Chapter 1366: Wind Against Wings
"Fuck—why is that thing out here?!" the Winged Clan leader blanched, his face going bloodless.
A Rus Federation survivor threw his head back and cackled, eyes wild. "Hahaha! You’re done! Let’s see you survive this!"
"You—!" The Winged Clan weren’t stupid. It clicked instantly. These humans had lured it out.
"You’re dead!"
Rage exploded through them. A Death Tempest bloomed, shredding the nearby humans into minced flesh in an instant.
But while they were killing—
the roc struck from above.
It dove like a falling mountain. Talons flashed, and two Winged Clan experts were ripped apart midair, reduced to meat and feathers.
"Stop!" the Winged Clan leader bellowed. "There’s been a misunderstanding!"
The roc didn’t even hesitate.
It was already seeing red.
A horrific cyclone slammed downward, and dozens of Winged Clan experts were torn into pieces—sliced apart by the very element their race had always dominated.
Wind-type masters... turned into confetti by wind.
The leader’s expression cracked.
"You—hold it off!" he shouted, voice breaking with panic. "I’m going back to the compound to get Lord Aeralon!"
He spun and shot toward the compound at full speed.
The roc didn’t care about a fleeing small fry. It flared its wings once—
Two massive storms formed instantly, swallowing the remaining Winged Clan experts whole.
"AAAH!"
They fought like mad, throwing up shields and cutting winds, trying to break free—
It didn’t matter.
The roc’s power was overwhelming. Within moments, the storms ground them down into shredded corpses.
Then the roc snapped its wings again and went after the one that had escaped.
The Winged Clan leader flew like his life depended on it—because it did. He beat his wings so hard they felt like they might tear. His speed climbed, higher and higher—
The compound finally appeared ahead.
Relief sparked—
And then the sky went dark again.
His heart clenched.
"Aeralon! Lord Aeralon, save me—!"
Before the last word fully left his mouth, a space-ripping Wind Cutter flashed past.
It bisected him cleanly down the middle.
That death was witnessed by another Winged Clan squad that had just arrived. Their faces went white, and they immediately sprinted through the sky toward the compound, desperate to reach safety.
Too late.
The roc locked onto them.
One wingbeat, and it was on them.
Terrifying Wind Cutters scythed through the air. The ones flying in back were chopped in half before they could even scream.
"Vile beast—stop!"
A furious roar rang out as multiple figures burst from the compound, launching into the sky.
Aeralon hovered at the front. The moment he saw the roc up close, his face turned ugly.
"Who brought this thing here?!"
"We don’t know!" The survivors’ voices shook. "We’d just gotten back when we saw it tearing through our people!"
Aeralon drew a slow breath, then forced himself to look straight at the roc.
"Brother," he called out, tone strained but attempting diplomacy, "how about you give me some face and we let this end here?"
The roc was Tier 35.
Even Aeralon felt his scalp prickle.
"SKREEEEE—!"
That was the only answer he got.
The roc’s wings snapped open—
and a massive storm rolled toward them like the sky itself collapsing.
"You—!" Aeralon’s expression changed instantly.
"All of you," he shouted, "hit it together!"
In a heartbeat, more than two thousand Winged Clan experts who’d already returned to the compound unleashed at once.
Countless Razor Winds screamed outward, colliding with the incoming storm.
This was where numbers mattered.
Wind met wind in a brutal clash, and under the combined pressure, the roc’s storm was finally shredded apart.
But the roc beat its wings again.
A gigantic Wind Cutter—so sharp it seemed to tear the void itself—shot across the battlefield.
Dozens of Winged Clan experts were split in half midair.
"Damn beast!"
Aeralon’s eyes burned. "Kill it!"
With that order, endless wind-type abilities erupted again, slamming toward the roc in a screaming, murderous wave.
The roc snapped its wings.
A roaring hurricane blasted outward, scattering most of the incoming attacks. The few skills that still managed to land on its body barely mattered.
Except for one.
A Cyclone Blade carved in deep enough to draw real blood.
It was obvious who’d fired it.
Aeralon.
The moment it was hurt, the roc’s fury spiked. It plunged straight into the crowd and started slaughtering.
That was the terrifying part about mutant beasts—skills weren’t what made them deadly.
Their bodies were.
Wings, talons, beak... everything was a weapon.
A single sweep of its wings cut a cluster of Winged Clan in half at the waist. A casual grab with its claws popped bodies like overripe fruit.
"Hold it down!" Aeralon roared.
A storm of Razor Wind and Gale Bind surged toward the roc, trying to lock it in place.
Useless.
This thing was a wind-type monster too. Trying to control it with wind abilities was like trying to drown a fish.
The roc was faster than them. Every lazy flap of its wings kicked up a brutal gale that shredded or dispersed any wind-type technique that got too close.
For a while, it was pure hell.
Two thousand Winged Clan experts were getting toyed with—by one roc.
Which suicidal bastard dragged this monster here?!
That thought was running through every Winged Clan head.
Even Aeralon was cursing internally, but he stayed relatively calm. He kept slipping through the chaos and striking from angles the roc couldn’t easily guard.
At Tier 33, he wasn’t beating a Tier 35 roc in a straight duel.
But cheap shots?
Those he could do.
The roc noticed the pattern quickly. Every time it tried to go for Aeralon, the bastard vanished into the swarm. The surrounding Winged Clan would throw themselves in the way, desperately blocking and buying Aeralon space so the roc couldn’t close the distance.
The fight dragged on.
Winged Clan numbers kept dropping.
And the roc kept taking more wounds.
Below, the Rus Federation survivors watched the air battle with shining eyes, faces twisted with vindictive satisfaction.
They wanted the roc to wipe the Winged Clan out completely—give their compound peace again.
But reality didn’t care what they wanted.
Winged Clan experts were dying fast, yes, but more kept returning from the field and joining the fight almost immediately.
And Aeralon—slippery bastard that he was—kept hiding among his people and taking the nastiest shots possible.
Every time he attacked, it was perfectly timed. The moment he found a gap, he unleashed his strongest Cyclone Blade.
By now, the roc was soaked in blood.
Aeralon had opened multiple deep gashes, and once those wounds existed, the other Winged Clan could focus fire on them and actually deal meaningful damage.
Finally—after the roc had killed nearly two thousand Winged Clan experts—its injuries started dragging down its combat power.
The roc realized it too.
It glared at them with pure hatred, then beat its wings hard and shot off into the distance.
"Haa..." A collective breath released across the battlefield.
But Aeralon’s voice cut through it like a knife.
"Chase it."
"Huh...?" Fear showed instantly on the remaining Winged Clan faces. Nobody wanted to face that monster again.
"Lord Aeralon," someone said, shaken, "we finally drove it off. Why are we chasing?"
Aeralon’s expression was icy. "Idiot. We’ve already made an enemy of it."
"If we don’t kill it while it’s wounded, are you waiting for it to heal up and come back for revenge?"
That shut them up.
Understanding spread through the group, grim and reluctant.
"Lord Aeralon is wise!"
Soon, a large force of Winged Clan—led by Aeralon—shot after the roc, racing in the direction it had fled.
They weren’t as fast.
But the roc was bleeding heavily. The air was thick with its blood-scent.
All they had to do was follow the trail.
