The Guardian gods

Chapter 372



"I am," Phanthom admitted, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "Victory is assured. There’s no longer a challenge, no art to it. Even their desperate gambits lack creativity. This is mere slaughter, and slaughter bores me."

Phanthom turned away from the battlefield, his dark cloak billowing in the wind. "Malzor," he said, his tone carrying a hint of finality, "continue as you see fit. The ratmen are broken; there’s no need for me here."

Malzor nodded, his gaze lingering on Phanthom. "And where will you go?"

"To find something... stimulating," Phanthom replied. "Perhaps a battlefield with a worthy opponent. Or a realm where the game is not so rigged in our favor."

As Phanthom began to fade into the shadows, he glanced back at the field of despair one last time. The ratmen’s cries, the demons’ laughter, the endless cycle of pain and torment—it was a masterpiece of suffering. Yet to Phanthom, it was nothing more than a canvas already filled.

Malzor watched him disappear, then turned his attention back to the battlefield. "A shame," he muttered to himself. "But predictable, coming from him."

With renewed vigor, Malzor continued to command the demons, ensuring that the ratmen’s despair would remain an endless well of power for their forces.

Phantom appeared at the portal in the abyss that led to the other side of the world. He already knew his creator was nearby, waiting for him.

Still in his gargoyle form, Phantom stepped through the portal and emerged into a battlefield where the roars of demons clashed with the screeches of ratmen. The higher-tier demons in the vicinity bowed as he passed, acknowledging his presence.

With their forces gaining ground, Phantom now had the freedom to move as he pleased. His steps carried him into the chaos of the battlefield, a mayhem of bloodshed and destruction.

As he walked, sprays of blood from the carnage around him seemed to part and fall away, never touching him. Neither the demons nor the ratmen took notice of his presence; it was as though he was invisible, a ghost among the massacre.

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