Chapter 52: vs. Demon King Gorgon

Chapter 52: vs. Demon King Gorgon My name is Isabelle Vhagar. For three days, we have been a nightmare haunting the edges of Gorgon’s shopping mall domain. But today, the nightmare is ours. We are trapped on the second floor of the mall, in a vast, open space that was once a department store. And the Ogres just... keep... coming. "They’re endless!" Reina shouted, her voice tight with strain. She sidestepped a wild swing from an Ogre, its massive club smashing a row of mannequins into plastic dust. BOOM! She countered with a punch to the creature’s knee. The impact was a sharp, cracking sound, a miniature explosion of force. A visible shockwave, a white ripple in the air, blew outwards, and the Ogre howled as its leg buckled. But before she could finish it, two more took its place, their crude iron clubs held high. Fenris, my loyal Werewolf, was a whirlwind of black fur and fury, his claws tearing through thick Ogre hide. Lillith’s illusions were causing chaos, making some Ogres stumble into clothing racks or attack their own reflections in shattered mirrors. But it wasn’t enough. For every one we killed, it felt like three more stomped into the room from a wide service entrance at the far end. "Commander, we cannot sustain this!" Fenris growled, shaking blood from his claws. "Our stamina is not infinite. Theirs appears to be." He was right. We were fighting a tide. A big, ugly, stupid tide that smelled faintly of old socks and rage. Ragnar Vhagar, Demon King and chief spectator of this brutalist ballet, leaned forward on his throne, his knuckles white. He was watching the live feed on his phone, the little health bars of his Bloodkin dipping into the yellow. "This isn’t right," he muttered to the empty Throne Room. Pixia, zipped over to his shoulder. "What is it, my Lord?" she squeaked. "The numbers," Ragnar said, tapping the screen. "Gorgon’s a Creation-build, but even he can’t just spawn this many high-cost Ogres instantly. There’s no cooldown. It’s like he found an infinite money glitch, but for big, angry morons." He zoomed in on the feed, watching the service entrance where the reinforcements were pouring out. They weren’t appearing in a flash of chaotic energy, the way his own creations did. They were just... walking in. "They’re not spawning in the room," he realized aloud. "They’re coming from somewhere else. They’re being moved here." Pixia’s eyes widened behind her comically large spectacles. "A Transfer Array! My Lord, of course! Gorgon must have a hidden network. He’s not fighting a battle on one floor: he’s funneling his entire domain’s population into this single meat grinder!" The plan, in its stupid simplicity, was almost brilliant. Gorgon was using his own home-field advantage to its fullest, turning a single room into an endless killing field designed to wear down any invading force. "A clever strategy for a brainless brute," Ragnar conceded. "But a system that can be used can also be hijacked." He looked at the map of the city, at the separate icon representing his second domain, the old library. He had another team. A secret team. The plan snapped into place, beautiful in its devious cruelty. "Pixia, get me Chloe," he commanded. A moment later, the graceful Dark High Elf appeared from the shadows. She had been overseeing the training of his lesser minions, a task she performed with silent, lethal efficiency. "My Lord?" "Your expedition team is getting a new mission," Ragnar said, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. "You, Grunt, and your new Goblin Snipers. You are now the ’Shadow Strikers.’ Your target is the mall, but you are not to engage in the main battle. I need you to be ghosts." He explained the situation. The Transfer Array. The endless reinforcements. "Isabelle’s team will become the anvil," he said, his voice low and cold. "They will hold the line. They will take the brunt of the assault, keep Gorgon’s attention fixed on that single room. They will make him think his plan is working." He then looked at Chloe, his red eyes burning with a dark, strategic fire. "You, Chloe, will be the hammer. You will use your scouting skills to find an unguarded entrance. A service tunnel, a rooftop access, I don’t care. Get inside his domain, find that Transfer Array, and seize it. I want you to cut off his reinforcements. And once you have control..." He paused, letting the delicious wickedness of the idea sink in. "You will use his own highway to deliver my regards directly to his back door." Chloe’s lips curved into a sharp, approving smile. It was a vicious, two-front war, built on deception and a perfectly timed betrayal. It was her master’s style, and it was perfect. "It will be done, my Lord," she said, and melted back into the shadows. Ragnar turned his attention back to his phone. On the screen, Isabelle and her team were being pushed back, their faces grim with exhaustion. "Hold on, Commander," he whispered to the screen. "Help is coming. You just have to bleed for a little while longer." ------ The air in the sub-basement of the mall was thick with the smell of mildew and forgotten things. Water dripped from rusty pipes, echoing in the oppressive silence. This was the underbelly of Gorgon’s domain, a place of storage and maintenance, far from the brutal, endless battle raging two floors above. It was also the perfect place for a secret entrance. Chloe, the commander of the newly-christened Shadow Strikers, moved like a whisper. Her Dark High Elf senses picked out every detail in the near-total darkness. Behind her, Grunt, the massive Kobold Warlord, moved with a surprising stealth for a creature his size, his iron-shod maul held at the ready. Perched on pipes and rafters above, the three Goblin Snipers were nearly invisible, their dark-wood bows like twisted branches in the gloom. They had found their way in through an old, collapsed subway tunnel, just as Lord Ragnar had predicted. Now, they hunted.