Round 48: The Terminator

Gunfire raged everywhere, with smoke filling the air.
The terrifying bombardment continued for hours without pause. The living areas beneath the metal dome no longer existed, and the complex life-support systems had been transformed into something entirely opposite to their original purpose. Intense, raging energy replaced clean air and water, surging through dense pipelines. On the steel platforms resembling terraced fields, rows of heavy cannons formed a destructive array that resembled an organ used only to play sacred hymns in a cathedral—each cannon barrel trembling and retracting, spewing flames and deafening booms, like a grand and magnificent symphony of hell.

The spread of darkness was effectively contained, but not completely stopped. Every shell fired into the pitch-black sea caused a terrible catastrophe—first engulfed in darkness for a moment, then exploding into massive, rolling balls of terrifying red and black fire. These flames surged one after another, forming a sea of fire that rivaled the sea of darkness, with their aftereffects enough to scorch earth and stone. The dark aura created by the Witherers melted away in the face of the exploding flames, and the undead surrounding them turned into ashes before they could scatter. Yet even the most intense symphony has moments of silence. And it was during these fleeting gaps that the Abominations took advantage to gradually reclaim lost territory, expand their domain, gather darkness once more, and overcome the howling flames—proving the enduring power of the Decaying Ones, despite their corruption.

“If Tamas knew what he’s missing, he would be restless for centuries to come.”

The Magic Goddess stepped forward, her bright eyes sparkling with youthful mischief. “Not the mutual slaughter among believers… but a true divine war. Don’t you need to rest? Overusing your power is a cardinal sin for mages—your teacher must have told you that. Don’t push yourself too hard; your complexion looks terrible.”

“Thank you for your advice, Your Majesty. But I think, under these circumstances, a archmage is no different from a farmer.” Moriel stood alone by the window, staring intently at the blazing battlefield, as well as the endless expanse ahead—black waves advancing despite the devastating bombardment, and the waves of the undead ready to surge forward.

“That’s not quite right,” Mistra said, placing her hand on the silver-white window sill. A faint light spread along the metal, seemingly forming a complex, intricate network as deep as an abyss. “The stronger something is, the more easily it can change due to even the slightest force. That’s the principle behind the Magic Net… You see, I’m actually the weakest among the gods because hardly anyone worships me. So, I’m actually in a better situation than Kings Calanwo and Ammonra.”

She tilted her head and smiled at the female mage, her smile carrying a hint of cunning.

“Your Majesty, was the retreat smooth?” Moriel asked. She didn’t really need to ask the Magic Goddess—she could simply think and have someone inform her of everything, or she could observe for herself. But it would be rude to ignore a goddess standing beside her—it was like two acquaintances exchanging pleasantries like “Have you eaten?” since there really was nothing else to say.

“It’s just begun. But this is probably the best outcome we can hope for.” The goddess sighed. “It seems we might still have time to evacuate one-tenth, or even more, of the people.”

Judging the future trend of events based on the current situation is as simple as calculating what one plus one equals. The key issue is that no one knows if hundreds or thousands more will be added along the way. The front lines keep shifting back and forth, with dark clouds advancing slowly through bursts of gunfire, gradually merging into a furious storm that rages across heaven and earth. The armies of the withered are constantly weakened by artillery fire, yet more emerge from the darkness, as if they are both advancing and reproducing at the same time. All forces of destruction, decay, and annihilation, twisted by the corrupted powers of the gods, instead manifest as a sense of revival and flourishing growth—Death’s concept of balance between life and death has been completely distorted. Yet within this bizarre and terrifying cycle lies an unsettling yet mesmerizing beauty, one that almost tempts one to throw oneself into it, like a moth flying into the flames.

Perhaps a shell landed slightly off-target, failing to cause enough damage; maybe a few more undead creatures were born each time, filling in the gaps left by the flames; or perhaps it was the accumulation of thousands such factors that reached a critical point, leading to collapse. The profound darkness contracted, then expanded again. The crimson flames rolled in, refusing to die, intertwining with the dark mist to form a pulsating purple outer layer.

Not good. Morriel immediately felt a sense of impending disaster.

The darkness at the purple-red edges surged violently. The female mage’s heart skipped a beat, as if stopping in response, and a dizzying sensation of insufficient blood flow overwhelmed her, as if even her blood pressure could no longer move under the pressure of this eerie and desperate scene—this was the final contraction before destruction was born.

