Chapter 938

Chapter 938: Vigrant Massacre

‘Why,’ a trail of white darted across the skies, ‘-why did it have to be her?’ anger, fear, hatred, disappointment, no emotion could describe how he felt – everything inside jumbled. Past came to life, history repeated itself, ‘-it can’t be,’ he gritted, biting the inner cheeks as to keep a sense of reality, ‘-why does her life matter so much,’ he flapped, gradually increasing the speed, absorbing mana in an exorbitant amount – the broken vestige of the death element thumped; losing Vigrant archipelago, losing the first battle of the war – nothing seemed to reach an inch to how troubled he felt. ‘-I’m not losing my daughter, no, I’m not, I won’t let it happen,’ the sheer speed ripped part of the clothes, pulled onto the very fabric of his skin, latter of which rejuvenated, ‘-Lizzie,’ crossed the mind, a traumatic experience that carried well beyond the grave – remembering the casque, her body, the funeral; despair spawned off powerlessness – Devil as he might have been dubbed, unable to take the mantle of a god, Igna Haggard had weaknesses – the latter of which weren’t weaknesses on their merit; Draconis, Vanesa, Saniata, and Raphael. Just the thought of her being kept captive sufficed for the king to fly into battle – and fly he did, crossing the whole of the continent in minutes, trip that would take hours by plane. White turned purple and black, and the aura of Alfred manifested in devilish features, horns, sharpened teeth, claws, sharper nose, and more refined facial features. *See the unseen, feel the unfelt, knowledge deep within, awaken for I order so; Eye of Truth.* reality shattered, billions if not more tiny threads reached to the heavens – mana strings attached to living beings, inanimate objects, anything that absorbed and released mana – the very essence of reality could be tied to the singular most known and yet, misunderstood law of nature – Mana.

*Crash,* a massive burst of energy decimated a chunk out of the Vigrant middle isle, “-what was that?” cried nearby stationed guards, “-an attack?” an electrifyingly heavy presence bellowed within the jungle’s belly, a beast, a monster, no, a demon – patrol dropped in their tracks; majority hurled on accounts of a suffocating aura. Each step taken, grass and vegetation around said area withered, a simple touch of a tree sufficed to drop the leafy overlord.

‘Where are they?’ he scanned – a primordial feeling of lust warmed his inside, ‘-I feel amazing,’ he walked, ‘-this feeling, the pure blood lust,’ helicopters passed, *Powers to bring down my enemies, powers to bring down my foe, from the abyssal depths of hell to the highest peak in the heavens, shudder, cower, and fear, my anger is not to be triggered, my rage is not to be quelled and my lust is not to be quenched,* arms to the sky, the devil clenched his fist, *-bow before the power feared by even Creation himself, Hand of the Lamented,* nothing, the helicopters imploded by an external force – one so great it crumbled metal as if crumbling paper, fiery balls of paper. Explosions rattled the vicinity, gunfire snuffed suddenly, and the overwhelming feeling of approaching doom.

“-Lord Angio,” hurried a messenger, “-we’re under attack.”

“By who?”

“We don’t know.”

“Is Hidros launching a full-scale battle?”

.....

“No, the enemy fleet departed our waters days ago. My lord, this is the work of another entity,” by which a half-bloodied fighter stumbled inside, “-demon...” he died.

Angio rose his chin and smiled, “-have my comrades join me at the prisoner camp – send the news to Bishop Greg.”

“Bishop Greg already began the transportation operation,” added a new face, an intelligence officer, “-lord Angio, we must retreat. Who knows what weapon those heretics might have sent – we cannot allow for a repeat of what happened in Alphia”

“I know,” replied the charming man, “-have them evacuate to the nearest transport ship, we can’t leave without our precious cargo.”

All and all, Angio stood alongside three others, all blond-haired and blue eyes, “-why the noise?” yawned one.

“It’s war, my friend, such as the nature of war,” commented Angio, “-ever changing fun, isn’t that what you like?”

“Fun has its time.”

Another made passes before the prisoner’s camp, “-speaking of fun, you sure I can’t touch the lass?”

“No,” added he calmly, “-pristine items are best kept safe. Who knows if she’ll even be alive if you start,” the group laughed and threw aside the curtains. The hurling odor of decomposing bodies had them push their nose into their elbows, “-what putrid smell, I almost feel bad for captives.”

“To the victor goes the spoils.”

Angio snapped, brightening the dauntingly disgusting room, “-precious angel of Igna,” he smiled, “-long time no see. How long has it been, two weeks?” an unshaken will returned his glare, “-have you come to end my life?”

“No, by god’s name no. Haven’t I made it clear, that you are precious to me and the Krestonian army,” dropped on one knee, “-seems a monster was unleashed onto the archipelago. Too bad, pains me to separate thee from thy father.”

*Giggle,* he frowned, “-why are you laughing?”

“The monster isn’t a monster,” she laid back and crossed her feet, “-that, my dear ol’ capturer, is the strongest man I know,” a burst of wind blew the tent, leaving the cages and bodies exposed to the elements – a petrifying somber aura froze Angio and the others.

“What’s with the expression,” pouted Saniata, “-Cat got your tongue?”

Heaviness sprawled across the land, killing reeds and plants, “-Saniata,” resounded a deep looming echo, “-close your eyes and don’t move,” an entire platoon of soldiers circled the area, Angio forced himself straight and shook as he turned towards the monster, “-w-w-who a-a-re y-you?”

Igna closed the gap faster than a blink, “-the devil,” he tapped Angio’s forehead, and a distant crash cried.

“HOW DARE YOU!” screamed the comrades to no avail, once the devil had the taste for blood, there was no stopping the carnage which would ensue. Intelligence officers called for backup – Bishop Greg turned away the remaining one-quarter of the advance army and sent them as reinforcement, unknown to what had been unleashed.

