eyes. Suddenly, his face contorted as he fixed his gaze upon the magical formation below, and with a strained shout he bellowed, “O Infinite Light, Sacred Flame of the Almighty, Supreme Spirit of the Seven Materials, Eternal Holy Lord—summon thy undying power! Manifest in this realm now!”
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At the conclusion of his incantation, the massive red formation roared and trembled. In its center, a stone statue over a meter tall slowly emerged, enshrouded in golden flames. As the crimson fire gradually died down, the assembled knights beheld an inscription on the stone—a bas-relief of an eagle-headed, human-faced effigy, a mysterious totem of a forgotten faith.
Chronos, with his right foot firmly planting upon the ground, grasped the scepter clutched by the statue. His eyes, still blazing with magical fury, swept over the encamped human forces as he coldly declared, “Prepare yourselves—the game is over.”
With a mighty tug on the scepter, cracks began to form on the eagle-faced statue. Powerful streams of magical energy, glowing with an eerie radiance, burst forth from the fissures like the intertwined maws of crimson serpents, pouring into Chronos’s rune-etched arm.
The sweltering heat warped the air around them. The cracks in the statue deepened; the enormous energy within could no longer be contained, erupting violently.
The knights sensed the impending danger and quickly formed a defensive formation. The Blue Shield Knights once more melded their fusion powers to form an impenetrable shield, while others linked arms to channel their combined energy to bolster the defense. Three vast blue light shields swelled, enveloping the allied formation entirely.
The shattered eagle-faced effigy, unable to withstand the internal onslaught, soon exploded in a piercing burst, shattering into countless fragments. The powerful shockwave slammed the debris against the blue shields, hurling the defending knights several meters backward. As the smoke cleared, in place of the once-mighty statue stood a long knife exuding a sinister red aura.
Its slender blade was inscribed with long-lost incantations, and the surrounding ground glowed as though molten lava coursed beneath—a searing inferno that relentlessly consumed all in its path.
Chronos grasped the hilt of the sinister knife with his rune-laden right hand. The raging, red-hot flames cascaded along his arm, gradually enveloping him entirely. Yet he seemed to relish the sensation, a twisted smile contorting his features.
When the scorching fire finally abated, the fiery mantle that now cloaked the Time God had taken on the semblance of battle armor—its appearance as translucent and brilliant as red glazed glass.
Clad in this infernal armor, Chronos had become a war god of hell itself. Still, even a being of divine essence could not indefinitely endure such searing flames. He transformed his remaining Shiyu—his last vestiges of fusion defense—into an inner lining to shield himself from the relentless inferno.
Realizing the urgency of the moment, Chronos resolved to end the battle swiftly. Time had been squandered. Fiery embers cascaded from his flapping wings, and in a burst of energy he coalesced into a blazing fireball, hurtling directly toward the human coalition’s erected barrier.
Simultaneously, the allied mages launched a barrage of long-range spells. But Chronos did not flinch; he met these devastating incantations head-on. The moment powerful, kinetic spells struck his blazing armor, they scattered like marbles ricocheting off a hard floor, shattering into innumerable fragments of dazzling light. Despite the mages’ valiant efforts, not even their combined might could thwart the inexhaustible power of the Master of Time.
In that fateful instant, emboldened by his control over time and the fury of his red flame, Chronos seemed to reverse the tide of battle. In the blink of an eye, he appeared before the frontline of the light shield formation, disregarding the shattering impacts upon his armor. Lifting the sinister, flame-wreathed knife, he swung it with all his might. The swift arc of the weapon, its blade edge fashioned by a fusion of fire and light, cut through the allied shield with the force of a falling meteor, shattering the first two layers of the meticulously constructed barrier.
The violent shockwave flung Sir Famas and dozens of knights back by several meters. Gasping for breath, Guan Feng drove his sword into the ground to steady himself; at the corner of his cracked lips, a trace of blood glistened. Wiping his mouth hastily, he cried out in urgent command, “Dorexi! Sarubi! Hurry and assist Torres!”
Meanwhile, two Blue Shield knights who had been knocked down discarded their spears and, raising their shields, surged toward the remaining light barrier—sacrificing their own blood in a desperate bid to reinforce the shield by channeling their fusion energy.
“What are we to do? This shield cannot withstand him!” a young knight named Torres pleaded, his eyes imploring as he glanced back at his only surviving seniors.
The seasoned deputy, Dorexi, sighed heavily, his gaze filled with sorrow as he regarded the youth—just recently honored with his sash and golden spur. He knew there was no time for hesitation. The enemy, a demon brimming with accumulated red flame, now wielded power sufficient to tear apart their fractured shield as if it were nothing more than a scrap of canvas cleaved by a dagger.
Without delay—and despite the protests of Sir Famas, whose voice rose in desperate caution—Dorexi and Sarubi stood shoulder to shoulder with the young Torres. In a fleeting moment, the tapestry of Dorexi’s forty-plus years flashed before his eyes. With a kindly, resolute look, he addressed them, “May the sun of North Lanstown never be extinguished…”
The three knights intoned a sacred oath in unison. Then, gripping a black crystal pendant in their right hands, they pressed it together with such force that it crumbled into fine dust. Dorexi felt as though his very being was dissolving into a golden mist.
In that mystic instant, as if borne upon the wings of fate, Dorexi envisioned his beloved daughter frolicking around a smiling wife, joyfully singing a sacred hymn. Beyond the window, the sky shone as pristine as sapphire, and gentle sunlight cast a soft golden glow upon the statue of Saint George astride his steed in the grand hall.