Chapter 382: The Green Calamity (17)

The silence was thick—oppressive.

Dust drifted like ash across the ruined southern district of Tynoon. Shattered towers leaned against each other like broken giants. The scent of scorched stone and blood lingered heavy in the air.

Mystica stood tall, eyes still aglow, body trembling from the immense drain of what she had unleashed. Her cloak barely clung to her shoulders, and bruises ran like ink along her arms and ribs. She waited.

But something beneath the rubble shifted.

No… grew.

The ground pulsed. The stone cracked—not just beneath Barbara’s broken form, but throughout the entire district. Roots slithered up through the shattered cobblestone, writhing like serpents. The air grew thicker, tainted with an earthy, primal energy that reeked of corrupted life.

Then—

BOOM.

A blast of green mystic force erupted from the collapsed tower, hurling debris hundreds of feet in all directions. Trees burst from the ground, twisting unnaturally, bark gnarled and bleeding sap like blood. The roots beneath Mystica’s feet squirmed.

And from the heart of it all—

Barbara rose.

But she was no longer human.

Her frame had expanded—muscles layered with bark-like armor, arms elongated with talon-like claws. Her left eye glowed a brilliant green while the right remained streaked with lightning. Her tattoos pulsed like veins filled with molten myst. Giant, twisted horns curled from her forehead, and the air around her buzzed with corrupted Gaia energy, crackling like a thunderstorm trapped in a forest.

She stood—towering now, monstrous, magnificent.

And smiling.

“Now this,” she said, her voice a haunting blend of human and beast, “this is what I’ve been craving.”

Mystica’s stance hardened. Her eyes glowed with renewed resolve.

Barbara didn’t wait.

She lunged—a blur of muscle and death. The ground split open beneath her stride. She swung a new weapon—a jagged, double-bladed axe formed from twisted roots and living iron, laced with electric vines that screeched with every movement.

Mystica raised her arms, forming a shield of pure myst just in time.

CRASH!

The impact shattered the shield and sent her flying through the air. She flipped midair, twisted, and fired a beam of condensed solar energy—blindingly hot and straight at Barbara’s chest.

Barbara didn’t dodge. She charged through it, smoke rising from her bark-skin, a guttural laugh rising from her throat. She spun the axe and threw it, the weapon slicing through the sky like a shrieking comet.

Mystica warped—vanishing just before the axe split the earth behind her.

She reappeared behind Barbara, palm already glowing. She jabbed it forward—point-blank, a spell infused with wind, ice, and pressure.

BOOM.

The blast struck Barbara’s back and detonated, blasting off chunks of her bark armor, sending her crashing through three abandoned buildings.

Mystica didn’t relent. She lifted both arms, spinning her myst in full force—thunderstorms above, blizzards below, and razor winds spiraling out like blades.

From the rubble, Barbara leapt—part of her arm half-gone, face bloodied, but laughing. Her regeneration stuttered. Slower now. Strained. She was burning herself out. Her form twitched, unstable from the unnatural shift into the Gaia demon state.

And she didn’t care.

Mystica raised both palms. A tidal wave of molten myst surged behind her, building into the shape of a colossal spear of elements, forged from every affinity she’d mastered.

But Barbara was already mid-air—charging.

They clashed.

The spear met Barbara’s claws.

Detonation.

A shockwave burst out, flattening everything for blocks. Stone shattered. Trees exploded. The air imploded from the elemental collision.

Both figures were launched back.

Mystica landed in a roll, coughing blood, ribs likely fractured. She stood, barely, her arms shaking. Her myst shimmered erratically—drained nearly to the core.

Barbara clawed her way up from a crater—what remained of her form now almost fully Gaia demon. Her voice was distorted, thick with madness.

“Y-You… you really are something…” she hissed, dragging her ruined leg behind her. One horn had snapped, and her jaw hung oddly, like it had dislocated and re-healed wrong.

“You’re wasting it,” she growled, half-breath, half-scream. “That power… that beauty… you should be tearing the gods themselves apart.”

Mystica wiped blood from her mouth.

“No,” she said softly. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve fought to control this power… not be consumed by it.”

Barbara stumbled forward, body breaking under its own weight, regeneration failing. Her form flickered, unstable now, her hybrid biology struggling to maintain the Gaia demon fusion.

“Then die with your pride,” she whispered.

Mystica’s eyes narrowed.

“No,” she said again—firmer. “You die with your obsession.”

She raised one hand. Her final spell glowed at her fingertips—a singularity of pure myst, condensed to a point of infinite sharpness, glowing with silver fire. It pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.