An explosion suddenly occurred in one of the artillery positions. The gold-plated barrels twisted and shattered beyond recognition, pushed skyward by geyser-like flames. Continuous explosions roared like thunder, tearing a bloody wound through the city.

Seizing this opportunity, the darkness collapsed. Purple, green, orange, red—vibrant colors burst forth from the darkness that had given birth to them, like ruptured amniotic fluid. Energized particles collided and flashed, leaving winding trails across the sky. Massive flames erupted as the clouds were torn apart, and countless grotesque aliens descended from the heavens—only the most intense and concentrated anti-aircraft fire could carve a bloody path through this endless meteor shower, revealing small patches of what might still be considered sky.

The trial was over. The gamble, with no chance to back out once bets were placed, had officially begun.

Countless souls wandered around the fully visible withered beings, forming an unholy aura around these divine undead. Even the smallest of them surpassed the largest of the Behemoths, taking the form of a wrinkled, swollen, deformed, and incomplete human fetus—resembling a circus freak specimen magnified thousands of times. Their underdeveloped limbs hung limp, with loose umbilical cords tangled around their abnormally swollen bodies and heads; their eyes were gray and lifeless. The dead infants drifted toward the city first, a dead-gray light beam spreading in their line of sight. Wherever it covered, flames weakened and died out, smoke turned into cold ashes that fell downward. The shattered remains of the undead writhed, reassembled, and regenerated, rushing into the city and spreading everywhere…

A sun appeared in the darkest and thickest areas of darkness. Morriel witnessed once again the forty-seven invincible weapons—magics that only he could control, magics powerful enough to repel divine forces. The shockwaves leveled everything, including the air, and vacuum was quickly filled. Flames were twisted by the air currents into massive fire dragons soaring into the sky, like giant exclamation marks declaring to the world the incredible wonders that machines could create. Within the blast radius, not only were the zombies and undead that had just come to life under the light of the divine evil gone, but the city also suffered greatly. This was yet another solution from the forty-seven: when a body was infected by a virus, he would simply shoot at the affected area.

Amidst thick smoke and flying embers, a demonic steel giant slowly rose to its feet. How big was it? Its entire upper body was as large as the artillery positions that had just been destroyed.

“Warning: Private property is sacred and inviolable. Intruders, please leave immediately.”

The armored giant took steady steps, each step shaking the ground. Fiery embers still burned among the huge artillery arrays on its head and shoulders, like a crown of the angry god of fire. It fired as it moved through the complex metal structures, destroying almost everything in its path. Hearing the resonant, calm metallic sounds in such a scene gave an absurdly ridiculous feeling.

“Warning: Threat level red. Lethal force is authorized. Safety of non-combatants cannot be guaranteed.”

The power of its gunfire was significantly greater than before, as if all the energy supplying the city had been condensed within it. Dozens of agile black figures darted between the cities, attacking it from different directions. Every move they made was perfect, with sword-shaped black lightning burning in their raised hands. They must be the long-extinct Titan giants—Stone Giants, Frost Giants, Storm Giants, etc. The gap between them and ordinary humans was akin to that between humans and giants, compounded by the power boosts from becoming undead. Its precise firepower knocked them down one after another. Those who survived dodged the gunfire and closed in, only to face roaring power claws and surging waves of molten heat—it seemed that flesh giants filled with negative energy ultimately could not match steel Titans driven by fire.

“Warning: Using child labor is illegal. Children’s rights must be protected… Eliminate… System data conflict. Fire.”

The female mage suddenly realized the giant wasn’t forty-seven, because the even more absurd third sentence hadn’t been spoken by it. Once again, a blinding sun rose in an instant. At first, it was mistaken for the reflection of flames surrounding the edge of the dome, but then a huge, dazzling mass of heat appeared, instantly engulfing the infant-like abomination. Straight beams of light lingered in the air, with ionized air molecules clearly marking the path taken by the destructive energy, forming two parallel lines that cut through the ground and space—ending in a swirling, expanding white heat from which came a scream of extreme agony that echoed across the entire battlefield.

