“I was hoping you’d say that,” Orion chuckled softly, a murderous glint flashing across his eyes as he adjusted his glasses.
Scott, meanwhile, silently surveyed their surroundings, his prowling gaze lingering on nothing in particular. If the territorial lord isn’t here, then where could they be? he mused, his thoughts swirling. Turning back to Orion, he asked, “Any word from your clones?”
Orion sighed, shaking his head. “Not yet,” he said with a faint shrug. “This place feels abandoned. There doesn’t seem to be anything here at all.”
“Let me know if that changes,” Scott replied, his voice steady.
No sooner had his words echoed than several portals suddenly tore open in the surrounding space. From the rifts, the black chains of the Abyss slithered forth, extending into the gaping voids as if drawn to something unseen.
Orion chuckled again, the sound low and amused. “You’re summoning another one of them, aren’t you?” There was no mistaking the expectation gleaming in his eyes.
Scott didn’t answer. His gaze wandered to the floating alien head, still bound tightly by the flaming chains. What should I do with this bastard? he thought. The Void Warden ability ensured the summons couldn’t free themselves, but that didn’t mean they owed him loyalty. The head’s earlier intent had been evidence enough of that.
Should I get rid of it? Scott shook his head as the thought surfaced. No, that would be a waste. With the chains binding it, couple with summon under the control of his authority, he could control it freely. The real question was where to unleash it.
His musings were abruptly cut short as a sudden system notification manifested in front of him—and Orion.
The Harem King has invited you to join their alliance! Do you wish to entertain their invite? Yes! No!
Scott and Orion exchanged glances. While Scott’s expression remained as impassive as stone, Orion’s face twisted into something far more amused as he let out a derisive laugh.
Without hesitation, both champions selected [No!]. A new notification appeared.
You have chosen not to entertain the invite! You have rejected the advances of the Harem King!
The message lingered briefly before fading. In its wake, an unsettling hum began to buzz in the distance—low, almost imperceptible at first. Both Scott and Orion turned sharply toward the source of the sound, yet their searching gazes revealed only the same barren expanse of dust and ruin.
The hum grew louder, intensifying until it echoed like a low, mournful wail.
“Orion, is that you?” Scott asked mentally.
“Nah,” Orion replied, his voice equally sharp in thought. “I was just about to ask if one of your summons decided to get creative.”
Scott’s brows furrowed. Instinctively, the War Hammer of the Mad God re-formed in his hand. Around him, the chains of the Abyss slithered and coiled, clanking ominously as though sensing the oncoming threat.
The ground shuddered. In the distance, a cyclone of dust erupted, spiraling violently toward the heavens. Yet, strangely, the spectacle carried no oppressive force—no real pressure, no tangible threat. It was as if the storm were performative rather than destructive.
Still, neither Scott nor Orion relaxed. Orion’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses, his fingers curling around his staff. “This is too weird,” he muttered under his breath.
Without warning, Orion slammed the base of his staff into the ground. The sharp, rhythmic strikes reverberated unnaturally, ripples spreading outward in liquid-like waves. The distortions traveled rapidly toward the cyclone, converging at its base. In an instant, the massive storm vanished—obliterated as though it had never existed. Even the echoes dissipated into silence.
Scott frowned. Wasn’t that too easy?
A sharp crack resounded above them. Both champions looked up simultaneously, Scott’s eyes narrowing in recognition. Floating above them, suspended like an open wound in the sky, was a link—a gateway, formless yet unmistakable, hovering exactly where the cyclone had manifested.
Scott’s grip on the war hammer tightened. Why would a link suddenly reveal itself? The answer struck him almost immediately, and his jaw clenched. “Could it be that the territorial lord is returning?” he asked Orion mentally.
“I sure hope so,” Orion replied, his tone dripping with anticipation. “We’re not going to find out what happened to the others unless we deal with him first.”
The link pulsed, growing larger and larger. Dust clouds rose in its wake, swirling faintly through the stale air. Yet, for all its ominous size, nothing emerged.
Minutes crawled by. Scott and Orion watched in perfect silence, their bodies tense, their focus unwavering. The link hung in the air like a living void, its presence both unnatural and expectant. Neither champion spoke—not aloud, not mentally—as they waited for whatever would come next.
“Should I send a clone to investigate?” Orion suggested mentally, breaking the silence. Almost immediately, he frowned, shaking his head. “No, on second thought, that’s not a good idea.” He suspected that, with territorial lords having full control over the links, the lord of Rashka Territory would instantly sense his clone’s intrusion. Then again, the lord already had omnipotent awareness within their own domain—any action they took would likely provoke a response.