Barbara roared and lunged one last time, her broken form throwing itself forward in a final desperate swing.

Mystica moved.

She stepped into the strike—too fast, too clean—and plunged the myst blade into Barbara’s chest, between rib and bark, into her core.

The spell activated.

Barbara froze, eyes wide.

The energy exploded inward, a quiet implosion that dragged her twisted body into itself—crushing her corrupted myst, severing her connection to Gaia’s energy, and obliterating the regenerative pathways.

She choked, staggered, then fell to her knees—still staring up at Mystica.

Blood poured from her mouth. Her axe hit the ground with a metallic clang.

Mystica knelt in front of her, one hand still buried in her chest.

Barbara’s voice, barely a whisper: “You… really would’ve been a good monster…”

Mystica’s eyes glowed softly, sadly.

“And you would’ve been a good woman… if someone had loved you before the storm.”

Barbara smiled, just barely, teeth bloody.

“…Maybe.”

And then her eyes faded as her form collapsed.

Mystica let go.

She stood there, amidst the ruin, surrounded by wind, silence, and the wreckage of war.

***

Back within the borders of the Crescent Kingdom, the demonic invasion had not spread across all seven zones like it had in Tempest and Solara. Instead, the assault had been a calculated strike—concentrated upon Zones 1 through 4. A deliberate ploy, designed not to conquer, but to distract. By locking Crescent’s strongest assets into localized battles, Sylvathar ensured they remained blind to the disaster unraveling in Solara.

In Zone 1, within the radiant capital city of Celestria, Queen Lucy stood face-to-face with King Valemir. She had arrived swiftly, bearing grim news. The Solara Kingdom was crumbling, hanging on by threads of fire and steel. Chaos had spread through its zones like rot, and without aid, an entire region of Amthar was on the brink of annihilation.

Valemir absorbed the report in somber silence, but his eyes—those steely, calculating orbs—betrayed his thoughts. He understood instantly what Lucy was saying: if Solara fell, Amthar might never recover.

Together, they made a decisive pact.

The Crescent Kingdom would lend its strength. Though their hands were tied by their own battles, they would dispatch what aid they could. Immediate reinforcements—squads of knights and spellcasters—would be sent to Solara. The heavyweights, however, those like Caelum and Sylas, would require time to break free from their engagements against Sylvathar’s top generals—encounters as savage as those Mystica and Magnus had endured.

Lucy honored her side of the agreement swiftly. She dispatched two of her elite Royal Corps agents—one to assist Caelum, the other to back up Sylas. She gave Wyjin, her most trusted blade, a separate mission: assist Crescent’s forces in thinning out the demonic numbers and prioritize civilian protection.

Wyjin had hesitated—his instinct told him not to leave her side, not in a foreign kingdom and especially not during war. But Lucy’s firm gaze reminded him of who she was. Regal, yes. But no porcelain doll. She was the Tempest Queen. And she would stand.

Moments after deployment, the tides shifted.

Caelum, with the force of a storm incarnate, slew his opponent without needing aid. His precision, power, and speed turned the battlefield to his stage. Lucy’s agent hardly needed to lift a blade.

Sylas, however, fought a more cunning foe. His opponent was brutal, slippery, devastating in combat. But with Lucy’s agent at his back, the duel tipped in Sylas’s favor. Together, they felled the general, and the skies above Zone 3 were freed of one more curse.

With both generals slain, Valemir issued a direct order. Caelum and Sylas were to make for Solara at once. Not with battalions. Not with squads. Just the two of them—swords of the Crescent Kingdom. And Valemir himself would accompany them, lending royal might to the cause.

The other elite knights of Crescent were instructed to stay behind and purge every last trace of Sylvathar’s influence from the kingdom’s borders. Nothing was to be left standing.

At nearly the same hour, Queen Lucy received word from her own kingdom. Mystica and Magnus had both successfully slain their opponents. The barriers holding back their might had been lifted, and the two titans were now free to move.

She wasted no time. Orders were given.

Magnus, Mystica, Regulus from Zone 9, and Sir Varyn from Zone 12—each one was to head for Solara immediately. Their paths were clear. Their missions were absolute.

Now, with their forces moving like converging rivers, both the Tempest and Crescent Kingdoms turned their focus to Solara. Whether it would be enough to prevent total ruin remained to be seen—but they would fight, with everything they had, to ensure Amthar did not lose another piece of itself to Sylvathar’s wrath.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep