Chapter 130: Henry’s Ghoul Army
Gasps rang out from the army Max had brought with him. Nobody could believe what they were seeing right now. Their king, the man they believed would one day become the most terrifying existence in the world, had been sent flying through the ruins, buried somewhere beneath broken stone and frozen dust with his life and death uncertain.
Soft laughter cut through the dread hanging over the battlefield.
Henry’s face twisted into a disgusting smile, the kind that looked wrong on a human face, stretched too far and filled with something far uglier than simple madness. His laughter was quiet at first, then slowly grew heavier, crawling through the ruined capital while every soldier stared between him, Oswald, and the rubble where Max had disappeared.
"That’s the person who brought me to my knees?" His laughter left faint ripples in the air. "Pathetic. So pathetic. Even with all that power, you can’t deal with a simple ghoul... how disappointing, Max."
His eyes never bothered to look at anyone else. That deathly gaze stayed fixed on the rubble where Max had fallen, as if every scream, every gasp, and every trembling soldier around him was beneath his notice.
Oswald remained motionless in front of him, his body standing despite the giant hole torn through his chest. Heavy breaths scraped from his throat while purple frost leaked between his teeth, and the red blood flowing from that empty wound slowly darkened into black, thick tar that seeped down his ruined body and dripped onto the ground with a burning hiss, charring the stone with every drop.
Somebody in the army moved first, their body shaking with rage so strong that even the warriors beside him felt it before they saw him step forward.
"You spineless coward, how dare you hurt our king?"
A young man from the fire clan wrapped himself in golden flames, his eyes glaring aggressively at both Oswald and Henry as heat rolled from his body in violent waves. He knew his strength was insufficient, and everyone there knew it too.
If Max himself had been sent flying by that strange power, then what could one young fire dragon possibly do? But he could no longer stand still and watch Henry mock their king as if the man who had raised them to a higher bloodline was nothing more than a failure buried beneath rubble. His pride, his blood, and the fire burning inside his chest refused to let him remain in formation.
"Stop!" a burly man from the fire dragon clan camp roared, reaching out to grab him before he could move, but it was already too late. The young blood was too quick, already bursting forward with golden flames trailing behind him like a burning comet as he rushed straight toward Henry.
Henry barely lifted his arm.
Purple ice flames spilled from his fingertips, calm and almost lazy at first, before spreading outward with sudden violence. They rushed toward the young warrior in a wide, freezing wave, turning the smoke around them pale and brittle as frost crawled across the shattered stones below.
The young fire dragon did not retreat. Instead, he clenched his teeth, pushed more golden flames through his arms, and decided to take the attack head-on, knowing full well that backing down now would shame him more than death ever could.
The rest of the warriors behind him also began to move, their hearts ignited by that single act of reckless courage. They knew they could not do much if even their all-powerful king had been thrown away so easily, but none of them wanted to stand there trembling while an enemy laughed over Max’s broken armor.
If they had to die, then they would die charging forward, tearing apart those who dared to oppose them and proving that Voidstar’s army was not made of cowards waiting for their king to save them.
"How scary..." Henry’s mocking words turned cold, colder than the purple flames rushing toward the young man.
Then something unexpected happened, something so strange that even the oldest commanders in the army could not understand what they were seeing.
The purple flames twisted before they reached the young fire dragon, folding inward like smoke being dragged into invisible bodies. Green winds began to coil through them, wrapping around the cold fire until shapes started to form inside the wave: arms, claws, wings, and faces that held no warmth.
In the next moment, the flames became figures, and those figures became wind dragons in their hybrid forms, their bodies made from green wind and purple ice fire, yet solid enough that their claws scraped against the ground as they stepped out of Henry’s magic.
They looked human at first glance, but the longer one stared, the worse they became. Their eyes held no life, no will, no thought, the same empty crimson-purple madness burning inside them that Oswald carried.
Some of them had holes in their chests. Some dragged broken wings behind them. Others had limbs twisted in ways no living warrior could still move with, yet every single one of them rushed forward without hesitation, as if pain, fear, and death had been stripped out of their bodies completely.
The young warrior was caught off guard by the sudden manifestation, but his gaze remained sharp. He did not stop. Golden flames exploded beneath his feet as he twisted his body mid-charge, striking at the first ghoul-like wind dragon that lunged for his neck with claws wrapped in green winds and purple ice flames.
Fire and frost crashed together in a violent burst, the golden flames trying to devour the cold while the purple ice fire crawled over them like a living sickness. The clash shook the ground as a wide explosion of opposing elements bloomed between them, golden fire tearing upward while purple frost spread sideways, freezing broken stones only for the heat to crack them apart a heartbeat later.
The young warrior roared through the smoke, driving his fist into the thing’s chest, but the creature barely reacted. Its head snapped to the side from the impact, then slowly turned back, empty eyes locking onto him as if the attack had meant nothing at all.
"Tautvil!" the fire dragon clan army commander roared, his blood boiling hot as he saw the young warrior being swallowed by the strange enemy.
Tautvil gritted his teeth and tried to pull back, but another wind ghoul emerged from the purple flames behind him, its half-formed wings spreading wide before it slashed at his back.
Golden fire erupted from Tautvil’s body in a desperate burst, pushing both creatures away for a moment, but the cold had already started crawling along his arm, sinking into his flames and dimming their shine.
The commander moved then, no longer able to hold himself back. He slammed his foot into the ground and rushed forward with several fire dragons behind him, golden flames roaring from their bodies as they crashed into the first wave of ghoul-like warriors.
Wind claws met fire fists. Purple frost met golden heat. The entire front line shook as the fire dragons tried to burn through enemies that should have been dead long before they ever reached this battlefield.
But nobody had time to wonder if Tautvil was dead or alive.
More and more warriors began to rise from the purple ice flames Henry had cast. Some crawled out of the fire on all fours before forcing themselves upright with broken bones cracking back into place.
Others stepped forward already holding weapons made of frozen wind, their eyes lifeless and their mouths hanging open as cold breath poured out between their teeth. They were the wind dragons who had lost their sanity, or perhaps their lives, inside the capital, and now Henry was dragging what remained of them back into battle.
They attacked without any fear of death, rushing at the army like madmen.
The front ranks of Voidstar’s army had no choice but to meet them head-on, and the battlefield broke into chaos.
Fire dragons pushed forward with roaring flames, while ice dragons tried to freeze Henry’s summons in their tracks.
Thunder dragons raised their weapons as lightning began crawling across their scales, and the wind dragons who had followed Max stared in horror as the twisted remains of their own people charged toward them with empty eyes.
Some hesitated for half a breath too long, recognizing faces they once knew among the ghoul-like figures, and that hesitation almost cost them their lives as green wind claws tore through armor and purple frost spread across exposed scales.
Henry stood behind it all with that disgusting smile still hanging on his face, his fingers slowly lowering as if he had only released a handful of dust instead of an army of dead warriors.
Oswald, however, did not care about the incoming attackers. His dead eyes remained glued to the spot where Max had fallen, as if he was waiting for the tiniest movement, the smallest sound, anything that could confirm whether the young king was still alive or finally crushed beneath the rubble.
Then something cracked beneath the broken stones.
Oswald’s fingers twitched, and crimson winds began wrapping around his claws while purple ice flames crawled over them, both powers twisting together as his empty gaze sharpened toward the ruined tower.
"Enough..."
A cold, eerie voice echoed from beneath the rubble, and then, without any warning at all, the world turned pure black, as if every trace of light had been stripped away in a single breath.
