Chapter 882 - 881: The Body He Chose

The massive weapons did not stop when the Seven Seats died.

The first enormous spear struck the ground beneath its victim and buried its entire head. For an instant, the packed earth bulged around the shaft.

Then the army’s staging ground erupted.

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

Demons, tents, and supply wagons vanished inside a rising wall of earth. The blast caught the ranks behind them before anyone could turn. Bodies flew through bodies. Armour collapsed against chests, and broken weapons spun among fragments of bone.

The second spear struck farther away.

BOOOM!!!

Its crater swallowed the road leading into the camp. Demons running along it dropped out of sight, their screams cut short beneath the ground folding over them.

Then the axes landed.

BANG!

BANG!

Two immense trenches ripped outward from their edges. Raised fortifications split along their foundations. Whole sections of the camp tilted, sliding into the openings with the soldiers still standing upon them.

"RUN!"

"Where?! Where do we-"

The warhammer answered.

Its head descended over the centre of the waiting formations, broad enough to cover several assembled units. The ground disappeared beneath it.

BOOOOOM!!!

A circular wall of compressed air swept outward, followed by stone.

Marek had already launched himself away.

He no longer looked at Simon. He did not look for the prince. Seven Demon Lords had died without stopping even one weapon, and the knowledge left him with only one concern.

"SCATTER!" he roared.

A dark shield closed around him as flying debris struck. He forced his body higher, narrowly clearing the edge of the expanding blast.

Korran fled in another direction. A smaller sword passed behind his shoulder, cutting his cloak away. He did not pause to see how close it had come to severing his arm.

Selan and Dorel were moving too. Their commands disappeared beneath the screaming. Dorel’s barrier broke under a flying slab, and he hurled himself sideways while Selan vanished into the dust beyond him.

The enormous swords reached the ground.

The one intended for Varen drove so deeply that only its upper blade and hilt remained visible. The earth buckled for hundreds of metres around it, forcing waves of broken stone through the camp.

BOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!

Those waves met the hammer’s shockwave.

Everything between them rose.

For several heartbeats, parts of the army hung among shattered wagons, banners, and pieces of their own defences. Then the debris began colliding.

"Help me!"

A demon reached toward an officer passing overhead. A fragment of stone struck him before their hands met.

He died.

Beyond the main camp, the destruction continued. Cracks raced through the approaches, splitting roads kilometres from the rift. Distant slopes gave way in broad sheets. Dust climbed until it hid the sky, while pieces of the staging ground rained beyond its outermost positions.

Simon was completely focused on surviving the destruction around him.

He ducked beneath a falling blade, his damaged shoulder screaming as he twisted. The sword passed over his horn and struck a demon behind him.

Another blade descended toward his back.

The wind dragged Simon aside. He landed badly, and something beneath the Chaos Wraps tore again.

But he did not have time to think about that when his life was in danger.

’Move.’

The ground rose beneath him.

A great slab was turning over, lifting him toward the smaller weapons still falling through the dust. There was nowhere left to put his feet.

Simon forced demonic energy through the damaged pathways.

Pain flashed through his body so sharply that his vision went white. He reached for the first opening in space he could seize beyond the falling blades, without choosing where he would land.

He vanished.

His knees struck rough stone somewhere beyond the camp’s supply lines. The Chaos Blade scraped beside him, still trapped in his grip by the wraps.

Blood poured from his nose.

He tried to raise his head, but a shockwave rolled across the slope and flattened him before he could manage it.

Behind him, the last weapons struck.

The army’s staging ground had become overlapping pits and trenches, surrounded by shattered roads. Red light still burned through the dust around the rift, but almost everything that had been prepared for the waiting army lay broken beyond recognition.

Then the weapons began to disappear.

Their crimson channels dimmed. Its iron-grey edges dissolved into streams of Aether, followed by shafts, hilts, and immense weapon heads.

No mountains of metal remained.

Only the holes they had made, and the demons inside them.

The God of War glanced toward the slope where Simon had appeared.

Then he looked away.

Varen lay within a pale crown of light, one hand pressed against his bleeding side. The radiance of his shield enclosed him from the ground upward, its transparent walls rising into tall points above his head.

A white glimmer beneath his torn collar continued feeding the protection.

The god took one leisurely step, then his foot came down directly before the shield.

Varen jerked upright.

"Is this the protection you offered my prey?"

The god examined the white crown, then placed his remaining palm against it. His fingers spread.

Then he pushed.

Crack

Crack

Cracks raced outward beneath his hand.

Varen’s breath caught. He scrambled backward, pressing demonic energy into the artifact around his neck as the fractured surface bowed toward him.

The god grinned, then the cracks closed.

His smile paused.

He pushed harder. The crown’s nearest point split, but fresh white light flowed into it before the fracture could reach the base.

Varen’s own energy had barely changed.

"Oh?"

The God of War kept his hand in place, feeling the power arriving beneath it. The shield was not surviving on what demonic energy the prince could supply. Something far beyond the ruined camp was feeding it.

His eyes turned toward the distance.

"A Demon King."

Varen swallowed.

"You called your king," the god continued, smiling again. "And told him what happened here."

"He knows," Varen replied.

His voice was strained. He looked toward the places where his Seven Seats had fallen, then forced his gaze back to the god.

"He is coming."

"Is he?"

"Yes. And he’s not alone."

The god’s eyebrows rose slightly.

Varen managed a thin smile, although the hand pressed against his wound trembled.

"More than one Demon King is coming for you. You may treat Demon Lords like this, but do not confuse them with the beings approaching."

His eyes flicked toward the missing forearm.

"Not while you are inside that body."

For a moment, the God of War simply watched him.

Then he laughed loudly.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"

Varen’s smile faltered.

"That body. That body. That body. That body," the god repeated, sounding genuinely entertained. "You return to it every time you need reassurance."

"The vessel still has limits."

"Let me tell you something interesting, little prince."

The god withdrew his hand from the crown. Its surface healed completely, but Varen no longer looked relieved.

"There is a reason I descended for this particular chosen."

The prince frowned.

"Do you imagine I enter the mortal world whenever someone carrying my blessing loses a fight?" the god asked. "I, the God of War?"

Varen said nothing.

"Defeat has taken countless followers from me. What makes you think I would personally answer every one?"

The prince looked at Darius’s face.

The god allowed him to study it.

"Ask yourself how long I have occupied this body. What I have done with it. What it has endured since I arrived."

His voice grew quieter.

"Now tell me what you have seen that suggests the vessel itself is failing."

Varen’s gaze dropped toward the stump.

Then stopped.

That arm had been cut off. The wound beneath the armour had been inflicted by Blackmoon. But neither was damage caused by the body being unable to contain its occupant.

He looked back at the god’s face.

No strain. No faltering breath. No tremor in the hand that had just buried seven Demon Lords and an army beneath falling weapons. No cracks on the body. No waver in the body’s aura.

Even here, under the Demon Realm’s suppression.

The confusion drained from Varen’s expression. His eyes slowly widened, and the colour left his face.

The god leaned closer to the crown.

"There," he said softly. "Now you’re looking at him properly."