Episode-234

Words : 1540 Updated : Oct 1st, 2025

Chapter : 467 The small, squalid office had become an antechamber to hell. The ritual Jacob Croft had initiated was not a simple summoning; it was a violation, a tearing of the thin veil that separated the mundane world from the darker, more predatory dimensions that lay beyond. The obsidian shard in his hand pulsed like a black, dying heart, drinking in his blood, his life force, his desperate, terrified plea, and offering it up as a sacrifice to a dark, forgotten god. The swirling vortex of shadow that had coalesced around him was not just an absence of light; it was a physical presence, a semi-corporeal mass of writhing, living darkness that seemed to suck the very warmth from the room. The temperature plummeted, and Lloyd could see his own breath misting in the air, a stark white plume against the encroaching gloom. The flickering, blue-white light from Fang Fairy’s aura seemed to struggle against the oppressive darkness, its brilliant glow seeming to bend and warp at the edges of the vortex. A low, guttural, and deeply unsettling sound emanated from the heart of the shadow—not a single growl, but a chorus of them, a layered, dissonant symphony of bestial rage. It was the sound of a lion’s roar, a goat’s bleat, and a serpent’s hiss, all woven together into a single, sanity-scraping chord. Then, the creature began to emerge, pulling itself from the shadow-stuff with a wet, tearing sound, like flesh being ripped from bone. It was a chimera. A true, mythological chimera, but one that had been born in a nightmare and nursed on pure, distilled corruption. It was a walking, breathing embodiment of wrongness. Its main body was that of a massive lion, but its fur was not the healthy gold of a savannah predator. It was a matted, oily black, seeming to drip and flow like semi-solid tar, constantly shifting, never quite settling into a solid form. Its head was a lion’s, yes, but its jaw was too wide, its teeth too long, too sharp, like shards of obsidian. And as it opened its maw to let out another of those terrible, multi-toned roars, a cloud of foul, soul-chilling vapor, smelling of the grave, billowed forth. Sprouting from its back, where the wings of a nobler creature might be, were the twisted, gnarled torsos and heads of a goat and a ram, their eyes burning with a malevolent, red-hot intelligence. Their horns were not keratin, but jagged, black, crystalline structures that seemed to absorb the light, and from their mouths dripped a thick, viscous, black ichor that sizzled and smoked where it hit the stone floor, eating away at the rock with a soft, hissing sound. And its tail... its tail was not a tail at all, but a long, thick, coiling serpent, its head a flat, triangular viper’s head, its forked tongue flicking in and out, tasting the corrupted air, its eyes tiny, glittering points of pure, venomous hatred. This was Jacob Croft’s Black Spirit. A creature of amalgamated horrors, a walking, breathing blasphemy against nature. It radiated an aura of such profound, corrupting malice that Lloyd felt a wave of nausea wash over him, a physical rejection of its very presence. Master, Fang Fairy’s voice was a low, urgent hum in his mind, the usual melodic calm of her tone replaced by a sharp, predatory warning. This is not a natural spirit. Its energy is... twisted. Corrupted. It feeds on fear. On decay. It is a thing of the abyss. I see that, Fang Fairy, Lloyd sent back, his own mind racing, the cold focus of the Major General asserting itself over the initial, visceral revulsion. He analyzed the threat, his eyes, hidden behind the blank white mask, taking in every detail. It was a mess of different parts, different attack vectors. The lion’s claws and maw for close-quarters brutality. The goat and ram heads for ranged, corrosive attacks with their ichor. The serpent tail for swift, constricting, or venomous strikes. It was a chaotic, unpredictable, and terrifyingly versatile opponent. And its power... the sheer density of its dark, corrupted spiritual pressure was immense, far exceeding any Manifestation-level spirit he had ever encountered. This was an Ascended-level threat. A powerful one. Jacob Croft, his face a mask of triumphant, unhinged madness, cackled from behind his monstrous creation. “You see?!” he shrieked, his voice thin and reedy. “You see what true power looks like, you masked freak?! This is my servant! My strength! My Chimera, Azgoth! He will tear you apart! He will devour your soul!” Chapter : 468 The chimera, Azgoth, seemed to respond to its master’s manic glee. It let out another of its terrible, layered roars, a sound that seemed to make the very stones of the cellar vibrate. The serpent