Chapter 426: 426

Yet, the appeal of the tactic was undeniable. The Zealots’ numbers were dwindling. Their usual overwhelming assault had weakened, their movements growing more frantic and desperate. It was clear that the elite warriors who had been taken into the other realm were making significant progress.

The watching Apelings saw the opportunity and did not hesitate. If their comrades were turning the tide in the upside-down world, then reinforcements would only hasten victory. One by one, they deliberately left themselves vulnerable, presenting easy targets for the Zealots. The creatures, driven by their instincts, lunged at them, dragging them into the warped reality where the battle raged on.

More warriors vanished from sight. More fighters entered the other world.

But the cost came swiftly.

A bone-chilling shriek tore through the air, an unnatural sound that clawed into the very essence of those who heard it. The guards, locked in combat with the Zealots, felt their hearts lurch at the sound. It was not the wail of the Zealots—it was something worse.

In the distance, through the distorted horizon of the upside-down world, shadows began to stir. Silhouettes darker than night itself slithered forward, their movements both fluid and jagged, as if they were flickering between realities. Their forms were twisted, their limbs unnaturally long, their hollow faces shifting with unreadable expressions.

These were not possessed Zealots. These were the true denizens of this world.

And they were coming fast.

The warriors still locked in battle with the Zealots faltered, their blades hesitating for the briefest moment. The fear was primal, instinctual—the kind of fear that sank into bones and made survival feel like a fragile hope.

The Apelings had stepped into the enemy’s world. And now, the world itself was answering.

Ikem, towering in his giant form, carried the rune pillar steadily as he advanced. Despite the chaos behind him, he did not falter—his senses, sharp as ever, tracked every moment of the battle. The desperate struggles of his warriors, their courage in taking the fight to the enemy’s domain, weighed heavily on his heart. But their willingness, their unwavering spirit, was a sign that he too should not stop. He pressed on.

Then, he paused. For the briefest moment, he stood still, his massive form casting an imposing shadow over the land.

And then, he smiled.

A wide, knowing grin spread across his face, his eyes reflecting a newfound certainty. His people would not meet their end today. The temperature beneath the night sky had begun to rise sharply—a clear, unmistakable sign of what was coming.

Far from the battlefield, the city stirred. Though the battle’s roars were distant, they still reached the ears of the people huddled in their homes. Curiosity brewed, but strict orders had been given—none were to leave. Safety was paramount.

Then, something else caught their attention.

The air grew warmer. At first, it was subtle, like the first hints of a summer morning. Then it became undeniable, the temperature rising as though a new sun had taken to the sky.

And when they looked up, they saw it.

A colossal figure cut across the heavens, its immense form blotting out the stars. A shadow, vast and terrible, raced over the ground. Red had arrived.

The battlefield trembled as the red dragon descended. With a single, mighty beat of his wings, he sent hurricane-force winds roaring through the trees, scattering fog and ash alike. His golden eyes burned with an intense, knowing intelligence as he surveyed the battlefield below.

And then, he opened his maw.

A deep, guttural rumble built in his throat, the sound of power incarnate, of ancient fury given form. Then came the roar, an ear-splitting, earth-shaking cry that sent shockwaves across the land.

A blinding torrent of dragon fire erupted from his jaws.

The flames consumed everything in their path. Zealots, caught mid-movement, shrieked as their bodies ignited instantly, their dark forms reduced to screaming cinders. The firestorm raced along the battlefield, engulfing entire sections in a wave of destruction, incinerating everything tainted by the enemy’s presence.

The Zealots, realizing the overwhelming force now against them, desperately adapted. They turned their ethereal powers upon the dragon himself, their unnatural shadows stretching upwards, trying to drag him into their realm.

For a moment, it seemed to work.

Red’s massive head lurched forward, the unnatural pull yanking him partially into the upside-down world. His form wavered between realms—his horned head, his piercing gaze, his snarling maw now visible in the Zealots’ home plane.

