Chapter 952: Chapter 166: The Battle Against Madness and Darkness (Part 2)
These fanatic followers wielded all sorts of crude yet deadly weapons: rusted scimitars still stained with dark brown blood, sharp beast bones polished to a shine, and burning torches cutting perilous arcs through the night.
Even more chilling, many among them wore necklaces made from strings of human finger bones, clattering together with a teeth-grating sound as they ran.
A few of the most fanatic followers let out inhuman howls, rushing directly at the nearest Steam Knight.
Their eyes flashed with madness, completely ignoring the overwhelming disparity in strength between the sides.
A burly man with tattoos covering his face bit open a torch’s oil cloth, thrusting the burning flame directly at the Knight’s helmet visor; another small woman clung to the Knight’s mechanical leg, frantically chiseling at the joint’s hydraulic pipe with a bone knife.
Though these crazy actions couldn’t inflict real damage on the iron giant, they successfully hampered the Knights’ movements.
The Knights’ chain-saw swords emitted an ear-piercing hum, carving lethal arcs through the night.
The serrated blades swept through, instantly slicing the nearest few followers in half at the waist.
The bodies, severed into two, had not hit the ground before spurting blood froze into red crystals in the cold wind.
Yet more followers surged forward, treading over their companions’ corpses, as if knowing nothing of fear.
Some followers even let out frenzied laughs in their dying moments, using their last ounce of strength to hurl burning torches at the camp’s tents.
Amid the stalemate of battle, a spine-chilling chant suddenly echoed from deep within the ruins.
The sound resembled hundreds of people simultaneously chanting in different languages, or perhaps a low growl of some ancient behemoth.
The ground began to quake violently, causing the snow piled around the camp’s periphery to cascade down.
A massive shadow emerged from the darkness, each step leaving smoking footprints on the frozen soil.
It was a monster entirely corrupted by Evil God power, the size comparable to a small house.
It possessed the body of a giant wolf, yet bore three twisted human faces — one at the normal position, the other two protruding from the shoulder blades.
Sharp bone spurs jutted out from its spine, glinting with a strange blue light under the moon.
Most terrifying were its eyes, six blood-red globes reflecting scenes not from this world.
"It’s the Godspawn! All personnel, fall back!" the lead Knight Commander shouted through the armor’s communicator.
This monster, blessed by the Evil God, was by no means an ordinary beast; its body surged with profane energy, warping the air around it.
The black slime oozing from its body dripped to the ground, instantly corroding it with smoke.
Ordinary swords striking it would likely not even scratch its skin—this existence was beyond what mortal weapons could contend with.
Its sudden appearance undoubtedly signaled a deeper conspiracy behind the assault, likely a direct warning from the Ancient Gods to the Missionary Group.
The monster tilted its head back, unleashing an eardrum-shattering roar, mingled with the wails of hundreds of tormented souls.
Its six sturdy limbs pounded the ground, charging toward the camp with alarming speed.
Every step left burning black footprints in the frozen soil, rapidly crystallizing into eerie black ice.
These ice crystals seemed to have a life of their own, spreading outward, and the survivors who failed to evade in time found the horrifying cold climbing rapidly over their bodies at merely a touch to their ankles.
Their eyes widened in terror, but before a cry for help could escape, they were frozen from the inside out into grotesquely posed ice sculptures, shimmering with a strange blue-black luster under the moonlight.
At this critical juncture, a blinding white light suddenly erupted from the underside of the Floating City module.
Heavy armor plates unfolded layer by layer like petals, revealing the complex alchemical matrix within.
A cannon barrel as thick as two people’s arms together extended slowly, and with a spine-chilling sound of energy accumulating, the air at the muzzle began to warp and distort.
Suddenly, a beam of energy so pure it appeared nearly transparent tore through the night sky, slicing toward the monster like a sword of judgment.
The light was so dazzling that everyone was forced to close their eyes.
The monster struck by the energy beam let out a heart-wrenching howl, all six blood-red eyes bursting simultaneously, spraying foul black ichor.
