Chapter 135 ‒ The Last Bastion Before Oblivion
Chapter 135 ‒ The Last Bastion Before Oblivion
Tyler lunged forward — only to be hurled back by an invisible wall of force. His body crashed into the cracked ground, stones shattering beneath him, pain flaring through his ribs.
Laughter crackled through the night air. From behind the shimmering barrier, Yandeon stepped forward. His shape was a twisted silhouette of shadows and ragged robes, eyes blazing with unholy glee.
“Haha! So, you finally pieced it together, [Player]!” Yandeon’s voice echoed with manic triumph. “But it’s far too late now — too late!”
Tyler forced himself up, every muscle screaming. His hands flew to the hilts of his swords, their cold weight grounding him, igniting him.
Yandeon raised his arms in an ecstatic, mockingly grand gesture. “You cannot stop me now! I — Yandeon — will become the ultimate being! Witness the moment I transcend mortality, the moment I devour divinity itself! Bask in my glory as I ascend beyond gods!”
The ground cracked and trembled. Screams rose from below — pale, skeletal spirits clawing out from every fissure. Their hollow mouths gaped in eternal anguish, spectral claws scraping toward him.
Beyond the front ranks, shifting phantoms writhed in tangled waves, their countless hollow eyes glimmering like dying stars, stretching into the darkness without end.
[Enemies Identified: Wandering Ghost, Level 54 x529]
Tyler’s fingers curled tighter around his swords, their edges flaring with reflected moonlight. His heart pounded, roaring in his ears like a war drum.
“Yandeon! This ends today!”
The phantoms shrieked and surged forward in a writhing tide. And Tyler charged straight into them — not as a pawn, not as a monster, but as the lone barrier before an all-consuming apocalypse.
Steel met ethereal flesh in blinding arcs. Tyler ducked low, his blade carving a ghost’s torso into mist. Another lunged from his flank; he spun, the second sword splitting it in two. Three more clawed at his visor — he smashed the pommel into one, kicked another back, the third he impaled straight through the mouth.
A phantom spear sliced along his arm; blood splattered against his chest plate, sizzling on contact with spectral residue. He pivoted, cleaving two more wraiths in a cross-shaped arc.
His lungs burned, his vision narrowed to a tunnel of silver light and death shrieks.
[Activated Skill: Triplicate]
[Summoning: Player Clone, Level 64 x3]
A deep crack split the air beside him — three identical shadows burst forth, their swords gleaming like fractured moons. Each clone darted forward immediately, their movements as violent and sharp as a sudden storm.
One clone vaulted over Tyler, blade whistling downward to split a ghost’s head in two. Another spun through the crowd, a cyclone of slicing steel, each motion a blur of cold precision. The third clone stepped back, catching two lunging ghosts on crossed blades before whipping forward in a savage double slash.
Together, they formed a howling ring of destruction, blades weaving a net of moonlight. Tyler could feel their tempo in his bones — each clone mirrored his anger, his desperation, his iron vow.
A ghost dropped from above, claws aimed at his neck — he twisted, his blade shearing its torso in a geyser of spectral ash. Another clone stabbed upward through the falling wraith’s ribs, shattering it into drifting light.
Three more surrounded them. In perfect synchrony, they spun as one, each blade carving through mist and memory. Wraiths wailed and dissolved like dying stars.
Faster! Deeper! I cannot slow down! I have to reach Yandeon before he can complete the sacrificial ritual!
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Tyler advanced, his feet pounding like war drums on the broken ground. Every swing carried the weight of every promise he’d broken, every life he had failed to protect.
Suddenly, a thick, suffocating chill crawled across his skin. The air twisted, turning a putrid, almost luminous green.
He spun, blades raised — but the fog itself seemed to leer at him.
[Myrrak Activated Skill: Poison Mist]
Out of the swirling poison, a shape emerged, silent as a nightmare tearing through a dream.
Myrrak stood there, impossibly close. His serpentine eyes gleamed with cold amusement. Poisonous mist clung to his arms, drifting like living shadows. His tongue flicked across needle-sharp fangs, savouring the fear.
“Heh… ever so entertaining, [Player],” Myrrak hissed, his voice dripping with poisonous glee. “But your little tricks end here.”
With a snap of his claw, the poison pulsed outward like a dying star collapsing. Tyler’s clones convulsed, their forms shuddering before collapsing into nothingness. The abrupt silence rang like a blade against bone.
