Chapter 47: vs. Demon King Gorgon

Chapter 47: vs. Demon King Gorgon Ragnar Vhagar, Demon King and newly minted war-profiteer, watched the live feed on his phone like a day trader staring at a stock market crash. His entire net worth, represented by a bizarre team of monsters and a former hero, had just walked into a rival’s territory. The "Wrecking Crew," as he’d started calling them in his head, was on the clock. Their target is a Demon King known as Gorgon the Tyrant, whose domain was a gaudy, multi-level shopping mall. "So far, so good," Ragnar muttered to the empty Throne Room. Pixia was tucked safely away in her new house, monitoring the team’s vital signs remotely. On the screen, Isabelle’s team moved with brutal efficiency. The first floor of the mall was a huge, brightly lit food court filled with hundreds of skinny goblins. They were waving around plastic food trays and broken mop sticks like weapons. It looked completely ridiculous. "Engage," Isabelle’s voice commanded, cool and flat through the phone’s speaker. What followed was less a battle and more a symphony of violent redecorating. BOOM! Fenris, his new Werewolf Bloodkin, was a blur of midnight fur and fury. The ground cracked and exploded under his powerful legs as he charged. He tore a bloody path through the goblin horde, sending bodies flying like fleshy bowling pins. Reina, the Dhampir, was a more precise instrument of destruction. She vanished from her spot and reappeared in the center of the largest goblin mob. BOOM! Her fist struck the ground, not a single enemy. The impact was an absolute detonation. A massive shockwave of white force erupted from the tiled floor, blasting dozens of goblins into the air in a shower of broken plastic and surprised shrieks. Lillith, the Lilim, simply giggled, a sound like poisoned honey. She waved a hand, and a wave of shimmering pink smoke washed over a flank of the goblins. They immediately stopped, dropped their makeshift weapons, and began arguing with each other over who had the shiniest piece of trash. That’s was mind-blowing!! Stoney, the Living Mail, was a walking wall of black iron, advancing with steady, grinding steps. Goblins broke against his shield like waves against a cliff. And Clobber the Ogre... well, Clobber just swung his enormous club. BOOM! CRACK! BOOM! Every swing was a miniature earthquake. Sonic booms ripped through the food court, shattering the glass storefronts of long-abandoned fast-food joints. The goblins were annihilated in minutes, their pathetic charge turning into a rout, and then into a red paste on the floor. "Floor one clear," Isabelle reported, her voice as calm as if she’d just finished grocery shopping. "Proceeding to the second level." They found the stairs and descended into what was once a high-end electronics store. Wires hung from the ceiling like dead vines. And in the center of the room, standing beside a throne made from stacked, melted televisions, was the Demon King himself. Gorgon was a monster. He was a ten-foot-tall Orc with skin the color of a nasty bruise, a single, broken tusk jutting from his lower jaw, and muscles that had muscles. In his hands, he held a warhammer made from a concrete parking barrier with a rebar handle. He was flanked by a dozen massive, heavily-armed ogres. The moment he saw them, he roared. It was a sound of pure, stupid rage. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The ground itself trembled as he and his ogre guards charged. The air shrieked and split apart around them, a pressure wave of displaced air blasting ahead of them. Isabelle’s eyes widened. "Defensive formation! Stoney, front!" The Living Mail planted its feet, raising its shield just as Gorgon’s warhammer came down. CRACK! The sound was apocalyptic. The impact of the concrete hammer on the iron shield was an absolute detonation of force. The air in the room exploded. A huge white shockwave burst out from the spot where he hit, breaking all the leftover TV screens and blowing dust and broken pieces everywhere like a storm. Stoney, the unbreakable wall, was launched backwards. He flew through the air like a discarded toy, crashing through a plaster wall and landing in a twisted heap of inert metal. His connection to Ragnar’s mind winked out. He was gone. Destroyed in a single blow. "My Lord," Isabelle’s voice was tight with alarm. "The target is stronger than anticipated. His personal combat ability is at least A-Rank." Ragnar, watching from his throne, felt his cold heart clench. He’d just lost a 25 CP subordinate. That stung. "Abort the mission, Isabelle! Get out of there now! That’s an order!" He wasn’t winning this fight. Not today. He had bet his team on a quick victory, and he had miscalculated badly. "Fenris, Reina, Clobber! Cover our retreat!" Isabelle commanded. The three of them threw themselves at the charging ogres, a desperate, chaotic holding action. BOOM! CRACK! BOOM! Reina’s fists were explosions of force. Fenris was a whirlwind of claws. Clobber’s club was a wrecking ball. They bought Isabelle and Lillith precious seconds to fall back to the stairs. "We need another sacrifice!" Isabelle yelled as Gorgon closed in on them, his hammer raised for another devastating strike. "I got this, Commander!" Clobber the Ogre yelled, a surprising amount of tactical sense appearing in his tiny brain for the first time. He turned and faced Gorgon, planting his feet and letting out a roar of his own. "CLOBBER IS STRONGEST THERE IS!" He met Gorgon’s charge. The resulting collision of two ten-foot-tall behemoths shook the entire shopping mall. Clobber was brave. Clobber was strong. Clobber was also completely outmatched. Gorgon’s hammer came down, and Clobber’s brief but heroic stand came to a very messy end. But it was enough. Isabelle, Lillith, Reina, and Fenris scrambled out of the dungeon, emerging back into the gray, polluted air of the outside world. They were battered, shaken, and now two members short. The ogres, led by a roaring Gorgon, pursued them out of the entrance. "They’re overconfident," Ragnar whispered, his eyes narrowing. He watched as the dozen ogres poured out into the open street, leaving the safety of their Domain. "They think we’re beaten. Isabelle. Now." Isabelle spun around, her face a mask of cold fury. "Wrecking Crew," she commanded, her voice like ice. "Avenge our fallen." The ogres, caught in the open, suddenly faced a coordinated counter-attack. Reina and Fenris flanked them, moving with blinding speed. Lillith cast a mass confusion spell, and the ogres began stumbling into each other, swinging their clubs wildly. And at the center of it all was Isabelle, her dark sword, Dáinsleif, a blur of silent, lethal strikes. The fight was over in a minute. The pursuing ogres lay dead in the street. Gorgon, seeing his elite guard wiped out, let out a final, frustrated roar before retreating back into the safety of his mall. Ragnar leaned back in his throne, his mind racing. He had lost two Bloodkin. It was a costly failure. But it was also a priceless lesson. Facing another Demon King in their own throne room was suicide. Retreat was not cowardice, it was strategy. And now, he knew his enemy’s weakness. Gorgon was strong, but he was also stupid and reckless. He was a hammer, and hammers were made to be broken.