At the rear of the main battlefield, Carol led the nuns and the Mountain People's elderly, sick, women, and children along the winding mountain path.
The light snow that had fallen the day before had mostly melted, making the air even colder and sharper. Everyone pulled their clothes tighter around themselves; many of the frail and elderly might not survive this journey.
But at least, for now, their blood was still warm. At the very least, for now, they were alive.
After five miles of mountain road, Carol glanced back, breathing a sigh of relief. For the moment, thanks to the combined efforts of several powerful forces, the Demons' advance had been stalled. For now, they were safe—unless some Demon suddenly appeared out of nowhere...
She had barely finished the thought when, not far ahead, a purple-black magical glow flickered—and the massive shape appeared, upper body demon, lower half hulking like a hippopotamus, wings spread behind him, with a dent in his chest: Montport.
He stood there alone, clutching his massive, vicious twin-bladed polearm, eyeing the line of helpless mortals—hundreds upon hundreds of unarmed, defenseless Mountain People. The corners of his mouth curled up in a smile. "Excellent. Another feast. Heh."
No hesitation, no speech—he simply surged forward, four massive legs thundering, making the ground quake as he charged headlong at the crowd of unprotected refugees!
He could feel it—he was just a step away, just a little more, from unlocking his polearm's final form—ascension to a true artifact!
Once he swallowed the blood of these mortals, that would be enough!
"Danger!"
Carol shouted: "Scatter! Run for your lives!"
She knew all too well—the foe before them, an Abyssal Lord, was something they could never hope to stop.
The women and children screamed, fleeing in every direction, but how could their legs ever outrun Montport's stampeding limbs? The Abyssal Lord plowed into the panicked crowd, his twin-bladed polearm sweeping out—without armor or resistance, several refugees were cut in half where they stood, dying in an instant!
"Get away from them, you Demon!"
A life-nun roared, raising her shield and charging at Montport, swinging her mace at his gut.
Montport didn't even flinch. His polearm flashed again, and in an instant, the nun's body was thrown through the air, her steel chainmail sliced like paper, a torrent of blood gushing from the wound!
"Damn it!"
Carol grit her teeth, yanked the Ion Beam Emitter from her pack, ignoring the scalding heat. She whispered a prayer to the Goddess of Life and activated it—
BOOM—!
A thick ion beam lanced out and struck Montport's massive body. But this weapon, which usually killed lesser demons in a heartbeat, did nothing this time.
Montport's huge head slowly turned to her, and a hideous smile twisted his features.
He turned, thundered toward Carol, closing the distance in a heartbeat!
She tried to fire another shot, but the emitter was searing hot—impossible to hold, and she knew another shot would only overload and probably detonate. She gritted her teeth, hugged the emitter with both arms, took a bold step forward, twisted, and hurled it straight at Montport. "Blow up, damn it!"
Montport brought his blade down—
KRAK—!
The blade connected with the emitter, just as she'd hoped: it exploded, spraying lethal fragments in all directions, and a surge of electricity surged up the demon lord's polearm and into his body. An elephant would be dead instantly from a shock like that.
Carol herself was blasted backward by the shockwave, crashing to the ground. She rolled, then turned desperately to look—
But her heart sank. The Demon Lord stood unfazed, as if nothing in this world could hurt him.
In that instant, despair overwhelmed her.
How in the gods' names do you kill this Abyssal Lord?
Are we truly doomed to die here, right now?
She clenched her fists. She was more than unwilling—she was furious. But her mana was gone, her strength spent. She had nothing left to give.
"Fight it! Give 'em hell!"
A minotaur matron screamed, shoving her child aside. "Girls, take the little ones and run—we'll hold it here!"
Without waiting, she ripped a kitchen knife from her hip, roared with rage, and charged Montport head-on. Inspired, the other Mountain People followed, brandishing makeshift weapons for a last-ditch attack.
But it was futile—this meager defiance was nothing but self-sacrifice, each valiant charge rewarded only with fresh corpses.
Blood spilled in rivers, painting the earth red. Mountain People children wailed, dragged away by sobbing elders.
But Montport, savage and merciless, refused to let his prey escape. He turned his head, lips curling in a snarl, and charged after the children, cutting down anyone who stood in his path.
Despair and terror loomed over everyone.
Then, suddenly, in that moment—the minotaur women and children felt their blood surge with heat.
A mighty form crashed down from above—a massive greataxe blazing in his hands. "Die, demon!"
CLANG—!
The greataxe smashed against Montport's chest—right where Shapiro's scythe had already broken the armor. The steel bit deep… but did not pierce even an inch!
"Fool."
Montport glanced down scornfully at the raging barbarian, sneering in Abyssal: "You think a regular axe can cut an Abyssal Lord's hide?"
"Pathetic creatures. Just stay dead."
With that, his twin-bladed polearm swept out and smashed into Torun.
"Urk—!"
Torun was thrown like a ragdoll. Even his barbarian rage and boiling blood couldn't dull the pain—Montport's attack was simply too strong. A gash, deep to the bone, opened across his chest, soaking his fur in crimson.
He collapsed, but still raised his head, crimson-eyed, glaring at the immense demon lord.
He didn't want this. He had rushed here the moment he heard, desperate to save his kin.
Was it truly hopeless? Was he powerless to stop the slaughter?
No. No, I won't accept this!
He forced himself up, snarling through agony, fighting to stand and raise his greataxe once more.
But Montport was already looming over him, polearm raised for a decapitating strike—
Then a silver comet streaked from the distance, smashing Montport square in the head—
BOOM—!
A deafening blast erupted with titanic force. Montport staggered, reeling, nearly losing his grip on the twin-bladed polearm.
Shaking off the haze, the Abyssal Lord looked up—just in time to see Torun's body, now wreathed in conjured blooms, yanked to safety by a mass of magical flowers.
Montport looked up to see yet more figures racing toward him, weapons in hand, faces pale with fear, but determined to fight.
He sized up their spellcasting power, and his hideous grin widened. "Hah! More lambs for the slaughter!"
"All right then—I'll forge my twin-bladed polearm into a true artifact with your blood and souls today!"