“Let’s wait,” Scott replied calmly. “Unless they plan to abandon this territory, they’ll be back soon enough.”
“The only problem with that,” Orion said with a dry chuckle, “is that we don’t know if ‘soon enough’ will already be too late.”
A heavy silence settled between the two, the weight of uncertainty pressing down. Rushing into the link guaranteed nothing; there was no way to confirm whether their companions were even in the timeline housed within. For all they knew, the link itself was a trap—one that could leave them stranded.
“If it is a trap,” Scott began, voicing his concerns mentally, “and the territorial lord refuses us reentry, we’ll have no choice but to search for a link back to the Endless Bridge. Who knows how long that could take?”
“True,” Orion murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “We’re in a bit of a bind. It’s been a while since I’ve been this excited.”
As his voice lingered, two sharp system notifications appeared abruptly in front of them:
The Calamity of Envy is descending! The Calamity of Thunder is descending!
Scott’s features stiffened, his gaze snapping toward the expanded link. Before he could react further, another notification flared into existence:
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The Lord of Rashka Territory has declared war on you!
The world around them distorted, as though a veil had been lifted. The dusty plains rippled like water before shifting into an entirely new environment. Jagged rock replaced the earth beneath their feet, now blanketed in snow. The once-bright skies darkened to an oppressive gray, endless snowflakes swirling and tumbling within the relentless, icy winds.
Scott and Orion were no longer alone.
Encircling them now were bipedal creatures—each towering over two meters tall, their muscular frames encased in sinewy flesh. Four arms extended from their bodies, and atop their necks burned flaming heads, each one a roaring pyre of crimson and gold.
So, I was right, Scott thought, his expression hardening as he surveyed the scene. The Calamities and the lord of this place are working together.
He tugged slightly at the chains binding the alien head, and the blackened links unraveled with ease.
Some of the creatures released chilling roars, the flames atop their heads flaring brighter against the white backdrop of the snowstorm. Instantly, the heads of those who roared imploded violently. Others exploded outright, vanishing in an instant as though erased from existence.
The alien head ascended into the air, its gaze falling on the remaining creatures. A palpable wave of condescension emanated from its form, and with it came destruction. More of the creatures fell—some with heads bursting into flame, others simply ceasing to exist as their forms blinked out of reality.
Within moments, tens of thousands had been slaughtered. Those who survived stood frozen, having realized the rules governing their demise: show no malice, make no sound, and perhaps you’ll survive.
Scott and Orion, unfazed by the chaos, kept their focus on the hovering link. Their attention remained fixed, waiting. Minutes piled up, stretching the tension thin.
Suddenly, a massive fist wreathed in iridescent lilac flames emerged from the link.
Scott’s grip on the War Hammer of the Mad God tightened as the ground trembled beneath him. Some of the surviving creatures below released faint, involuntary cheers. Their reward was immediate—obliteration.
Another arm emerged from the link. Then another. And another.
Eight colossal arms, each thicker and more robust than three of the two-meter creatures combined, clawed their way into reality. Flames licked and rolled across the muscular limbs, iridescent and searing. Moments later, a broad torso followed, equally wreathed in raging fire, and then the lower half—massive legs that struck the earth with enough force to shake the mountains.
Finally, the creature’s head emerged, a steel skull visible within the roaring flames. Suspended just above it hovered a burning crown, its fire shifting between lilac, gold, crimson, and orange.
The smaller creatures immediately fell to their knees, prostrating themselves before the towering figure. None dared to rise. None dared to look up.
Scott needed no confirmation: this was the Lord of Rashka Territory.
But the lord wasn’t looking at Scott. Its gaze, burning and unrelenting, was fixed on the alien head. The floating head quivered involuntarily, as if instinctively aware of what was to come.
One of the lord’s enormous arms lifted, a single finger pointing at the alien head.
A thin crack split cleanly down the alien head’s form, starting at its apex and slicing straight through its base. From the fissure, dazzling light burst forth, growing brighter as the crack widened. Moments later, the alien head shattered into nothingness, and in its place, a new link materialized, glowing faintly within the snowstorm.
The lord turned its gaze toward Scott and Orion. Its voice exploded like a thunderclap, shaking the mountains to their roots.
“You dare invade the territory of the great Rashka?!” it roared, the sheer force of its voice whipping the winds into a frenzied howl. The snow fell harder, the storm growing more ferocious. The smaller creatures leapt to their feet in unison, the flames on their heads blazing higher and brighter.
The combined heat radiating from their bodies melted the surrounding ice, sending streams of water cascading down the rocky terrain. A thick fog began to roll across the battlefield, the mist swirling ominously as it thickened, shrouding the rising flames in a pale, ghostly veil.
