Chapter 942 - 941: Sneak Attacks (Magic Castle Bonus - )

[A/N: This bonus Chapter is thanks to Kollum. Thank you so much.]

——

Enigma’s expression darkened as the God of War disappeared into the rift.

"Fuck. He escaped."

Simon remained indifferent and calm.

His gaze had moved away from the rift to the iron-grey figures that were turning toward them. Shield-bearers closed ranks beneath the rift, while archers drew their bows behind a line of spears.

"They can still move," Simon murmured. "Even with him in another world."

An arrow hissed past his cheek as he tilted his head.

"Leave them," Enigma said. "Every moment we waste gives him more time to heal and recover his Aether."

Simon shook his head.

"He just exchanged places with one of them."

Enigma frowned.

"What happens if we cross, chase him across Earth, and he returns through a manifestation we left here?"

"Across the boundary between worlds?"

"Perhaps the open rift is enough. Do you want to find out when we’re on the wrong side?"

Simon watched two figures break away from the formation.

"One hidden manifestation could watch this place. Or become another escape route. He could even return here and destroy the rift behind us."

However, in Simon’s mind, the route might not be entirely lost.

Simon could feel how the rift joined the two realms. With his improved spatial affinity, perhaps he could reopen it at the same position.

However, he had never tried.

He would not gamble their return on a possibility.

"There are too many uses for these things," he said. "I’m not leaving them for him."

Enigma’s eyes narrowed.

"I was thinking about catching him. I hadn’t even considered what he could leave behind."

He looked at the approaching figures again.

This time, he watched each one as though the god himself might emerge from it.

The Chaos Blade appeared in Simon’s right hand.

Without a word, he swept it horizontally.

Wind stretched along the black edge. Crimson tribulation lightning followed, wrapped inside an enormous arc of sword intent.

The shield line met it.

KRAAACK!

Shields split at their centres.

The figures behind them separated at the waist. Severed spears spun into the air as the arc continued through the archers and other manifestations, breaking their bodies into streams of Aether.

Enigma’s claws paused.

The manifestations were weaker than their creator.

But he had fought them. They were not paper.

Simon had cut through several ranks as though they were.

Enigma opened his palm.

"World Serpent Art: Scale Funeral."

Dozens of black scales rose around his arm, their edges shining teal.

He sent them through the scattered survivors.

They curved around raised shields, slipped beneath helmets, and sliced through the joints holding manifested bodies together. Enigma guided several along one path before turning them toward the next target.

Blood darkened his wounded sleeve.

He used no more power than necessary.

However, more than a hundred figures remained, and Simon clicked his tongue when he saw this.

They were spreading out.

Some skimmed the ground. Others flew to the air close to the rift or moved behind broken ridges, refusing to present another convenient line.

Under different circumstances, he might have appreciated the tactic.

Now it was irritating.

He raised his left hand, and snapped his fingers.

"Burning Tornado."

Wind rushed inward.

Dust lifted across a broad stretch of ground, curved around the fleeing figures, and began climbing.

Orange fire caught within the spiral.

The tornado rose beside the rift, widening until its burning walls towered over the broken ridges. Simon kept its base away from the rift, directing the pull toward the scattered manifestations.

A spearman drove his weapon into the ground, but the earth beneath him tore free.

He vanished into the flames with it.

Archers fired into the spinning wall. Their arrows curved sideways and disappeared. Shield-bearers linked their defences, only for the formation to tilt, lift, and unravel.

One after another, the figures were dragged inward.

Their armour blackened. Their bodies broke into ash-grey motes, scattering Aether that the raging fire swallowed before it could gather again.

The last swordsman disappeared behind a curtain of orange.

Simon closed his hand.

The tornado narrowed, burned through the remaining shapes, then dispersed into hot wind.

His perception swept the surrounding air and broken ground.

Nothing remained of the god’s formations.

Beside him, Enigma lowered his scales, still watching the place where an army had been.

He was slightly stunned by the ease at which Simon summoned such an attack.

Simon turned.

"Now we go."

He stepped into the rift.