Its skin, covered with bone armor, melted quickly like hot wax, revealing black flesh beneath that writhed constantly.
The flesh twitched violently under the burning of the pure energy, distorted human faces kept protruding from under the skin only to dissolve.
In less than three seconds, this behemoth disintegrated completely in the sacred purifying light, leaving only a sinister outline on the scorched ground, as if a malicious mark branded by a hot iron.
The surviving Evil God believers were dumbstruck, for the first time, true fear appeared in their fanatical eyes.
As the Floating City module emitted mechanical rumbling, slowly turning its gun barrel towards them, these maniacs who had always fearlessly met death finally collapsed.
Some dropped their bloodstained Bone Knives and fled with their heads in their hands, some knelt on the ground wailing bitterly, and some directly soiled themselves in fear, collapsing beside their companions’ corpses unable to move.
They finally realized they were not facing an ordinary Missionary Group, but a terrifying force capable of slaying gods and extinguishing demons.
The Steam Knights did not pursue the victory, but quickly contracted the defense circle.
Within the armored communication channel, the Commander’s calm voice transmitted through the alchemy communicator into each knight’s ear: "Group A, immediately check the Energy Tower’s protective barrier. Group B, count casualties and establish a temporary morgue. Group C, set up a perimeter alert around the camp.
Medical teams should prioritize treating civilian casualties, especially those who have touched the black ice crystals."
His voice was steady and powerful, as if the thrilling battle just moments ago was nothing more than daily training.
The Knights silently carried out the orders, the steam expelled from their armor joints condensing into white mist in the cold night, adding a sense of solemn killing to the battlefield.
After the battle ended, the camp was in complete disarray.
Over a dozen tents were burned to blackened skeletons, canvas scraps fluttering in the cold wind like dying butterflies.
The ground was littered with dark red bloodstains and scorch marks from explosions, melted snow mixed with the filth, quickly freezing into strange red-black ice crystals in the low temperatures.
The Priests moved among the panicked survivors, the hems of their robes smeared with mud and blood.
An elderly Priest knelt beside a crying woman, gently comforting the trembling child in her arms. That
child was about five or six years old, his dirty little face streaked with tears, blue eyes wide open, pupils still reflecting the remnants of that horrifying monster.
His small hand clutched his mother’s clothes tightly, knuckles turning white.
In the temporary medical area, health workers were overwhelmed.
The pungent smell of alchemy potions mixed with the scent of blood, forming a nauseating sweetness in the cold air.
A doctor wearing a mask was stitching up the wound of a survivor with an abdominal injury, his white coat spattered with blood.
Beside him lay several severely injured patients, their moans rising one after another, sounding exceptionally mournful in the silent night.
The Knight Commander stood in the center of the camp, compiling the casualty numbers.
His armor was covered in battle scars, his faceplate lifted, exposing a tired yet solemn face.
"Civilian deaths: 7, serious injuries: 12; we’ve lost two apprentice priests, and three knights are lightly injured." His voice was deep and hoarse, like his throat was injured by thick smoke.
On the data board, after each deceased’s name followed a brief biography — they were mostly ordinary people, struggling to survive in the apocalypse.
He raised his head, gazing towards the distant dark ruins.
Under the moonlight, those broken walls and ruins looked like the fangs of a beast, snarling.
The Knight Commander’s gaze became sharp: "This is just the beginning, those lunatics will not stop here."
His voice was soft, yet it sent chills down the spines of the surrounding priests.
This sudden attack felt like a basin of ice water poured over everyone’s heads.
In this world abandoned by the gods, dangers not only come from the biting cold and unbearable hunger, but also from those fellow humans driven mad — those who would sacrifice the living to appease fallen deities.
A young priest looked at the patch of blood still not dried on the ground, suddenly realizing: the mission of the Missionary Group was far more dangerous and complex than they initially imagined.
This was not merely the distribution of food and spreading of faith, but a life-and-death struggle against madness and darkness.
