Chapter 709 The Problems Of The Eighth Earth 5
In that critical moment of peril, Old Meg tapped into a power he had long suppressed. The strict edict of the demons forbidding magi and witches from summoning creatures from the Nether had been deeply ingrained in him, but desperation tore through those constraints.
His action was reflexive, a survival instinct from his days as a magi. Biting into his hand, his blood spilled forth, crimson against the night, and he began to chant.
The blood seemed to possess its own consciousness, swirling in intricate patterns on the ground in front of Jasper. She, clutching the statue of Saint Lenny Tales, entered a state of deep prayer, her whispers of devotion mingling with the charged air.
Neither Old Meg nor Jasper could have anticipated what happened next. As the dark portal opened, what emerged was not a Nether beast but a man, his appearance rugged and worn from the trials of the Nether.
He held a person in a monkey suit by the throat, and another, only a torso and head, rested on his shoulder. This mysterious figure turned his gaze towards Jasper, their eyes locking for a brief, intense moment.
The mutated giant crab, sensing a new threat, charged towards the man. The impact resounded like thunder, silencing the chaos around them. As the dust settled, the scene that was revealed left everyone in stunned silence. The crab, in its monstrous fury, had been crushed against the formidable strength of this stranger.
With a nonchalant chuckle, the man released the person in the monkey suit and extended his hand. White flames burst forth, engulfing the remaining mutated creatures in a purifying inferno that reduced them to ashes. The sight was awe-inspiring, a display of raw power that halted even the demons in their tracks.
Old Meg, Jasper, and their daughter watched, their hearts pounding, as this enigmatic savior turned the tide of battle with effortless might. The demons, once so confident in their pursuit, now hesitated, unsure in the face of such overwhelming force.
Jasper, still clutching the statue of her deity, recalled the tales she had heard over the years. Legends of Saint Lenny Tales, a figure of mythic power, whose signature ability was the white flames that now danced in the hands of the stranger before her. With a mixture of reverence and disbelief, she whispered, "Saint... Lenny Tales!?"
The man's response was simple, yet it carried the weight of confirmation. "Yes!" he said, his smile a beacon in the darkness.
In that moment, Jasper knew that the figure of legend, the hero of her faith, had come to their aid. Saint Lenny Tales stood before them, not just a symbol of hope, but a living embodiment of the power and resilience they had all clung to in their darkest hours.
His presence transformed the wasteland from a place of despair to a battlefield where hope reigned supreme. The survivors, their spirits lifted by this miraculous turn of events, dared to believe that their journey to freedom might still have a fighting chance.
...........
Meanwhile, Within the Territory, a massager rushed through the large hall way as fast as he could.
The messenger's swift entrance into the meeting room of Glenn's territory was a testament to the urgency of his news. The room was a sanctum of power and decision-making, with a large table at its center around which sat the high-ranking officials of the territory. The atmosphere was thick with gravity and respect, compelling even the hurried messenger to temper his urgency with a reverence befitting the room's occupants.
He approached an old man who was unmistakable in his presence. Father Black, with a cigar that was as much a part of his identity as his leadership, exuded authority and experience.
The messenger handed over the report, and as Father Black read it, his usually steady hands trembled with a mixture of shock and disbelief. The contents of the report were so significant that he felt compelled to share them with the others – Elder Zod, Elder Isiah, and finally, the individual who occupied the head of the table.
This person at the head was unexpectedly young, his deep red Pepper hair and authoritative demeanor setting him apart. Even Father Black, a man of considerable influence and respect within the territory, regarded him with a deferential air. The young man's fingers, as delicate and smooth as those of a fair maiden, pressed a button on the table before him.
A screen flickered to life overhead, revealing the scene of destruction that had just unfolded outside the territory's borders. The footage showed Lenny Tales, wielding white flames with a power and ferocity that was awe-inspiring, annihilating the mutated creatures that threatened their safety.
Father Black watched the screen, a chuckle escaping his lips, tinged with relief and nostalgia. "It's been ten years! Ten terrible years, but he is finally back," he remarked, his voice laced with emotion. A few tears escaped, tracing lines down his weathered cheeks, a rare display of vulnerability from the stoic leader.
Meanwhile, the young man at the table, upon witnessing Lenny's display of white flames, summoned a similar power in his own hands. The flames danced and flickered with a familiar intensity, a mirror to Lenny's own abilities.
"Yes... it would seem that my old man is back," he said, his voice carrying a mix of admiration and a complex, unspoken history.
Back in the Battlefield, Lenny, turned to the demons. These were creatures that were far more sensitive to their environment. Everyone of them could tell the level of danger that a person of Lenny's caliber posed.
After all, they could all sense that the power that came from this person was beyond their common sense.
Immediately, they all turned to run. But lenny chuckled, "And where do you think you are all going?"
He released a bit of his Aura and they were instantly frozen in place.
And then it happened. like watermelons, they swell up and then burst into meat paste and blood.
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