The moment Simon emerged from the rift, his instincts screamed.

A familiar warmth brushed his soul.

But Earth’s rejection settled over his demonic body at the same instant, making the power within his pathways press against an unfamiliar resistance.

However, there was a change to this pressure but he had no time to examine it.

An iron-grey spear hung above the rift.

A colossal axe waited beside it.

Behind both, a sword and hammer were already descending, their shadows covering the ground in front of the rift.

Heavenfall Arsenal.

The God of War had used the delay to prepare.

’Of course you did.’

Enigma emerged behind him.

Simon caught his forearm the moment his body cleared the boundary.

"Move!"

Space folded around them.

The spear struck their abandoned position.

BOOOOOOM!

The axe followed.

Earth leapt upward before the sword split the rising mass and the hammer drove it flat. The impacts overlapped across the space before the rift, turning the approach into a pit of crushing iron-grey light.

Simon and Enigma appeared on a rocky shelf overlooking the valley.

Enigma’s scales had barely begun rising when Simon’s gaze sharpened.

The God of War was already facing them.

A normal-sized spear rested in his remaining hand.

"Divine Weapon: Spear That Pierces the Horizon."

He threw it.

The weapon vanished.

Simon released Enigma and brought the Chaos Blade across his body.

CLANG!

The spear reappeared against the blade.

Its point had almost reached Simon’s chest.

The force lifted him off the shelf. His wrist cracked, and the hilt tore through the skin beneath his wraps.

He flew backward with the spear still grinding against the black steel.

A straight corridor of destruction opened behind him.

Stone burst apart. The edge of the shelf vanished beneath his heels, and the shock tore his shirt across the ribs.

Blood filled his mouth.

But Simon kept the point away from his heart.

His left hand closed beneath his right.

The cube flashed. Demonic energy reinforced his arms while Wind dragged against his flight.

Earth resisted the power he forced outward.

He supplied more anyway.

The blade turned a little, but it was not enough.

The spear’s pressure deepened. Flesh tore along his shoulder, and pain stabbed beneath his ribs.

Simon snarled and twisted his whole body.

The Chaos Blade scraped along the shaft.

The tip of the spear shifted past him.

Then the spear tore free.

A white line opened across a distant mountainside.

For an instant, the mountain remained still.

Then the entire line burst outward, punching through the rock and sending broken stone pouring from both sides. The clouds beyond it split along the same path.

Simon landed hard on the slope below the shelf.

His feet slid.

He caught his balance with the sword angled before him, blood running over his knuckles.

Enigma descended nearby.

The ambush, the forced relocation, and the spear had followed too quickly for him to seize the rhythm of the fight.

His expression darkened as he turned toward the god.

But Simon was looking at the air.

Aether was gathering.

Not reluctantly, as it had in the Demon Realm.

It poured toward the God of War, feeding the crimson markings brightening beneath his damaged armour.

The god remained bloodied. His breastplate was still scorched, and his missing forearm had not regrown.

However, the power answering him was different.

"War God Art: Eight-Armed Calamity."

Six enormous spectral arms unfolded behind his shoulders.

One gripped a spear. Another raised a greatsword. An axe turned overhead while a bowstring drew back without assistance.

A chain uncoiled beneath them.

The final hand closed around a warhammer.

At the stump of his missing forearm, iron-grey Aether extended into a replacement wrist and hand.

The lost flesh had not returned.

He had supplied another weapon-bearing limb instead.

Eight hands moved independently.

The chain circled low while the spear adjusted toward Simon’s throat. Above it, the axe lowered a fraction, leaving room for the greatsword to swing.

Nothing obstructed anything else.

Gluttony stirred inside Simon’s heart. Devour began stripping Aether from his wounds, but he did not take his eyes off the god.

The God of War straightened beneath the gathered arsenal.

"You enjoyed beating a wounded vessel," he said, his voice carrying across the ruined ground. "Now learn what it means to fight its god."

Simon glanced at the blood running down his arm.

Then he looked up, and a grin spread across his face.

"I guess you have more balls now compared to before."

Simon chuckled.

"How pathetic for a god of war."