Chapter 1211. An Artist Finishing a Masterpiece by Tearing the Canvas Apart

Chapter 1211: 1211. An Artist Finishing a Masterpiece by Tearing the Canvas Apart

The gravitational well reached its breaking point. The sheer concentration of power tore apart the air, making it scream.

SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

The debris orbiting the construct spun faster and faster until it became a lethal ring of shrapnel, humming with a frequency that shattered nearby glass and made the soldiers’ ears bleed.

DRIP. DRIP.

Crimson droplets fell from the ears of the traumatized Aethelgard warriors as they pressed their hands against their heads, unable to bear the sonic assault.

Then, Rex Rexilion moved.

It wasn’t just a lunge; it was an eruption. The construct ignited itself, propelling forward with the combined fury of Peak Superhuman Physique and Telekinesis at Full Potential.

Every muscle fiber in its synthetic body coiled and snapped like a loaded spring.

BOOOOOOM!!!

The ground behind it exploded outward as it launched itself, a comet of white-hot energy streaking toward Xerollion.

This was the forbidden technique. The exact sequence of movements, the precise angle of the shoulder, and the terrifying compression of air—it was a flawless, flawless replica of the legendary strike Rex Rexilion had once used to crack the heavens and bring down Kaeleth.

It was a blow designed not to wound but to erase.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!!!

The fist hurtled toward Xerollion’s sternum like a meteor aimed at a mortal’s heart. But Xerollion did not flinch.

He did not summon a shield. He did not prepare a counterspell. He simply raised his right hand.

CLANG SHHHHHHHH!!!!

The impact should have leveled the entire corridor. Instead, there was a sound like two mountains colliding—a deep, grinding shockwave that shook the very foundation of the fortress, followed by an impossible, deafening silence.

Xerollion had caught it. His palm met the fist mid-flight, halting the momentum of the god-killing strike instantly.

The energy discharge flared between them, a corona of violet and white light that blinded everyone in the room.

FWOOOOOM!

For three agonizing seconds, time seemed to crystallize. Neither moved.

The construct’s fist was pressed against Xerollion’s palm, the energy between them grinding together like tectonic plates.

The soldiers watched, paralyzed, their eyes wide with a terror so profound it transcended screaming. They were witnessing something that defied the laws of existence.

Then, Xerollion’s eyes flared with a cold, murderous satisfaction.

"My turn."

With a twist of his hips and a violent rotation of his shoulder, Xerollion didn’t just block the attack; he inverted it.

He channeled the redirected kinetic energy back through his own arm, supercharging his fist with every ounce of his own malevolent power.

KRA BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!

Xerollion’s fist drove into the center of Rex Rexilion’s chest. The sound was wet, mechanical, and utterly devastating.

CRUNCH SQUELCH SHATTER.

The construct’s synthetic ribcage didn’t just break; it imploded, sending fragments of metal and enchanted polymer spraying outward like shrapnel.

Rex Rexilion was launched backward like a missile.

WHAM!!!

The body tore through the air, leaving a trail of sparking energy behind it, until it slammed into the far corridor wall. The impact was cataclysmic.

CRASHHHH!!!

A massive section of the ancient masonry collapsed inward, bringing tons of stone and debris down on top of the fallen hero.

RUMBLE... THUD... CRUNCH.

A cloud of choking dust and pulverized mortar filled the air. As it began to settle, the horrific reality became visible.

The rubble revealed glimpses of the construct’s body. Its energy signature flickered erratically... flicker... flicker... dim... like a candle drowning in its own wax.

The limbs lay twisted at impossible angles, sparking weakly as the construct’s systems reached their absolute, irreversible limit. It lay broken, shattered, and utterly defeated, unable to even twitch a finger.

A wave of horrified murmurs rippled through the Aethelgard soldiers. Several of them sank to their knees, their faces pale beneath the grime and blood.

"No..." one whispered, his voice cracking. "Not like this... not after everything..."