“Your holiness, we’re nearing the shores of Dorchester,” said a holy man.

“May we save our devotees from the wretched hands of the pseudo pope.”

*Once living now dead. O’ thee who’ve lost thine life to mine blade, thee who held regrets in the mortal world, I grant thee a chance at life. Be one with those who are to serve me, Blood-Arts: Ghoul Revival,* demons clawed from hell – religious description of a place of eternal sufferance, tentacles dripped of purple miasma – vacant pupils stared the soldiers – vacantness associated to puppets and dolls, hauntingly unblinking eyes – an ability to see into a person’s soul. They leaped in hordes, chewing, biting, striking, indiscriminate attack, savages in the purest meaning of the term lunged. More bodies dropped the bigger grew Igna’s army – a crimson orb rose atop the battlefield, and everywhere was the depiction of death. it didn’t come swift nor did it come easy, fortunate were those who died instantly because after all, the Devil’s army saw their enemies as prey, lower lifeforms. Fingers were bitten, arms were torn, eyes were skewered and eaten before others – prayers and pleas for mercy recanted tranquility once inherit to the Vigrant archipelago. Reinforcement arrived in utter shock – the common sight of dirt and weeds replaced into a tainted marsh of dark red – severed heads, maimed limbs, last kept expressions of ultimate pain and fear in the bodiless faces, “-halt!” cried a leader, a tiny dart of red impaled his head, he dropped headfirst – confused bystanders rose their rifles to a distant figure, a man of demonic resemblance – a darker aura escaped from his physical self – there stood true terror, “-die.” Fallen comrades tore across their comrades; killing indiscriminately until the last echo of a person’s dying breath faded.

Withered tree, somber sky, corpse-ridden battlefield, and at the center, the devil. Souls of many lingered, *Living or dead, I invite all to the realm of absurdity, serve me and my companions, be one of a greater family. Forgo the past and look towards the future, one in which thou art be immortal and without regret. Box of Soul: Shadow Realm Transmigration.*Life energy swirled into a container, *Release,* raised undead dropped, allowing Igna moments respace, “-open your eyes,” chains shattered, “-long time no see, Saniata.”

“Pops,” she stayed on her knees, “-I’m sorr-”

“Don’t be, I’m not one to be angry with my daughter for her wanting a little entertainment. It’s fine, honestly,” he gave a helping hand, “-come on.”

“Wow, how many are dead?”

“I don’t know,” heaviness of his inner presence dampened – the demonic features wavered until naught, “-lost track after the first ten.”

Distant movement caught their attention, “-who are you?” gasped a single survivor.

“The Devil,” he replied, “-who are you?”

“Angio,” Saniata smirked, “-didn’t I say when my father realizes I’m gone, you’ll die?”

“First of all, Angio, you’re not going to die. I need a witness to relay what happened here today,” he casually walked to the traumatized sunken outline, “-this doesn’t count as a victory for Hidros. Vigrant island is yet under Kreston’s rule.”

“THEN WHY!”

“To rescue my daughter,” said a cold whisper, “-the war can be won anytime I want, however, part of me thinks fighting on the frontlines to be easy. Take it however thee wish, the war is between nations, not individuals, thus, today’s slaughter is but a preview of what happens when one of my own is taken hostage.”

“Pops, let’s go already, I’m hungry and tired. I need a shower too.”

A coin dropped beside Angio’s hand, “-if ever thee wish to strike a deal with the devil, thou ought but ask,” mark of death on one side and the crest of Undrar on the other, Angio cowered, burying his head into the blood-soaked ground, ‘-why, why, why... how could this have happened. I’m being led by Ares; we have the backing of Lucifer’s subjects... how could we lose the battle...’ flashbacks looped, ‘-today’s slaughter is but a preview,’ he flinched, the sound of guts being tore bellowed, ‘-this doesn’t count as a victory for Hidros,’ he curled, ‘-the war can be won anytime I want,’ fist to the ground, “-WHY!”

“Hey pops,” Saniata threw a cautious glance, “-what’s going to happen to Angio?”

“Are you attached?”

“Not really,” her fingers interlocked, “-it’s just that he...”

“That he what?”

“That he had me safeguarded from the others. Part of me is grateful, I’m lucky I didn’t experience the true terror of captivity.”

He patted her head and gently messed with her hair, “-next time you go in battle, have the courtesy to inform your old man. Ages’ not exactly easy on me.”

She frowned, “-stop lying, that’s an insult to all the old people out there.”

“Pardon, how would you know how the older folks feel?”

Her fist clenched, “-father...”

“I’m only kidding,” a portal gate opened, “-let’s go home,” they entered and soon found themselves inside the king’s office.

“That was fun,” chuckled Saniata, “-seems pops’ have guests.”

“Minerva, Eira,” he went around the desk, “-still here?”

“We were worried.”

“Why?” he side-glanced Eira, “-I simply went out to fetch my daughter.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that,” he returned Minerva’s comment.

“What about their army, what of reinforcement, for the love of what’s holy, what about your safety?”

“My safety?” the temperature dropped, “-have thee forgotten my title?” purple sparks fluttered across his cold gaze, “-come, Saniata, let’s get some food and a warm bath. I need a break.”

Hidrosian spies interjected an incident report a few days later – one bearing the title, “-Vigrant Massacre.” Athena hung her head against the desk after reading said report, ‘-I can’t believe him,’ she softly headbutted the stocks of papers, ‘-leaping into battle and singlehandedly defeating thousands of soldiers... what does that make me, I’m supposed to be the goddess of warfare and wisdom, what happened, have I weakened?’

*Tap, tap,* “-General Minerva, the ceremony is about to commence.”