tail whipped through the air with a sound like a cracking bullwhip, smashing against a stack of empty barrels, reducing them to splinters. The ram’s head spat a glob of the black, corrosive ichor, which splattered against the far wall, the stone sizzling and smoking as if touched by a powerful acid. This wasn't a fight he could win with simple tricks. The subtle tripwires, the binding chains—they would be useless against a creature of this size, this power, this sheer chaotic malevolence. The corrosive ichor would likely dissolve his steel wires on contact. Its brute strength would shatter any attempt to bind it. This required a different strategy. This required a direct confrontation of power against power. “Fang Fairy,” Lloyd’s command was a low, urgent whisper in their shared mental space. Engage. Thousand Chirp Strike. Target the serpent’s head. It’s the fastest, most immediate threat. I’ll provide battlefield control and suppress the others. A silent acknowledgment flowed back. Fang Fairy moved, a blur of twilight-storm energy and crackling azure light. She did not charge head-on. She flowed, a ghost, weaving around the scattered debris of the office, her movements a symphony of predatory grace, closing the distance with a speed that was almost faster than thought. The air around her right foreleg erupted in the familiar, brilliant nimbus of the Thousand Chirp Strike, the high-pitched, ear-splitting shriek of a thousand birds tearing through the cellar’s foul, heavy atmosphere. Her target was the lashing serpent tail, its viperous head darting towards them, preparing to strike. Azgoth, the chimera, reacted with a surprising, almost unnatural, speed. The lion’s head roared, and the entire creature spun, its massive, shadow-clawed forepaws swiping at the approaching streak of azure lightning. Simultaneously, the goat’s head on its back let out a guttural, bleating cry and spat another glob of the sizzling, black ichor, not at Fang Fairy, but at the spot where she was going to be, a calculated, predictive attack. It was a brilliant, coordinated, multi-pronged defense from a single, monstrous entity. Fang Fairy, her senses screaming with the input from their shared bond with Lloyd, reacted with a speed that defied physics. She aborted her strike mid-lunge, twisting in the air, the glob of corrosive ichor sizzling past her, inches from her silver-grey fur. She landed lightly, her Thousand Chirp Strike dissipating, the piercing sound fading, her golden eyes narrowed, blazing with a new, wary respect. This creature was not just powerful; it was cunning. It could think, it could react, it could coordinate its multiple, monstrous parts into a cohesive, deadly whole. The first exchange was over. And they had not landed a single blow. The chimera stood its ground, its three heads turning to track them, the serpent tail coiling, ready to strike again. A low, mocking rumble, a sound that was half-purr, half-hiss, emanated from its multiple throats. It was toying with them. It was enjoying this. Jacob Croft’s insane, triumphant laughter echoed off the damp cellar walls. “Yes! Yes! See? You are nothing! Nothing before the power of Lord Malephar! You are already dead!” The battle had just begun. And the odds, Lloyd knew with a cold, sinking certainty, had just shifted dramatically, terrifyingly, against them. — The subterranean factory had become a death-trap arena. The air was a choking, chaotic soup of ozone, corrosive fumes, and the cloying, psychic stench of the Black Spirit’s malevolence. The chimera, Azgoth, was a hulking nightmare of shifting shadow and predatory intent, its three heads and serpent tail moving with a horrifying, independent yet coordinated, grace. The initial, lightning-fast exchange had been a stark, brutal lesson: this was not a beast to be overwhelmed by a single, decisive strike. This was a battle of tactics, of attrition, of finding a weakness in a creature that seemed to be composed entirely of deadly, offensive strengths. Lloyd, his mind a whirlwind of cold, hard calculation, instantly adapted. The Major General took over, his focus absolute, the sounds of Jacob Croft’s manic, triumphant laughter fading into irrelevant background noise. He saw the battlefield not as a grimy cellar, but as a three-dimensional grid of threats and opportunities. Analysis, his internal voice was sharp, clinical. Target is a multi-vector, high-power, Ascended-level Black Spirit. Conventional single-target attacks are ineffective due to coordinated defensive capabilities. Brute force is a losing strategy. Conclusion: We must disrupt its coordination. Isolate its components. Create an opening.

Episode-234

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