Chapter 51: Brute

Chapter 51: Brute For three days, Ragnar had watched Isabelle’s "Wrecking Crew" on his phone, their lightning raids chipping away at the mall’s defenses. They’d hit guard posts, supply convoys, and ventilation systems. They were a constant, infuriating nuisance, but the mall was a fortress, and Gorgon’s numbers were immense. "This is taking too long," Ragnar grumbled, slumping on his throne, which seemed to have developed a new, particularly sharp point that was digging into his lower back. "We’re bleeding him, but it’s a death by a thousand paper cuts. I’m getting bored. And when I get bored, I start thinking about using the gacha again, and nobody wants that." Pixia zipped over to his shoulder. "My Lord, the data suggests a war of attrition is the most statistically sound approach to minimize our own casualties." "The data is boring," Ragnar retorted. "I need a game-changer. I need a new variable." As if summoned by his words, the air at the entrance to the Throne Room began to shimmer. A swirling vortex of black and purple energy, the signature of a long-range Transfer Array, crackled into existence. From it, four figures stepped forth, their forms radiating a power that was orders of magnitude greater than when they had left. It was Chloe and her expeditionary force. Ragnar sat up straight, his boredom vanishing in a flash of awe. Chloe was still the picture of deadly grace, but her simple leather armor was now intertwined with shimmering, ethereal shadows. The air around her felt colder, sharper. She was no longer just a Dark Elf, she was a Dark High Elf, a creature of legend, and her presence was so commanding that even Smashy the Orc, standing guard in a corner, instinctively took a half-step back. Behind her, the three Goblin Archers he had sent with her stood taller, their postures lean and predatory. Their crude shortbows were gone, replaced with long, wicked-looking bows carved from a dark, gnarled wood that seemed to drink the light. Their beady eyes, once chaotic, now held the cold, unwavering focus of seasoned killers. They were Goblin Snipers now. And then there was Grunt. The kobold captain was a monster transformed. He was a full head taller, his mangy fur replaced by a thick, bristle-like coat. Scars crisscrossed his snout, and his eyes, which once held a dumb loyalty, now burned with a sharp, cunning intelligence. He no longer carried a simple club, in his hand, he hefted a massive, iron-shod maul. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and as he stepped forward, the very stone of the floor seemed to give a faint, a tremble. He was a Kobold Warlord. "Report," Ragnar said, his voice calm. This was the game-changer he’d been waiting for. Chloe stepped forward and knelt, her movements as fluid as smoke. "My Lord, the expedition was a success. We have mapped the territories of the fifty-five known Demon Kings in the Aethelburg region. We have confirmed their primary race types and estimated their operational strength." She placed a heavy, rolled-up leather map on the floor. "We also engaged in... light skirmishes. My unit has evolved." "’Light skirmishes’," Ragnar repeated, a wide, fanged grin spreading across his face. "Chloe, you are a master of the understatement. "He unrolled the map on the stone table, his mind already racing, connecting the dots. Pixia zipped over, her eyes glowing with a faint green light as she processed the data. "My Lord, this is invaluable intelligence! We can now categorize the local Demon Kings into archetypes: the ’Brutes’ who rely on overwhelming force, the ’Warlocks’ who use magic, and the rare ’Crafters’ who build golems." Ragnar’s eyes scanned the map, but his mind was on the immediate problem. Gorgon. The ultimate Brute. He had been fighting a one-front war. Now, he had a second army. A secret army. "Pixia is right. The intelligence is a long-term asset," he said, his voice low and cold. "But in the short term, this newly evolved unit is a weapon. A weapon Gorgon has no idea I possess." He looked from Isabelle’s team fighting on his phone screen to Chloe’s formidable new forms standing before him. The plan snapped into place, beautiful in its cruel simplicity. "Isabelle’s team will continue their harassment," he declared. "They are the noisy distraction. The bait. They will keep Gorgon’s attention fixed on his front door." He then turned to Chloe, his red eyes burning with a new, dark fire. "Your team gets a new name. You are the ’Shadow Strikers’. Your mission is to use your scouting knowledge to find an alternate, unguarded entrance to the mall. A service tunnel, a rooftop access, I don’t care. Get inside. I want you to create a second front. I want you to hit his logistics, his barracks, his... food court. Sow chaos. Make him bleed from the inside while Isabelle’s team pounds on his walls from the outside." Chloe’s lips curved into a sharp, approving smile. "It will be done, my Lord. We will be ghosts in his fortress." Within the hour, the Shadow Strikers had departed. Using the detailed maps they had created, they found a weak point: an abandoned subway tunnel that connected to the mall’s sub-basement. They slipped inside, undetected. Their first target was a massive storage area, guarded by a handful of sleepy-looking Orcs. BOOM! The ground cracked as Grunt the Warlord launched himself from the shadows. The wind shrieked as he swung his new, massive maul. CRACK! The maul connected with the first Orc’s head. The impact was an apocalyptic detonation of force. A huge, white shockwave blasted outwards, shattering nearby crates and sending a tremor up the concrete pillars. The Orc’s head simply ceased to exist, its body crumpling like a dropped puppet. The Goblin Snipers loosed a single, synchronized volley. Their arrows moved like lightning, each one finding an eye or a throat. The remaining Orc guards fell before they could even raise their weapons. From a hidden control room deep within the mall’s infrastructure, Chloe’s team usurped control of the sector’s True Core. Back in his Throne Room, Ragnar watched a new notification flash on his screen. [Sector 4 of ’Tyrant’s Mall’ has been successfully usurped!] A slow, predatory satisfaction settled over him. Gorgon was fighting a battle on his doorstep, completely unaware that the enemy was already inside his house, dismantling it one piece at a time. The game had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.