Accompanying this lingering, inhuman wail, the second armored beast emerged like a hungry insect breaking out of its cocoon to hunt, tearing through the steel dome. Just like the first, it was enormous and deadly. Its scythe-like forelimbs swung, carrying the largest and longest blades Morriel had ever seen. Countless smaller scythe-like blades were embedded in them, moving at speeds too fast to discern by the naked eye, casting a dazzling glow, like two rivers of light.

Testing the way forward only revealed a difficult path. The Withered immediately changed their tactics—whether it was the mummies with their golden crowns and gem-encrusted scepters, still majestic as ever, or the mountainous, foul-smelling masses of rotting flesh oozing disgusting slime, all of them retreated. Perhaps the feeling of “fear” had long vanished from their shriveled minds, but “cunning” hadn’t. Underestimating the enemy and charging recklessly was a mistake; millions of years later, what they hadn’t been able to destroy back then was still there to fight them now. The one that retreated fastest was the stillborn creature that had just escaped the burning flames. It continued to scream, its spiritual light almost completely gone. The souls of its former followers and the remnants of its divinity had protected it from this attack at a heavy cost. It desperately fled back into the darkness of the projections of other abominations, escaping the howling torrent of iron and fire.

The appearance of the two armored giants served as a signal, triggering a true full-metal frenzy. Armored legions poured forth—metal soldiers in the forms of humans, snakes, chariots, spiders, and scorpions, all with skeletal appearances, moving silently and silently, with needle-like energy flames flickering in their eyes and at the muzzles of their weapons—seemingly indicating that the war against the undead had also influenced the manufacturing standards of the machinery factories. The Withered’s filthy and vicious magic could destroy any army of living beings in an instant, turning them into obedient puppets and nourishment, but against soulless war machines, it could at most leave faint marks on their steel bodies.

“I now believe he truly has the ability to hold them off,” the magic goddess sighed. “Excuse me, Miss Morriel. I need to go check over there again; time is of the essence.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty Mistra,” Morriel said, turning and bowing her head until the goddess’s figure disappeared into the metal porch.

Her shiny high heels made no sound as they stepped on the metal floor. Kari did not participate in the battle; she had her own mission—to protect the Dominator, and the device that stored the Dominator’s collective consciousness was connected to the city’s core.

“They’re very vigilant, but the Dominator already has most of the data he needs,” said the Steel Angel.
“Yes, experience is something only time can make up for,” said the female mage. “I hope we won’t need such a crazy plan.”
“That’s impossible,” Kari shook her head. “For their own safety, they’ll never agree to expand the dimensional portal… And there’s no other way to ensure the Dominator’s safe evacuation.”
Morril looked into her blue eyes.
“They’re gods… We might be making mistakes that could endanger the multiverse.”
“Maybe so,” Kari shrugged, her gesture familiar. “So what? Go tell him we’re quitting? I see he’s having a great time—I’m worried he might have forgotten everything already.”
“Once they decide it’s impossible, they’ll give up right away.”
Morril turned her head elsewhere, where a projected map of Steel City was drawn by glowing magical light.
“By then, you watch over Kaelanwo. After all, he’s a powerful god who controls the lives and deaths of mortals. Even here, Phylgas and I can’t deal with him. We must seize the threads they’ve cut—it won’t take long before Kayro uses Lady Mist’s divine power to reconnect them and keep the portal open.”
“Amazing!” The succubus also appeared, bouncing excitedly. “What a brilliant plan—truly worthy of a Red Robe Mage! I’m proud to be with you! What can I do?”
“You?” Kari smirked. “How about I send you with that bat to the front lines to visit your Forty-Seven Lords? Just like that certain Monroe…”
“But Pipi is now Lord Morril’s pet and refuses to come out…”
The female mage stopped joining in their conversation. The map was filled with red and blue triangular icons; the red ones outnumbered the blue by far, clustered on the periphery like open pincers trying to crush and devour the blue ones, but the blue ones were more stable, even those that penetrated the red triangles were firmly held in place and showed signs of advancing with support. More red dots appeared, one after another, but they still couldn’t stop the few exceptionally bright and large blue triangles—counting them: two, three, four—five. They were also increasing in number.
Cold, hard ice blue… It was blue that represented those smoking, fiery red-eyed metal monsters. Morril thought she’d never understand that guy’s strange way of thinking. She looked back at the battlefield outside, gripping her staff, with a faint smile as she watched the merciless flames of those metal creatures engulf the city, burning wildly.