Scott and Orion stood unflinching as the storm raged around them, their expressions calm, yet razor-sharp.
Rashka raised all eight of its hands at once, and in each, massive specters sculpted from pure ice began to take form. Around it, the smaller flaming creatures lifted their arms, summoning molten magma that gathered and swirled, expanding their forms into monstrous shapes of burning stone and fire.
Wielding the fully formed icy scepters, Rashka pointed one of them at Scott and Orion. Its thunderous voice rumbled like a storm tearing through the mountains.
“Who is the lord among you?”
As its words echoed, the air shimmered, and several more links materialized throughout the area. From the portals emerged legions of flaming champions—hundreds of thousands—marching into formation, their molten visages aglow with fury. They surrounded Scott and Orion on all sides, their ranks commanded by Rashka, the lord of this desolate territory.
Scott stepped forward, his movements calm and deliberate. Rashka’s massive, fiery head turned to focus on him.
“So, it is you,” Rashka growled, its tone dripping with disdain. “Where is your army?”
Scott didn’t stop, his expression unreadable. “Where are they?” he shot back, his voice unamplified, yet cutting through the noise like a blade. His steps carried him forward, the blackened chains of the Abyss dragging restlessly behind him. “If you tell me where they are right now, I’ll end this swiftly.” He stopped abruptly, tilting his head up to meet Rashka’s burning gaze. “Make your decision. There won’t be a second chance.”
“You dare threaten me?” Rashka’s voice erupted, shaking the very ground. Its smaller subordinates fell to their knees, bowing low in submission as the flaming crown above its head flared violently, releasing torrents of blue fire that hissed and crackled against the snowstorm.
Suddenly, more links tore open in the sky, disgorging gigantic snow worms, their armored bodies slithering forth with deafening screeches. Acid spewed from their maws as they joined the ranks of Rashka’s army.
Still pointing a scepter at Scott and Orion, Rashka roared, its command like thunder:
“Kill them!”
The horde surged forward. The worms screeched, the flaming creatures roared, and together they charged, a cacophony of chaos swallowing the battlefield.
Then, from above, a voice descended—low, deliberate, and impossibly compelling.
“Is what you see considered reality?”
The words were soft, yet they crashed over the battlefield like a tidal wave. Rashka, instinctively, tilted its head skyward. Through the swirling gray clouds, the all-seeing eye stared back, unblinking and vast.
The voice echoed again, a ripple of madness threading through the words.
“Should what your senses perceive be thought of as real?”
The territorial lord blinked, its massive frame trembling slightly. When it looked back to the battlefield, it froze.
The worms and flaming subordinates were no longer interested in attacking Scott and Orion. Instead, they had turned on each other, their charge devolving into a bloodthirsty free-for-all. Worms impaled flaming creatures, magma exploded in showers of fire and ash, and molten stone splintered under acid burns. Roars of agony and murderous delight filled the air.
Scott and Orion remained untouched; their forms seemingly invisible to the raging army.
“What—what is this?” Rashka growled, its booming voice edged with confusion.
Scott tilted his head slightly, his voice cold and measured. “I gave you a chance. Whatever happens now is on you.”
Only Rashka could hear him speak, the words carrying an ominous finality.
Before the territorial lord could react, another link tore open near the center of the battlefield, its manifestation accompanied by a sudden hush. The storm seemed to pause as two new figures stepped into the territory.
A melodious voice broke the silence, light and playful, yet laced with unmistakable menace.
“Oh my, to think you had such a strong connection to an authority. No wonder we couldn’t see what happened to the others.”
Scott’s gaze shifted, narrowing as he studied the newcomers.
The first was a lithe, humanoid figure—her appearance fluid, her face and form shifting constantly, each iteration more perfect than the last. She moved with unnatural grace, her enchanting smile as inviting as it was sinister.
Beside her loomed a majestic white dragon, its scales gleaming like polished silver. Thunder crackled through the dark clouds overhead, and lightning coiled around the dragon’s immense form, illuminating its glistening wings. Gripped in the beast’s claws were four massive tubes, each filled with a swirling green liquid.
Scott’s gaze lingered on the tubes, and his jaw tightened. Within three of them, he recognized Zara, Slim, and Plume—their unconscious forms suspended in the liquid.
The Calamity of Envy has descended! The Calamity of Thunder has descended!
The humanoid figure—clearly the Calamity of Envy—spoke again, her voice dripping with amusement.
“Why don’t we make a deal, hmm?” she purred, her ever-shifting face turning toward Scott. “Unlike this cretin,” she gestured lazily toward Rashka, “we have no reason to fight a losing battle. So, what do you say?”