Chapter 427
Then, without another word, Red spread his wings.
With a single, mighty beat, he lifted off the ground. Another beat, and he was already ascending. His colossal form blurred as he picked up speed, and within seconds—
He was gone. Yet his presence remained, the aftermath of his fire followed immediately, its effects still unraveling.
As Red vanished into the night sky, the lingering sea of flame began to take effect.
At first, the battlefield stood eerily still. The Zealots, still heavily numbered, suddenly stopped. Their bodies twitched and shuddered, their instinct screaming for them to get to the other world, sadly their connection to the other world was severed by the fire’s divine will.
Then, the flames sank into the ground, spreading like veins of molten gold.
A sudden pressure gripped the battlefield. The Zealots screamed.
The spiritual fire did not burn them like ordinary flames—it attacked their very essence. The shadowy marks on their bodies, once pulsating with eerie light, began to crack. The cursed inscriptions they bore—the very thing that allowed them to slip between dimensions—shattered like broken glass.
One by one, the Zealots began to collapse, their bodies spasming, their faces twisted in agony. Some clawed at their own skin, as if trying to peel away the burning force that now clung to them. Others, eyes wide with horror, tried to run—but there was nowhere to go.
The Apeling guards, still standing within the protective glow of the fire, watched in silent awe.
Then, without warning—