Episode-911
Chapter : 1821
It was a nightmare given physical weight. Twelve feet of bone and malice, clad in the skeletal remains of high-tier dragons. It held a double-headed axe that didn't just burn with green fire; it dripped with a liquid curse that sizzled as it hit the obsidian.
The Guardian turned its skull-head, the green fire in its eyes flaring with ancient, territorial rage.
"HUMANS," the Guardian boomed, the sound vibrating through the plates of their armor. "YOU HAVE SURVIVED THE WHISPERS. BUT THE FLESH IS A PRISON YOU CANNOT ESCAPE."
It took a heavy, thundering step forward. The entire plateau shuddered.
"KNEEL AND BE CONSUMED," the Guardian roared, raising the massive axe. "OR BECOME THE FOUNDATION FOR MY MASTER'S WALL."
Ben didn't wait for Lloyd to give a tactical assessment. He stepped forward, his vibro-blades snapping out from his wrists with a high-frequency scream that challenged the Guardian's roar. He didn't look at the monster with fear; he looked at it like a hunter looks at a particularly stubborn piece of meat.
"You talk too much for a pile of old bones," Ben snarled, his Sovereign pressure erupting like a volcano, matching the Guardian's weight pound for pound. "I'm done with the ghost show. I've been itching to see how much pressure it takes to turn dragon-bone back into dust."
Lloyd clicked the safety off his sniper rifle and felt the Nova Cannon module on his hip cycle to 'Ready.'
"He's right about one thing, Ugly," Lloyd deadpanned, the blue rings in his eyes glowing with a cold, predatory light. "We're not here to kneel. We’re here to collect the rent. And you’re three centuries overdue."
The Guardian let out a sound of pure, unholy fury and charged.
Ben didn't dodge. He moved into the strike, a blur of arrogant, iron-willed violence.
Lloyd smiled beneath his mask. The Major General and the Lord of Ironwood were finally home.
As the hallucinogens fail to stop them, the Gate reveals its true nature as a living, sentient barrier. The purple fog, which had previously been a swirling soup of bad memories and daddy issues, began to thicken. It didn't just hang in the air anymore; it coalesced. It moved with a purpose, swirling inward like dirty water down a drain, gathering at the center of the obsidian plateau. The temperature dropped so fast that frost began to form on the sleek black nanoweave of Lloyd’s stealth suit.
"Okay," Lloyd said, his voice amplified by the helmet’s speakers. "The fog is doing something. And usually, when weather starts acting like a solid object, it means a boss fight is starting."
Ben, who was still shaking off the visions of his dead father, tightened his grip on his vibro-blades. The blades hummed with a high-frequency pitch, vibrating the air around them. "I don't care what it is," Ben growled, his voice thick with suppressed rage. "If it bleeds, I can kill it. If it doesn't bleed, I'll hit it until it invents a way to bleed."
"That's the spirit," Lloyd said. "But let's try not to punch a ghost, alright? Physics gets weird here."
The swirling smoke solidified. It rose up, towering over them, expanding until it reached a height of thirty feet. It wasn't a monster of flesh and bone. It wasn't a construct of stone or metal. It was a Shadow Guardian. It looked like a grim reaper that had been dipped in ink and fed a diet of nightmares. Its body was a roiling mass of abyssal mana, shifting and changing shape, but maintaining a vaguely humanoid torso and a hood that obscured a face that probably wasn't there.
It had no legs; it just trailed off into the darkness of the ground. But it had arms. Massive, elongated arms made of smoke that ended in claws that looked sharp enough to cut a shadow. And in its hands, it held a weapon.
A scythe.
But not a metal scythe. It was a massive, ethereal blade composed of violet light and screaming faces. It pulsed with a rhythmic, sickly beat, like a heart that had given up on life.
"Well," Lloyd noted dryly. "That’s subtle. Nothing says 'welcome to the neighborhood' like a giant ghost with a harvesting tool."
"It's blocking the path," Ben said. He stepped forward, his prosthetic legs digging into the rock. "I'm going to move it."
"Ben, wait," Lloyd warned. "My sensors aren't picking up any mass. That thing is—"
Chapter : 1822
Ben didn't wait. He was fueled by the trauma of the hallucination, desperate to prove that he wasn't the weak cripple his father's ghost had accused him of being. He ignited the thrusters on his back, launching himself forward with the speed of a missile.
"Die!" Ben roared.
He swung his steel lance—a heavy, armor-piercing weapon he had manifested from his own Void storage. It was a weapon designed to punch through tank armor. He put all his weight, all his momentum, and all his anger into the thrust.
The lance struck the Shadow Guardian directly in the center of its chest.
And then it went right through.
There was no impact. No sound of metal hitting flesh. No resistance. Ben passed through the giant entity as if he had jumped through a cloud of cigar smoke. He stumbled on the other side, his momentum carrying him forward until he nearly fell off the edge of the plateau.
"What?" Ben gasped, turning around. "I hit it! I saw it hit!"
The Shadow Guardian didn't even flinch. It didn't turn around. Its head simply rotated 180 degrees on its non-existent neck, the hood facing Ben. A low, rattling sound emanated from it, like dry leaves skittering on pavement. It was laughing.
"It has no physical mass," Lloyd said, reading the scrolling data on his HUD. "Ben, get back! It's a conceptual ghost. You can't stab a concept!"
"Watch me!" Ben yelled. He activated his vibro-blades this time. "If steel doesn't work, maybe vibration will!"
He charged again. He slashed at the Guardian's arm. The blades hummed, designed to separate molecules. They passed through the smoke without disturbing a single wisp.
The Shadow Guardian seemed bored. It watched Ben flail at it, its form rippling like water.
"Ben, stop!" Lloyd shouted. "It's baiting you!"
Ben didn't stop. He was trapped in a loop of frustration. He swung again and again, his attacks passing harmlessly through the enemy. He was fighting smoke. He was fighting a shadow. And he was getting tired.
The Shadow Guardian raised its scythe.
It didn't move fast. It moved with a slow, inevitable weight. It swung the massive, ethereal weapon in a wide arc.
"Dodge!" Lloyd commanded.
Ben tried. He raised his armored arms to block. His suit was made of the toughest alloys known to man and magic. It could stop a railgun slug. It could deflect a dragon's claw.
The scythe hit his arms.
It didn't clang. It didn't spark.
It passed through his armor just like his lance had passed through the Guardian.
The violet blade of the scythe sank into Ben’s arms, sheared through his chest, and erupted out the other side.
Ben froze.
For a heartbeat, the world went silent.
Then, the psychic impact hit him with the weight of a collapsing star, attempting to shred his consciousness into a thousand weeping fragments.
But Ben didn’t scream.
He gritted his teeth so hard a molar audibly cracked, a guttural, animalistic snarl ripping from his throat as he waged a bloody civil war inside his own mind.
He dropped to one knee, the obsidian rock shattering under the force of his landing.
It wasn't a surrender; it was a technicality of physics.
His body shook violently, every nerve ending firing in a symphony of agony as he fought the supernatural paralysis.
"Is that... all?" Ben spat, blood spray hitting the inside of his visor.
His voice was a distorted roar of pure, concentrated rage.
He didn't clutch his head. He didn't cower.
He forced his neck to move, glaring up at the Shadow Guardian with eyes that were bloodshot and brimming with a Sovereign's arrogance.
"Is this puny tickle... all you have?!"
Ben’s prosthetic hand clawed at the rock, leaving deep gouges in the solid stone.
"You can't break what was forged in the fires of Ashworth, you formless worm!"
He began to stand up slowly, the ethereal scythe still buried in his torso, treating the soul-flaying weapon like a minor inconvenience.
"Know your place!"
"I am the Lord of Ironwood!"
It wasn't a cry of submission or a whimper for mercy. It was a silent, agonizing war of attrition between a mortal mind and an immortal nightmare.
Ben didn't curl into a ball or clutch his head. He remained anchored to the spot, his prosthetic fingers digging into the obsidian floor until the solid stone turned to powder beneath his grip.
"Ben!" Lloyd shouted, activating his [Void Steps] to teleport instantly to his cousin's side.