As time returned to the present, space-time solidified at this moment.
Ahriman raised both arms high, and the runic crystal at the tip of his psychic staff burst forth with dazzling blue-white light, illuminating the entire cavern like a supernova.
Silver-white energy ripples spread out from him in a perfect sphere. Wherever they passed, the spatial structure groaned under the strain, as if an invisible layer of ice was freezing reality.
The ancient runes on the staff lit up one by one, and the silver-gray Power Armor gleamed with a cold metallic luster amidst the energy torrent.
The crimson portals that were in the process of forming were extinguished abruptly, like candles snuffed out by an unseen hand, letting out a mournful wail before dying out.
Several Bloodletterss that had just emerged halfway let out piercing screeches. Their twisted faces froze between pain and fury, as they were forcibly severed within the Warp rift.
One of them still held its arm in a forward grasping motion, but it was neatly cut off at the boundary between reality and the void, with an ominous purplish-black light flickering at the severance point.
"Space locked down," Ahriman's voice came through the psychic network, deep and authoritative.
Ahriman subtly flicked his wrist, and the psychic staff traced a precise silver-blue arc.
Among the myriad possibilities revealed by psychic prescience, he had already foreseen the Bloodletters attacking from the left—when its claws were still an inch from his cloak, he shifted half a step just in time, the edge of his cloak barely missing the claw tips.
The staff was thrust forward with the momentum, and a hair-thin psychic lightning bolt erupted from its tip, leaving a smoking, bloody hole in the Demon's brow, precise as a surgical incision.
His fingers rapidly formed seals, and seven possible attack routes unfolded in his mind like holographic projections.
He chose the most concise third option: his right thumb and ring finger interlocked, and a psychic pulse spread out in a fan shape.
Three charging Flesh Hounds were still in mid-air when their chaotic nodes were precisely struck, and blue flames erupted from their eye sockets and mouths, blossoming into three enchanting fire lotuses in the air.
This battle, for Ahriman, was like playing a game of Regicide.
The attack trajectory of every Demon was clearly visible in his psychic prescience, like pieces moving on a chessboard.
When a Khorne Berserker's chainaxe was still raised overhead, Ahriman's staff had already touched the weak point of its elbow joint.
Psychic energy seeped through the armor's seams, and the entire arm instantly carbonized, turning into black powder that fell like time slipping through an hourglass.
The entire battlefield transformed into a transparent holographic projection in Ahriman's eyes.
He took a step forward and to the left, precisely avoiding three claw attacks that would have struck him in the future.
The staff swept to the right, hitting the exact position a Demon would move to, as if the Demon had actively collided with his attack.
When twelve Demons charged simultaneously, his brain had already found the optimal solution—a helical psychic shockwave that pierced through all twelve Demons at once.
As the last Demon crashed to the ground, Ahriman lightly shook his cloak, and scorched Demon remnants fell, forming a layer of ash on the runic floor.
Blurred Numbers
Alex's Supreme Wizard floated in mid-air, shrouded in a thin mist of azure psychic energy.
Within the crystal at the tip of his staff, layers of runes progressively lit up; with each layer that illuminated, the surrounding air rippled with vibrations.
"Phase calibration nearing completion," Alex's consciousness flowed between the two chess pieces.
The chess piece in the Bottom Nest had its staff deeply embedded in the ground, with ancient script on its shaft faintly glowing; while the chess piece on the Orc Moon floated deep within the fortress, surrounded by a shimmering psychic barrier.
Both staffs simultaneously erupted with a hazy blue light.
The light intertwined in the void, weaving into a three-dimensional network that enveloped the cavern.
The magic array was composed of countless tiny, rotating runes, and Alex could feel the reality structure bearing an invisible pressure.
"Node synchronization good…" he murmured to himself.
The crystal at the tip of the staff suddenly trembled, emitting a piercing hum.
All the runes suspended in the air rapidly contracted as if drawn by a black hole, converging into a dazzling point of light at the staff's tip.
Although this point of light was only the size of a needle tip, it contained enough power to tear reality apart; the surrounding air twisted and warped due to energy overload.
Space began to twist and distort, the outlines of the rock walls wavering and blurring like reflections in water.
The surface of the hard stone walls rippled strangely, and the ancient patterns flowed like liquid, as if the entire cavern had transformed into some viscous fluid.
Even more bizarrely, on the Orc combat Moon several light-years away, the same spatial distortion was occurring synchronously.
Just then, Muswag shed his human disguise.
His skin peeled off in flakes like cracked pottery, and his dark red Demon true form suddenly appeared.
Twisted horns pierced the void, forming a bloody crown above his head; his runic armor burst forth with blood-light, each rune wriggling like a living thing.
Muswag's twin-bladed battle-axe clashed violently with Tzanazte's bone claws, erupting in blinding crimson sparks.
Two distinctly different chaotic energies fiercely collided at the point of impact, forming visible energy ripples that spread outwards.
"Traitor!" Tzanazte's mutilated body squeezed out a triple-voiced roar. His remaining right claw suddenly elongated by several inches, carrying corrosive black mist directly towards Muswag's throat.
Muswag anticipated it, turning his head to dodge. The spiked armor on his left shoulder instinctively flared upwards, carving a smoking black wound on the opponent's arm.
"You never learn, do you?" He sneered, a pair of barbed membranous wings suddenly unfurling from his back, flapping violently to stir up a storm of blood and gore.
The confrontation between the two Daemon Princes created an energy storm on the battlefield.
Shattered rocks, corpses, and even broken weapons were swept into the air, spinning wildly in the crimson whirlwind.
A Mutant corpse caught in the vortex suddenly exploded, its flesh reorganizing in the energy field into dozens of blood bats that lunged at Muswag.
Tzanazte seized the opportunity, and his mutilated left half suddenly spewed out a viscous black mist, from which countless tiny bone spikes extended.
"I'm tired of your tricks!" Muswag crossed his axes, the runes on their blades suddenly flaring to life. A fan-shaped blood-light slash cut out, scattering the black mist and bone spikes alike.
Muswag's battle-axes chopped down like a furious storm, each blow forcing Tzanazte to parry with all his might.
More smoking black wounds appeared on the Daemon Prince's mutilated body, and he roared in fury, violent flames burning in his three eyes.
Although he had already sensed the abnormal fluctuations in the surrounding space, under Muswag's relentless assault, he had no time to spare.
"Now!" Alex's thought exploded like thunder in the psychic network.
In an instant, the teleportation array roared to life.
The entire cavern's spatial structure collapsed instantly like fragile glass; the rock walls twisted and flowed like melting wax figures, and the runes on the stone walls disintegrated into particles of light one by one.
The ground constantly shifted between solid and ethereal; one moment it was as hard as adamantium, the next it was as soft as quicksand. Several cultists who couldn't react in time fell directly into it, letting out desperate screams.
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