Chapter 885: Fire out of a cannon
Although much had already transpired since the clash began, it had in truth been less than a single minute. The speed of Lords was such that they could unleash dozens of devastating, world-breaking strikes in less than ten seconds. To onlookers, it might have seemed like an eternity of chaos, yet for those within the storm it was barely a heartbeat.
The White Death, Vlad, and Altharion maintained perfect control. Every movement was measured, every strike layered with precision. As long as the battle continued at this pace, they would win. None of them saw reason to deviate from their path.
Pompeyo, however, felt very differently.
He was losing ground. Each second pressed against him like a blade at his throat. He had intended to demonstrate strength, to hold his own in the void long enough to summon reinforcements, becoming a beacon to rally his forces and lift morale. But the truth became undeniable—such posturing would only hasten his defeat. The longer he delayed, the closer the scythe of death swung toward his neck.
If his allies were doing well, it might change things, but Altharion was clearly in control of the battlaiton of the Artificial Life Forms, and Vlad’s sword continued to sear the Devil Lord’s body.
With a heavy sigh, Pompeyo sent a summons.
Instantly, the Zanis Homeworld responded. Its crust glowed with lines of power, and then—like volcanoes erupting in unison—hundreds of beams of energy tore into the sky. They rose thousands of meters before breaching the atmosphere and piercing into the void, brilliant as pillars of lightning.
The truth of those beams became clear at once. They were not random eruptions of energy but the ascension of warriors. Legends.
Three hundred and twenty-two in total.
A third were human—direct members or retainers of the Zanis Family. Their power was undeniable, yet many bore wild, unstable energy, revealing they had advanced too quickly through dangerous shortcuts, their foundations cracked.
Another third were automatons: artificial beings of metal and law-forged bodies, each capable of crushing a weaker Legend to pulp with brute strength alone. They radiated cold calculation, their presence as oppressive as siege engines given flesh.
The final third were the most unsettling. Devils. Over a hundred of them.
The Zanis Family had not merely hired a single Devil Lord’s aid—they had entered contracts with more than a hundred Devil Legends, bringing them into their world.
Such dealings were not unheard of. Even members of The Light sometimes bartered with Darkness. Devils were infamous traders, and their bargains could be useful. Vlad himself was proof; once, he had dealt with a Legendary Devil to obtain a bloodline.
But to allow so many to dwell within one’s world? That was something else entirely. The soul-radiation of such a host would permanently corrupt a planet’s Laws, staining them with infernal resonance. It was clear that the Zanis Family was corrupted beyond measure.
Of course, none of this mattered to the White Death, Vlad, or Altharion in the moment. What mattered now was survival. Three hundred and twenty-two Legends surged upward, racing toward them.
While they could crush Legends with ease, the trio knew that if that legion attacked while they were mid-battle, the risk would be catastrophic.
And yet, they did not waver.
Pompeyo had played his hand. He had shown everything. Now it was Graecia’s turn.
As for what that move would be, they had no idea. That mission had fallen on the shoulders of Overlord and Marshal Maximo.
A sound rolled across the void, grinding and metallic.
"Grrrnkkk..."
From the White Blade, the imperial warship, a massive cannon head began to emerge. Segments of white divine metal locked into place with reverberating thuds. Energy coursed along its frame until its entire surface glowed ominously.
A ripple of terror spread among the Zanis’ reinforcements. Even seasoned Legends shifted uneasily at the sight of the weapon.
The White Death, however, frowned.
That cannon was indeed one of the White Blade’s many powerful weapons, but it was ultimately archaic. It relied on specialized artillery shells—ancient relics that the Graecia Empire could no longer replicate. Though intimidating, it lacked the destructive potential needed to cripple true enemies of their scale.
Why, then, were they charging it?
He had no time to demand answers amid the clash, but fortune spared him speculation.
The cannon fired.
What it launched was no simple shell. Instead, a massive, multi-colored cylinder roared into the void, spinning as it hurtled toward the enemy.
"What in the hell is that?" The White Death could not hide his shock.
Yet shock quickly gave way to awe.
The cylinder slammed into the rising Zanis legion with unstoppable force, scattering humans, automatons, and Devils alike. Bones shattered, mechanical limbs tore apart, and bodies were flung tumbling through the void.
But that was only the beginning.
The moment the projectile reached the formation’s center, it exploded.
The detonation was a storm of prismatic fire. Every ordinary Legend too close was consumed instantly, bodies reduced to ash. The survivors were hurled away, their cohesion obliterated as formations dissolved into chaos.
The void thundered with cries.
"KILL!"
The roar did not come from the enemy but from inside the blast.
In the next instant, one hundred and sixty-nine Graecian Legends emerged from the flames. They spread out in all directions, falling into a flawless assault pattern as though choreographed by gods.
They struck like wolves unleashed.
Many of Zanis Legends fell within seconds. Automatons cracked apart under barrages of energy. Devils howled as Graecian blades severed their heads. It was not mere slaughter—it was calculated disassembly.
Yet the Graecians did not linger on butchery. Their true objective was clear. The moment enemy formations broke, they surged toward their real targets: the satellites and formation cores orbiting the Zanis Homeworld.
All across the battlefield, explosions bloomed as Graecian Legends struck the anchors that protected the world from a full-scale invasion.
The White Death’s lips curved into a rare smile. Beside him, the True Depravita of Wrath and Altharion both grinned openly.
The arrival of their allies was not just effective—it was decisive. The enemies’ cohesion had been shattered, and now the destruction of the formation network would unfold far faster than any had hoped.