[Player Clone #1 (Level 64) has perished.]
[Player Clone #2 (Level 64) has perished.]
[Player Clone #3 (Level 64) has perished.]
Tyler staggered, gasping, his swords trembling.
Myrrak advanced with slow, deliberate steps. “So fragile. So alone. How many times must you learn the same lesson? This world belongs to us — the true predators.”
Tyler’s vision blurred; the green mist gnawed at his lungs.
Tyler’s arms trembled; his legs felt anchored in lead. The fog chewed at his lungs, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if this was truly the end. But then—
A violent gust roared across the plateau, slicing the poisonous fog away in a single, thunderous sweep.
Tyler’s eyes snapped open as the green veil disintegrated. A towering silhouette emerged from the whirl of wind, feathers shimmering like moonlit waves.
“You are not the only one who has a Primordial beast on your side,” Zephryn’s voice rang out — clear, fierce, yet carrying an undertone of a mother’s reprimand to a disobedient child.
She stepped forward, talons scraping stone, wings half-furled and humming with barely restrained wrath. Her radiant eyes locked onto Myrrak, soft yet gleaming with divine fury.
“You treacherous, pitiful creature,” she spat, her voice rippling with righteous anger. “You cling to conspirators like mold to rotting wood. Did you forget how you cowered and fled the last time you tried to smother this world in your venom? You were cornered, humiliated, left to scurry in the shadows. This time — I will teach you your place personally.”
Myrrak’s slitted pupils twitched, his smirk faltering as the wind curled around Zephryn’s wings like protective blades.
Then, a new burst of light tore the darkness open — a brilliant pillar searing into the sky.
Vitamin Ape landed with a quake, lightning coiling along his hammer’s head. Sparks danced like tiny meteors, his breath a thunderous rumble.
“You always get into the best trouble, [Player],” he boomed, voice echoing over the shattered plateau. “I wouldn’t miss this final clearance sale for the world!”
Another beam shot down — wide and blinding.
From it stepped Nellisa, King Wing, and a line of Shindo warriors, armour battered but eyes fierce. Flames spiralled around Nellisa’s fingers as she tossed her head back with amused disdain.
“What’s wrong, King Wing?” she called out, smirking. “Are you shivering? Or have you grown too used to your quiet new life mining stones and gathering firewood that you’ve forgotten how to hold a blade?”
King Wing’s eyes flared, his posture rigid with rage. “You dare mock me?! I only lost because I was weakened! Once I regain my true power, I’ll overthrow [Player] and reclaim the newly established Shindo as my rightful throne!”
Nellisa’s smirk widened, firelight dancing in her eyes. “Oh? Then you’d better survive this battle first — unless, of course, you’re more suited to carrying logs than carrying swords.”
A final burst of light cracked through the clouds.
Kragg thundered forward, axe raised, his wild mane whipping in the wind. Behind him, Morik, Ralgar, Grugmar, Trevor, and the rest of Farnak’s mercenaries emerged, faces set, steps heavy with iron resolve.
Kragg’s eyes locked on Tyler, a silent promise passing between them — no debts, no apologies. Only the certainty of shared fate.
Tyler glanced around, breath coming in ragged bursts. Their arrival didn’t spark relief — only a deep, sombre solidarity. This was not a reunion. This was a last stand.
They formed a loose semicircle behind him, blades and fists raised, each silhouette a vow carved in moonlight.
Above them, Yandeon’s laughter crashed like thunder, echoing across the ruins. The magic circle beneath his feet pulsed wildly, lines of violet and blue throbbing like veins feeding a monstrous heart.
“Gather all the weaklings you wish,” Yandeon roared, voice cracking with deranged triumph. “Bring every scrap of dying courage — it will not change your fate! You cannot overpower me, nor my army of Wandering Ghosts! You are all insects beneath my ascension! Witness the death of your hope before you join them!”
The plateau shivered in the silence that followed. Tyler’s pulse roared like an ocean storm. His gaze narrowed behind the visor. His hands flexed around his swords as if sculpting fate itself.
“I cannot falter. I cannot die. I will hold this line — even if I shatter and vanish into dust.”
He leaned forward, blades low, his stance coiled like a predator in the dark. No words escaped his lips — only a silent vow that devoured the stars above.
The final act had begun.