The atmosphere on the battlefield became more eerie than ever.
The two hands did not clench to crush.
They clenched to pull.
The ground behind them split open even further.
Not because of the force pressing down.
But because something beneath… was climbing up.
At first, it was a pale white mass.
Smooth.
Hairless.
Earless.
Then the shape became clear.
A gigantic human head.
Skin pale like a corpse soaked in water.
Its lips were stitched shut with thick black threads like cables.
Each stitch pierced deep into the flesh, pulling the torn edges crooked.
The two hands from before—
Were not everything.
They were the front limbs.
The head rose from the fissure, hovering briefly between dust and blood.
Then from behind it—
An arm grew out.
Not growing like a plant.
But bursting out from the skin.
Bone pierced through the pale flesh, then the flesh sealed itself around the joint.
Another one.
And another.
Dozens of human arms sprouted from behind the head, spreading out like spider legs.
Elbows bent backward.
Fingers long, nails darkened.
Joints bulging, moving in jerky motions.
It did not roar.
It did not hiss.
It simply drove its hands into the ground.
Then pulled.
Its body slid up from the fissure.
It had no body in the usual sense.
The head was the body.
The arms were the legs.
It crawled.
Slow.
Heavy.
The sound of bone scraping against stone echoed dryly across the battlefield.
Dust and blood splashed onto its pale surface.
The stitched mouth did not open.
But the muscles beneath the skin twitched slightly.
As if trying to smile.
The demon stood at the center of the magic circle.
Red symbols coiled around his wrists.
He raised his right hand.
The creature stopped.
All of its limbs froze at once in midair.
He lowered his hand.
It continued crawling.
Absolute control.
The eye in the palm of the right hand was still red.
Then the red light went out.
Not fading.
But pulled inward.
The entire eye turned black.
It reflected no fire.
No sky.
Only a deep void.
From within—
A small shadow shot out.
Then another.
Then dozens.
Bats.
Wings thin like dried human skin.
Tiny red eyes.
Small, dense, sharp teeth.
They did not fly wildly.
They circled above the demon's head.
Waiting.
The demon spoke softly.
"Release."
The swarm broke formation.
And plunged down.
A Sylveris mage was trying to raise a barrier.
One bat rammed straight into his face.
Claws dug into his skin.
Teeth sank into his neck.
He screamed.
Two more dove down.
Biting into the tendons of his arms.
The barrier shattered.
He fell, blood spraying in a long red streak.
On the left side of the battlefield—
Other creatures crawled up from underground.
Bodies the size of large dogs.
Headless.
At the center of each body was a round mouth.
Around that mouth grew six—then eight—human arms.
They moved using those very arms.
Fast.
Jerking.
One leapt at a Darama cavalryman.
Its smaller arms clamped onto his armor.
The circular mouth opened wide.
It bit through the joint between metal plates.
Blood burst out.
It jerked violently.
A chunk of flesh was torn from his body.
It did not eat.
It simply dropped it to the ground.
Then lunged again.
As if harvesting.
The shadow beneath the demon began to thicken.
Then it split.
A figure taller than a normal man stepped out from the shadow.
No face.
No eyes.
No nose.
Only a flat emptiness.
It walked through smoke and dust.
A Sylveris soldier slashed horizontally.
The blade passed through the shadow.
It did not stop.
The shadow touched his arm.
There was no blood.
But his arm fell limp.
As if the bones had vanished.
He screamed.
The shadow kept walking.
The left front limb of the creature rose.
Both gigantic hands lifted at the same time.
Then came down.
Not fast.
But nothing could avoid it.
The ground sank deep.
Darama's central formation was pressed into the earth like insects beneath a stone.
Armor bent.
Bones shattered.
Blood seeped from the gaps in crushed metal.
The sound was not screaming.
But compression.
Like flesh being ground.
Sivall charged forward.
His lightning blade shrieked.
Thunder struck directly into one of the arms behind the head.
White light exploded.
One arm was scorched.
Skin cracked.
But it did not fall.
It did not break.
The arm twitched slightly.
Then continued planting itself into the ground.
The demon tilted his head.
"Enough."
The creature stopped.
It did not counterattack.
It simply stood there.
The pale head turned slightly.
There was no large eye on the front of the face.
Only a human face stitched shut.
But from the gaps between the arms—
Small eyes opened.
Scattered along the limbs.
They did nothing.
They simply opened.
The battlefield was reflected within each of them.
Renar took a step back.
He stared at the spider-like humanoid form casting its shadow over the ground.
The two hands from before—
Were only the front.
Behind them—
Dozens of other arms clung to earth, to corpses, to stone.
The fissure beneath remained open.
No one knew how much of it had yet to emerge.
The demon clenched his left hand.
The smaller arm-spiders stopped.
He clenched his right.
They continued.
Every movement of the creature—
Followed the rhythm of his hands.
No deviation.
No resistance.
He did not smile.
He simply watched the battlefield as if observing a drawing being completed.
One unusually long limb extended outward.
It did not strike.
It swept.
Dozens were thrown into the air.
Colliding.
Falling like broken dolls.
The bats dove after them.
The faceless shadow walked among the still-twitching bodies.
Blood pooled.
Smoke and dust covered the sky.
High above.
Higher than the crimson pillar of light.
A lone figure floated in the air.
Black armor covered his entire body.
No emblem.
No insignia.
Around him—
Weapons hovered in the air.
A long sword.
A silver spear.
A curved bow.
A thin scythe.
Daggers.
They did not fall.
They did not tremble.
They slowly revolved around him.
He looked down at the spider-like demon crawling across the battlefield.
No fear.
No astonishment.
Only coldness.
One of the swords tilted slightly.
He did not touch it.
He only observed.
Below, the creature lifted a limb.
Brought it down.
The ground sank again.
People shattered again.
The man's gaze did not change.
His lips moved slightly.
His voice was not loud.
But clear in the high winds.
"A filthy mongrel."
Below—
The creature paused for a single beat.
Very slight.
Only for a moment.
Then continued crawling.
The man did not move.
The weapons around him rotated more slowly.
His eyes never left the pale head with the stitched mouth.
Below, the battlefield remained in ruin.
Blood still flowed.
Bats still flew.
The smaller arm-spiders still crawled.
The faceless shadow still walked.
And high above—
Someone was watching.
Near his right ear, a symbol of the Magic Council lit up.
A voice came from within the mark.
"Sir, we have submitted the request to authorize the firing of the mana cannons to the members of the Magic Council, and they have agreed to open fire according to your will."
A smile slowly appeared.