Chapter 525: 525

The mage wasn’t surprised. In fact, a small part of him felt a perverse sense of satisfaction. They were clearly outmatched, unprepared to face whatever had wrought such devastation. Delaying the confrontation was the wisest course of action, at least until reinforcements arrived.

He had already dispatched a message via a scrying stone back to the Obsidian Tower, his urgent report directed to Tower Master Vellok himself. Vellok’s arrival was imminent, a force to be reckoned with. But the mage had no intention of waiting around to be subjected to Vellok’s directives.

“Let’s go back and wait for further orders,” he commanded the assembled Ogres, his voice firm and decisive. He didn’t meet their gazes, already focusing his mana.

With a swift, intricate gesture, he cast a potent haste spell upon himself. The air around him shimmered, and in the blink of an eye, he took two long strides and vanished in a burst of displaced air.

The Ogres hesitated, their gazes flicking between the spot where the mage had stood and the lifeless forms of their fallen comrades. A moment of silent respect, a warrior’s acknowledgment of loss, hung in the air.

Then, a shared resolve hardened their features. With a series of curt nods, they turned and lumbered after their vanished leader, their heavy footsteps echoing through the trees. However, four of the Ogres, their eyes burning with a grim determination, remained behind.

The four Ogres stood in silent contemplation for a long moment, their massive forms radiating a quiet intensity.

“He took two of ours,” the largest of the four finally rumbled, his voice a low growl that seemed to vibrate through the forest floor. His hand instinctively clenched around the haft of his massive axe.

“The mage is right,” another Ogre, his face bearing a network of old scars, countered, his voice surprisingly level. “This is beyond us. We should follow.”

A third Ogre, younger but with a fierce glint in his eyes, shook his head. “They were our brothers. We don’t leave them like this. Not for some jumped-up mage and his ’further orders’.”

The fourth Ogre, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, his voice deep and resonant. “Vellok will be here soon. He will decide.”

As if summoned by his name, the air in the clearing shimmered violently. A swirling vortex of blue energy tore open the fabric of reality, crackling with raw power. From the heart of this newly formed portal stepped a figure radiating an aura of cold authority. Tower Master Vellok.

His gaze swept across the clearing, taking in the carnage, the drained corpses, and the four Ogres who stood their ground.

“What is the meaning of this delay?” Vellok’s voice was a low, menacing growl, laced with impatience. “The mage reported a significant threat. Why are you still here?”

The four Ogres immediately dropped to their massive knees, their heads bowed in a display of absolute deference. The largest of them spoke, his voice a low rumble filled with a mixture of grief and defiance. “Tower Master Vellok,” he began, “these fallen are our brothers. We stayed behind, hoping to track down the one responsible… to seek revenge for their deaths.”

Vellok’s gaze remained fixed on the kneeling Ogres for a long. Then, his attention shifted, drawn by an invisible pull to the residue of the spider-like magic circle etched in blood on the forest floor. His skin tingled as he took in the lingering traces of demonic energy.

The demonic taint did not surprise him. The rat-man’s past entanglement with the Spider Demon Queen, Vorenza, was already documented. What concerned Vellok was the clear evidence of mana sensitivity. The swirling patterns in the air, the way the demonic energy clung to the ambient mana – it painted a dangerous picture. A mana-sensitive host meant Vorenza’s influence would be amplified, her grip strengthened. Another unpredictable variable the Empire could ill afford, especially now.

This rat-man was not an isolated incident. A disturbing trend was emerging on the battlefields – an increasing number of ratman individuals were developing this sensitivity to mana. The Empire was dealing with it, in its own… efficient way. But this case was different. This rat-man was empowered by a demonic entity.

Reaching out with a focus that surpassed even the fourth-stage mage’s capabilities, Vellok extended his senses into the intricate web of mana threads. He sought the unique signature, the lingering resonance of the transformed rat-man. It took a moment, a subtle sifting through the chaotic energies, before he found it – a distinct, erratic strand that pulsed with a volatile mix of mana and demonic power.