The last flickering candle of their hope was guttering out, dying in the cold darkness of the corridor.

Xerollion stepped forward. His boots crunched on the debris.

CRUNCH. CRUNCH.

Each step was slow, deliberate, and terrifyingly calm. He walked through the settling dust like a reaper through a field of wheat.

He reached the pile of rubble and stood over the shattered form of his creation, his shadow engulfing the dying construct.

He raised one hand. Between his fingertips, the violet-black energy began to writhe once more, growing brighter, denser, and more hungry.

It cast a hellish glow across the ruins, painting the scene in shades of bruised purple and absolute shadow.

"This was always the inevitable conclusion," Xerollion said, his voice quiet, almost conversational. "All things must end... even echoes."

He prepared to deliver the final blow.

Xerollion held the gathered energy aloft, the violet-black sphere humming with a low-frequency hunger that seemed to draw the very light out of the room.

VROOOOOOOOM.

The power crackled between his fingers like restrained lightning, casting jagged, dancing shadows that made the ruins look like a twisted cathedral of death.

He paused.

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the dying sputter of the construct’s circuits BZZZT... SPARK... and the distant drip of water from a broken pipe.

Xerollion studied the wreckage beneath him. Through the cracks in the synthetic skin and the shattered stone of the construct’s chest, he could see the unstable glow of its core flickering like a dying heartbeat.

FLICKER... DIM... FLICKER.

A twisted sense of fascination washed over him.

’How fascinating,’ he thought, his inner mind analyzing the degradation of the energy matrix with cold, detached precision. ’I built this...’

’I gave it form, I gave it purpose, and now I am the one who must unmake it.’

’There is a perverse poetry in this symmetry.’

’To kill my own reflection with the very power I taught it to wield.’

A dark, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his blood-stained mouth. In this moment of absolute dominance, he found himself extracting a cruel measure of amusement from the irony.

He wasn’t just a conqueror; he was an artist finishing a masterpiece by tearing the canvas apart.

Behind him, the atmosphere was not one of awe but of absolute, soul-crushing despair.

The remaining Aethelgard soldiers stood frozen, their weapons lowered, their spirits shattered. They watched their last symbol of hope, the man who had stood against gods, the hero who had promised them salvation, lying broken and bleeding synthetic fluid in the dirt.

They had seen Apollo fall.

They had watched Elliot be broken.

They had seen Evelyn’s light extinguished.

And now, Rex Rexilion was nothing more than scrap metal beneath the boot of a monster. The last embers of hope in their eyes didn’t just fade; they died, leaving behind only the hollow, glassy stare of the condemned.

"It’s over," one soldier whispered, a broken sound that carried further than any scream. "God help us... it’s truly over."

Xerollion’s fingers flexed, the energy sphere expanding, preparing to discharge. The air grew hot, ionized by the sheer magical pressure.

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII...!

"STOP!"

The scream tore through the silence like a blade.

SHRAAAAAKKK!

Xerollion froze. The violet energy stuttered in his grip, the deadly hum dropping an octave as his attention snapped toward the source of the interruption.

Valentina stumbled into the light of the magical discharge. Her hair was matted with sweat and grime, her throat still bearing the angry, red welts where the necromantic threads had nearly claimed her life moments before.

Her legs shook so violently she could barely stand, each step a battle against gravity and exhaustion.

STUMBLE. GASP. STUMBLE.

But her eyes weren’t glassy like the soldiers. They were blazing with a raw, terrified, human desperation that cut through Xerollion’s detached arrogance.

"Please!" she cried out again, her voice cracking, raw from screaming, yet carrying a desperate authority that echoed off the crumbling walls. "Please, stop!"

"Don’t do this!"

Xerollion slowly turned his head, his violet eyes narrowing as he looked down at her. The energy at his fingertips still writhed, hungry and impatient, waiting for the command to annihilate.

The tension in the corridor became a physical thing, a cord stretched so tight it threatened to snap and sever everyone present in two.