Boom!
Silver-blue light scattered in all directions as the Evil God's avatar managed to block the sudden attack from afar. Its numerous eyes focused intently on the horizon, trying to discern the source of the audacious strike.
"What is that?"
The Evil God's avatar stared in surprise at the approaching fleet of ghost ships, an armada so vast it seemed to blot out the sky. But its attention was soon drawn to the colossal flagship at the fleet's center, an enormous vessel that resembled a floating island.
From the flagship, the silver-blue light that had attacked it slowly dissipated, leaving lingering energy waves in the air. The avatar noted that the devastating attack had originated from this extraordinary creation.
However, the attack itself wasn't what truly concerned the Evil God. Its focus was on the ancient and profound aura emanating from the heart of the ghost fleet.
"This power…" The Evil God's avatar muttered in disbelief. Based on its assessment, this dormant energy posed a genuine threat to its avatar, something it rarely encountered.
"What manner of twisted creature are you?"
A booming voice reverberated from the ghost fleet, questioning the darkness and corruption spread by the Evil God's avatar.
"I am a god," the Evil God responded coldly, its myriad eyes fixing on the massive flagship. "What are you, ignorant being?"
"I am Moises, God of Death."
Muria's death-themed avatar, constructed with death laws as its core, casually fabricated a name. To it, names were irrelevant.
"This is my domain," the Death God declared, its voice carrying an unyielding authority. "You have intruded upon my realm. Compensate me for the damage you've caused, and then begone!"
"Compensate?" The Evil God's avatar let out a derisive laugh.
Not long ago, it had been forced into negotiations with the Dragon God, but this was different. This being was no true god, merely a local creature of this medium world that had somehow reached the threshold of divinity. While formidable, it was not invincible.
"Unwilling, are you?" Muria's death avatar said, its tone icy. "Then perish here!"
Boom! Boom! Boom!
In the next instant, the ghost fleet unleashed a barrage of firepower. The ship's cannons, designed to emit death energy devastating to both physical and spiritual entities, filled the sky with a storm of destruction aimed at the Evil God's forces.
"You dare!"
The Evil God's avatar roared, releasing a soul-rending wave of power. But the ghost fleet, connected as one through an arcane network, remained immune to the devastating attack.
The same could not be said for the Evil God's servants. Deprived of their master's protection, the lesser entities were torn apart by the relentless barrage.
One of the larger eye monsters, with seven grotesque eyeballs, attempted to withstand the onslaught. It fired beams of energy from its eyes, hoping to neutralize the deadly light raining down upon it.
But no matter how powerful its attacks were, the sheer volume of fire from the ghost fleet overwhelmed its defenses. A single death energy beam struck its body, and its flesh immediately began to wither and decay.
"Ahhh!"
The creature screamed in agony, the deathly energy eating away at its soul. Soon, additional beams struck its defenseless body, and the once-mighty servant of the Evil God was reduced to a lifeless husk.
Such scenes played out across the battlefield. The ghost fleet's attacks, though eerily silent, annihilated the Evil God's forces with ruthless efficiency.
The Evil God's avatar observed all this with cold indifference. To it, the deaths of its servants were insignificant. Its attention was fixed on the Death God standing at the center of the fleet, directing the carnage.
"You are talented," the Evil God admitted, its tone laced with grudging respect. "Remaining confined to this small world wastes your potential. Join me, serve under my banner, and I shall grant you the means to explore greater horizons and ascend to higher realms."
Hearing this, Muria's death avatar nearly laughed aloud.
"A talent scout, are we?" it mused. "You've got a decent eye, but unfortunately, I'm no local yokel."
Unperturbed, Muria raised the black staff in its hand and gave a simple command. "Increase the firepower. Annihilate them all."
"Language alone won't suffice, then," the Evil God muttered, watching the intensifying barrage. Its avatar gathered the remaining servants and counterattacked, unleashing waves of corruptive darkness upon the ghost fleet.
The black fog surged forward, seeking to engulf the spectral ships in its shadowy embrace. But Muria's death avatar stepped forth from the flagship, raising its staff high as it invoked a spell of cataclysmic proportions.
"Judgment Day!"
Far outside the world, the real Muria suddenly opened his eyes, a strange sensation coursing through his blood.
Images flickered before his inner vision—a towering black-haired ape rampaging through a city, its roars shaking the heavens. Around it, humanoid warriors of varying sizes surrounded and attacked, attempting to subdue the beast.
His focus shifted to a trembling child hiding in a nearby shop, and then the visions ceased.
"Aeolos?" Muria murmured softly, recognizing the source of his unease. The blood bond between him and his firstborn had stirred, bringing a warning.
But something about the vision unsettled him. Why had it ended with a frightened child? It didn't align with what he knew of Aeolos' character.
"Something's gone wrong," Muria muttered, a faint worry creeping into his voice.
Back in Muria's home world, whispers spread among the Titans and dragons.
"Aeolos has gone missing. Should we inform Muria?"
"What would be the point? He'd only grow anxious."
"It's not just Aeolos. His wife is missing too, and now Ansorel and Atris have vanished as well. Even Arudiba has disappeared."
"That world has serious problems."
"I've heard Muria's grandfathers, the Wasteland Lord and the Golden Dragon King, have already set out to bring them back."
"If even they fail, the ancient ones may have to intervene."
"They already have. Too many of our kin have gone missing."
Muria chose not to act immediately. While he felt concern for his family, he trusted in his elders' strength.
"They'll handle it," he told himself. "I just need to focus on what's in front of me."
Yet the ominous sense of something greater at play refused to leave him.
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