At first, it seemed like victory was within reach. Hundreds of people unleashed their strongest ranged attacks in unison, filling the air with blinding streaks of power. A massive fist-shaped blast led the charge, crashing down toward the blood-red pillar of light.
But when their strikes landed, nothing happened. The light didn't flicker, didn't even ripple. The blasts were swallowed whole without the faintest sound.
The battlefield froze in an instant. Seven or eight hundred warriors stood rooted to the spot, their faces pale with disbelief.
"My… my attack was eaten?" one man stammered, as if asking for confirmation rather than stating a fact.
"It's the same here… my strike just vanished," another whispered, staring at his empty hands in horror.
These weren't novices—they were War God-ranked fighters, each with years of battle behind them. Yet their proudest, most destructive techniques had been devoured like kindling tossed into a bonfire.
Then came the roar.
