Chapter 327: 327

Summoning every ounce of his strength, the general slammed his fists into the ground, activating “Rage of the Colossus.” The ground beneath the gargoyle erupted in a geyser of molten lava, catching the demon off guard. The force of the explosion sent the gargoyle reeling, molten stone dripping from its body as it stumbled back.

The general pushed himself to his feet, every muscle screaming in agony. His body was battered and broken, but his will remain unshaken. Without his hammer, he resorted to his raw power. The phantom of “Ogre’s Wrath” surged behind him, its fiery presence empowering him further.

With a primal scream, the general charged. His fists, now glowing with fiery energy, slammed into the gargoyle’s chest with the force of a battering ram. Each punch cracked the demon’s stone skin, sending shockwaves through the battlefield.

But the gargoyle, even in its damaged state, fought back. It lashed out with its claws, tearing into the general’s flesh, ripping deep gashes across his chest. Blood poured from the wounds, but the general did not stop. He kept punching, each blow more powerful than the last, each one driving the gargoyle further back.

Finally, with a final roar of defiance, the general activated “Final Inferno”—his most devastating ability. His entire body ignited in flames, transforming him into a living inferno. He tackled the gargoyle, slamming into the demon with enough force to send both of them crashing to the ground.

The flames could no longer be ignored by the gargoyle as he roared out loud in fear before turning his whole body into a stone. The ogre general in his rage ignored that as he threw heavy fire punches at the gargoyle.

At first, it did nothing but a crack soon appeared which prompted the gargoyle to roar out in fear and rage as he took off the stone skin. Thr ogre general seeing this as an opening punched down only for the gargoyle to put it’s arm out tanking the damage but with a heavy price as it’s hands was blown away.

The ogre general closed his eyes in instinct to avoid hurting his eyes from the bones that blew off the demon’s hand. The demon meanwhile was ready as he took the opportunity to stomp the ground, throwing him and the general up to the sky.

The gargoyle flapped his wings as he took to the sky, getting high enough it let go of the general who was now falling. The general falling from the sky had a chance to take a look down at the battlefield.

Confusion flashed on his eyes as . His mind, still lost in the vision Phanthom had created, began to waver. The perfect colosseum, the adoring crowd, the emperor—all of it seemed to blur, distort.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Reality seeped back in.

The general, plummeting through the air, felt his thoughts grow clearer, the haze of Phanthom’s illusion slipping away. His heart, once aflame with ambition, now beat with the cold realization of his circumstances. He was not the triumphant warrior of a grand colosseum, nor the champion admired by an emperor. He was an ogre general, falling from the heavens, watching the battlefield below—strewn with the bodies of his soldiers and enemies alike.

The flames burning around him flickered and dimmed. For the first time since the battle began, doubt crept into his heart.

Phanthom, still watching from above, smiled. He could see the shift. The flames of ambition, once roaring brightly, had started to die. The general was coming to his senses, but it was too late.

Up above, the gargoyle demon’s roar echoed, filled with fury and a dark satisfaction. The ball of fire rotating at its fingertip quickly swelled into a blinding, searing beam of molten energy. The demon’s eyes gleamed with malice as it pointed at the general, releasing the devastating attack.

The beam shot down like lightning, a torrent of molten fury. It cleaved through the sky with terrifying speed, the air sizzling from the intense heat. The general barely had time to brace himself, his body still smoldering from his own “Final Inferno.”

He roared in defiance, raising his arms to shield himself as best he could. But the beam was unstoppable. It struck him with terrifying precision, cleaving through his flesh, armor, and bone like a blade through butter. The pain was unimaginable—burning, tearing, ripping him apart. His scream was swallowed by the deafening roar of the beam as it continued its path downward.

The battlefield, once chaotic with the clash of forces, fell eerily silent for a moment as the beam of fire carved its way across the ground. Like a divine judgment, it consumed everything in its path—friend, foe, beast, and soldier. The ground quaked, splitting open into a deep, molten ravine, the beam transforming the earth into flowing magma.

Ogres and demons alike were caught in the onslaught, their bodies disintegrated by the sheer heat of the attack. The gargoyle demon, still hovering in the sky, watched with a sinister grin, knowing that no one—ogre, demon, or human—was spared from its wrath.

As the beam finally dimmed, the battlefield was forever scarred. A massive ravine now stretched from where the gargoyle had fired its attack, filled with bubbling lava. The general’s body, or what remained of it, fell from the sky and landed with a heavy thud, half of it missing, the other half smoldering and charred.

Phanthom, still watching from his vantage point, tilted his head in amusement. The gargoyle had delivered more destruction than he had anticipated. The vision he had woven for the general was gone, the ogre’s ambitions reduced to ash.

The battlefield, now marked by that ravine of magma, stood as a grim reminder of the demon’s power. But Phanthom knew this was just the beginning. The ogre general’s downfall would ripple through his forces, sowing doubt and confusion, making them easier prey for what was to come.

The gargoyle demon, wings still flapping, landed heavily on the ground, surveying the destruction it had wrought. Its molten eyes turned to the remaining ogres, who stared in shock and horror at the sight of their fallen general.

With a low growl, the gargoyle cracked its neck, its bloodlust far from sated. The battle wasn’t over yet, and the demon had no intention of stopping until all that remained was ash.

As the gargoyle demon landed with a thud, the atmosphere around it shifted. The soul of the fallen ogre general shimmered above the charred remains, its energy pulsing with the echoes of battle, ambition, and the intense emotions that had consumed the general in his final moments. The raw essence of the soul carried a potency that could not be ignored.

The gargoyle demon’s molten eyes locked onto it immediately. The scent of the soul was intoxicating, thick with the essence of war, desperation, and unfulfilled dreams. The demon licked its lips, savoring the aroma as it took a step closer. It was not alone in its desire. Other demons on the battlefield, lesser in power but equally drawn to the appetizing essence, began to stir. However, a single glare from the gargoyle sent them cowering back. None dared challenge a fourth-stage demon for such a feast.

With a deep inhale, the gargoyle sucked in the shimmering soul, feeling it slide down into the depths of its being. The effect was immediate. A rush of energy surged through the demon’s body, restoring the strength it had lost during the brutal fight. The wounds and cracks that had marred its stone-like body healed rapidly, and as the energy coursed through it, the demon felt something far more tantalizing—a tug at the edge of its power, an approach to the elusive fifth stage.

From the Abyss, Malzor, also a fourth stage demon himself and one of the realm’s feared leaders, watched the scene unfold. His eyes, burning with both envy and caution, narrowed as he saw the gargoyle devour the soul. Malzor had sensed the immense energy within that soul, its rarity akin to a delicacy only a demon of great power could appreciate. A soul like that, tainted by ambition, regret, and the primal drive for dominance, could potentially propel a demon to the next stage of power.

If this gargoyle were to ascend to the fifth stage, it could become a direct threat to Malzor’s position. The abyssal leader clenched his fist in irritation, but he knew there was nothing he could do now but watch.

Back on the battlefield, the gargoyle’s body trembled as the power within it continued to swell. A dark, gleeful smile spread across its grotesque face as it felt the gap between the fourth and fifth stages closing. It was tantalizingly close.

But just as the demon neared the precipice of its ascension, the energy flow abruptly shifted. The soul’s remaining essence diverted away from empowering the demon’s core, channeling instead into the limb it had lost. The gargoyle watched in dismay as the potential for ascension slipped through its claws. With a hiss, the demon’s lost arm began to reform, bones knitting together, muscles stretching and expanding, skin hardening once more into its stone-like exterior.

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