Chapter 1706: Chapter 1523: Monsters Invasion 4

Chapter 1706: Chapter 1523: Monsters Invasion 4



The monstrous rampage had taken its toll. With a final, earth-shaking tremor, Gracier, the Crimson Dragon, transformed back into her human form. Her once fiery robes hung in tattered shreds, her once vibrant hair singed and smoldering. She sank to her knees, the remnants of her godly power leaving her body drained and trembling.

Saeko, her azure cloak billowing in the night wind, materialized beside her. Her touch, cool and soothing, settled on Gracier's shoulder. "You did well, Gracier," she said, her voice a gentle breeze rustling through leaves. "Southport is safe for now."

Gracier offered a weak smile, the exhaustion evident on her face.

"Just for now, Saeko," she rasped, her voice hoarse. "The howls... they won't stop." Saeko nodded, her eyes reflecting the distant glow of the city's smoldering remains. "No, they won't. We must prepare. Humanity will need all the strength it can muster." Together, the two women surveyed the ravaged city. Smoke still hung heavy in the air, the acrid smell a constant reminder of the battle. In the distance, the weary defenders emerged from hiding, their faces etched with a mixture of awe and relief. As they spotted the two figures atop the ruined skyscraper, a cheer erupted, a wave of gratitude that washed over the goddesses.

Gracier, despite her exhaustion, straightened her shoulders, a flicker of determination returning to her one remaining eye. She may be wounded, but her spirit remained unbroken. "We will rebuild, Saeko," she declared, her voice ringing with a newfound resolve. "And we will fight. For humanity, for this world, and for the light that still burns within it." Saeko placed a hand over Gracier's heart, her touch conveying a silent promise.

"And we will fight together," she replied, her voice a steady echo of Gracier's resolve.

This Minotaur wasn't the lumbering beast of myth. This one stood on towering legs, its muscular physique dwarfing even the most heavily armored warrior. Its hide, a patchwork of battle scars and matted black fur, rippled with each bellow of rage. A thick mane of coarse, black hair adorned its head, framing a face contorted with a primal hunger.

Its most striking feature, however, was its head. Unlike the depictions of a bull-like head, this Minotaur possessed a monstrous amalgam of human and bovine features. A pair of wickedly curved horns, black as obsidian, jutted from its brow. Beneath them, a broad, human-like nose lay above a wide, gaping maw filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth. Bloodstained spittle dripped from its chin, a grotesque testament to its recent carnage.

This Minotaur, a creature that should normally be in dungeon, roared in challenge, its bellow shaking the very foundations of the city. Its gleaming, black eyes scanned the battlefield, searching for the strongest opponent, the one worthy of its wrath. Its massive, ebony axe, etched with demonic runes, hung loose at its side, a weapon capable of cleaving a man in two with a single swing.

The soldiers faltered, their courage momentarily shaken by the sheer presence of this monstrous entity. But beneath the fear, a flicker of defiance remained. They had seen the devastation wrought on their city, the fallen comrades who wouldn't see another sunrise. Despair wasn't an option. Here, amidst the ruins and the screams, they would make their stand, for their homes, their families, and the very idea of a free humanity.

A collective gasp ripped through the besieged city as a magnificent beast soared into view from the horizon. It was a wyvern, but unlike the monstrous beasts plaguing their world, this one radiated an otherworldly beauty.

Its scales, the color of polished sapphire, shimmered with an ethereal brilliance, catching the fading light of the setting sun. They seemed to shift and flow, like the scales of a living jewel. Its wings, vast and feathered, were tipped with a delicate silver that glinted like moonlight. It moved with a grace that belied its immense size, carving through the crimson sky with powerful, fluid strokes.

Atop the wyvern, silhouetted against the fiery backdrop, stood a figure that sent a wave of relief crashing through the city. It was Luna, the Saintess. Her pure white nun's dress billowed in the wind like a celestial banner, its stark contrast to the carnage below a symbol of hope. Her long, golden hair cascaded down her back like a flowing river of liquid sunshine, catching the light with an ethereal glow.