But they had miscalculated.

If Red had only his head in their world… then that was all he needed.

He exhaled.

A second inferno, hotter and more concentrated, erupted from his mouth, setting the very air ablaze in the upside-down world. The flames did not just burn—they devoured, turning the distorted shadows of the Zealots into screeching, writhing pyres.

Panic erupted among them.

In their desperation, they triggered their own abilities, dragging him back into the real world before he could destroy them completely. But Red was ready.

As his form snapped back, he twisted his head slightly—enough to catch the surviving Zealots still attached to him. And then, with a mighty gulp, he swallowed them whole.

But they would not escape so easily.

The Zealots, struggling within the depths of the dragon’s iron-lined throat, triggered their powers again, trying to pull themselves back into their realm. But as they activated their unnatural escape, Red turned his mouth into an oven.

Inside him, the heat multiplied tenfold.

The Zealots, trapped, screamed soundlessly as they were reduced to ash before they could slip away. Their own talents had betrayed them, sealing their fate within the dragon’s fiery belly.

Red landed heavily on the battlefield, his wings folding with a mighty sweep. His molten gaze flicked over the stunned warriors who remained, his presence alone radiating absolute dominance.

To the surviving elite guards still in the upside-down world, his deep, resonant voice boomed like rolling thunder: “Hold on to me. Or die here.”

There was no hesitation.

The surviving warriors, battered and weary but still clinging to life, latched onto him, scrambling onto the thick, ridged scales of his neck and back. Some barely had the strength left to move, but it did not matter—Red took flight, tearing through the veil between worlds, ripping the warriors back to the real plane with him.

As his massive form re-emerged, the battlefield stood still. The remaining Zealots, those too slow to escape, turned their twisted gazes to the dragon.

Red turned toward them, his lips curling in a wicked grin.

“Your turn.” And with that, the dragon unleashed hell.

Though Red’s flames burned wild and untamed, consuming everything in their path, they did not harm the Apeling guards. Instead, the fire curved around them, a barrier of searing light that shielded them from further harm. Not only did the flames protect, but they also healed, sealing wounds and restoring strength to those who had been on the verge of collapse.

With the battlefield now ablaze in his spiritual fire, the tide of war shifted.

The Apelings, their injuries mended and their spirits reignited, fought with renewed ferocity. The Zealots, who once slipped between worlds with ease, found themselves trapped—the flames had anchored them to the mortal realm. No longer could they escape into the shadows. They had to fight.

And in a true fight, without their tricks and fleeting escapes, they stood no chance.

The Apelings cut through them with practiced ease, their movements swift, their attacks precise. The battlefield, once overrun by darkness and despair, was now a furnace of divine judgment.

Red, reveling in the chaos and carnage, turned his attention elsewhere. His molten eyes flicked to where Ikem’s grandchildren still battled against the transformed captain. His massive form tensed, and he began to move, his excitement clear—he would personally end this foe.

But then—

A golden light shimmered before him, invisible to all but him, “A warning”

He froze mid-step, his pupils constricting.

A voice, deep and friendly, echoed in his mind.

“Do not get too excited, brother. We have helped enough. Any more than this breaks the rule and interferes with his path of ascension.”

Annoyance flashed in Red’s eyes. His nostrils flared, and for a brief moment, his claws dug into the ground. How bothersome.

But he did not argue.

Instead, with a guttural huff, he turned his gaze to the sky. He parted his jaws once more, this time releasing a final wave of flame—one unlike any before.

The fire that erupted from his mouth was not meant to destroy.

It was a sea of pure, burning light, brightening the battlefield like a second sun. The air shimmered under its radiance, and the very fabric of reality seemed to tremble at its presence. The flames did not fall—they lingered, suspended in the night sky, an ethereal storm that refused to go out.

Even the area where the captain fought was bathed in its glow. Then, without another word, Red spread his wings.

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