Without hesitation, Vellok plunged a sliver of his consciousness into that thread, following its pull. His vision swam, the familiar forest dissolving into a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations before solidifying into a place utterly alien.

The forest clearing vanished, replaced by a nightmarish landscape that made Vellok’s skin crawl. It wasn’t a forest anymore. It was a twisted, subterranean place, a labyrinth of thorny vines coated in thick, glistening spiderwebs. Holes of varying sizes dotted the walls and floor, any one of them looking like it could spew out a monstrous spider at any moment. The air thrummed with a sickly, organic energy, and the stench of damp earth and something acrid filled his nostrils.

A presence slammed into his mind – vast, ancient, and hostile. It was like being plunged into a freezing darkness filled with skittering things. Vorenza. He had stumbled into her lair.

Intruder! Get out! Her thoughts were a psychic scream, full of rage and possessiveness.

Vellok didn’t back down. “The rat-man is mine, demon. Release him” His mental voice was cold and hard.

“Mine! He belongs to me now!” Her psychic grip tightened, trying to crush him.

A brief, brutal mental clash ensued. Vellok, drawing on years of disciplined control, parried her attacks, his will took the form of a fortress against her chaotic power. At the same time sought to pierce through her defenses, to glean the rat-man’s location, but Vorenza’s presence was overwhelming as this place was her playground.

“You are weak, mage! You cannot comprehend the power that flows through him now!” Her mental laughter was a chilling sound, echoing in the strange, subterranean space.

With a final, violent psychic shove, Vorenza expelled him. The alien landscape dissolved, replaced by the familiar, albeit blood-soaked, clearing in the Emperor’s forest. Vellok staggered back as if physically struck, his brow furrowed in a mixture of frustration and a grudging respect for the demon’s power.

He could no longer sense the rat-man’s thread. It had been severed, pulled back into the abyss from whence it came. The connection was broken. Vellok, for the first time in a long time, did not know where his quarry was.

He turned his gaze to the kneeling Ogres, his expression hardening. Reaching into a pouch at his belt, he produced a heavy, obsidian badge etched with the Imperial sigil and imbued with a potent aura of authority. He tossed it to the largest of the four Ogres.

“You,” Vellok’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument. “This badge grants you the authority to deploy search parties throughout this sector. You can even command mages at the fourth stage if necessary.” He paused, his gaze piercing. “Search for the target. Observe, track, but under no circumstances are you to engage. If you locate the rat-man, relay a message back to the Tower immediately. Do you understand?”

The Ogre caught the heavy badge, its weight solid in his massive hand. He nodded once, his eyes filled with grim determination. “Understood, Tower Master.”

Without another word, Vellok turned back towards the swirling portal, the dark energy crackling around him. With a final, dismissive glance at the remaining Ogres, he stepped back into the abyss, and the portal snapped shut behind him, leaving the four warriors alone in the silent, blood-soaked clearing.

Far away on the front line.

The air crackled with ozone and the fetid breath of the abyss, a metallic tang followed by the cloying sweetness of otherworldly decay. Below, the battlefield was a jagged sight to twisted rock formations reaching outward at the bruised two coloured sky. From the side of the demons, the path they treaded made on question their reality as the earth is darkened and polluted filled with quickly cancerous flesh growing with each step taken.

Against this backdrop surged a wave of fur and polished brass. The ratmen, driven by the primal imperative to survive another dawn, were clad in surprisingly better advanced steampunk armor. Riveted plates of blackened steel, reinforced with intricate networks of gears and powered by small, hissing steam cylinders, enhanced their natural agility and strength. Many wielded well-crafted rifles with intricate clockwork mechanisms, capable of spitting volleys of lead shot with alarming regularity. Others carried customized melee weapons – swords with integrated spinning blades, or gauntlets that delivered concussive bursts of steam.

Amidst this desperate fray moved Vex “Springheel”, a ratman whose modified leg armor allowed for extraordinary bursts of speed and agility. Powered by a complex system of coiled springs and miniature pistons, his movements were a blur of motion. He darted through the chaotic ranks, his custom-built, lever-action rifle barking repeatedly, each shot finding a weak point in the demonic hordes.

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