The Damned Demon - Chapter 177: We Are Being Tested

Under the blood moon’s malevolent glow, Thorin Thorne stood with an icy determination, his wife, Esther, standing at his side with an ice-cold resolve.

Sabina smirked in anticipation of the bloodshed to come. The chilling wind swept through the silent ranks of their 20,000-strong Death Wardens, the elite vampires adept in death magic and other blood arts.

The Death Wardens were House Thorne’s strongest troops, and every soul in the kingdom knew how terrifying they were. Each of them was at least at the Soul Reaper rank, and just their collective aura would send shivers down anyone’s spine.

Even if they were only 20,000, it was said that their strength was comparable to the Crimson Army of House Drake.

Beside them were thousands of other soldiers, each from House Thorne’s vassals.

Thorin’s voice was emotionless as he said to Esther, “Going to war with a dead race and the Kraken running amok…We are being tested. The outcome of this war will decide our fate.”

Esther subtly nodded, her voice equally detached, though her eyes were grim, “Our ancestors had prepared us for the worst. No matter the cost, we won’t go down today.”

Sabina’s eyes gleamed with excitement, her lips curling into a cruel smile, “That is how it should be, mother. Oh, the glorious chaos that awaits. I can hardly wait to make them suffer for putting us all through this.”

*Rumble!*

Suddenly, earth beneath their feet tremored, and the seas roared with an almost sentient fury, the armies of House Thorne braced themselves for the impending cataclysm. The soldiers tensed, gripping their weapons tightly as the crashing waves heralded the arrival of their adversaries.

All of a sudden, the sea erupted in a cacophony of water and power, as the dark silhouettes of the Umbralfiend army emerged from the depths, casting ominous shadows onto the land. The initial wave of shock and fear rippled through the ranks of House Thorne and their allies as they faced the overwhelming sight of more than 40,000 Umbralfiends before them.

Even if it was only 40,000, they knew it was more than enough, especially since they were strongest in the presence of these seas and with the Kraken supporting them.

Even if nobody knew that, the collective aura of the army of Umbralfiends easily surpassed that of House Thorne and its vassals!

“So many? I thought the banishment was supposed to make them wither away and not let them breed like worms,” Sabina mumbled with blinking eyes, though taking a look at this not-so-dead race, she knew their power shouldn’t be underestimated.

Esther shot a glance at her daughter as she said with furrowed brows, “The reason behind that could very well be why they lasted so long.”

Gradually, two monstrous forms materialized among their legions, their imposing presence adding to the overwhelming dread emanating from the Umbralfiends.

Who could it be other than their King Moraxor and Queen Narissara.

In King Moraxor’s hand was a regal scepter encrusted with an ever-shifting blue gemstone that seemed to represent the fury of the seas.

And in Queen Narissara’s hand was a gracefully crafted bow carved from a mysterious black wood that seemed to have an ominous glow.

The eyes of those on the land were drawn to the imposing figures of their foes, feeling the enormity of the threat that loomed over them.

The odds were looking too bad since their army was stronger, and reinforcements from the queen might get delayed based on which all other places the Umbralfiends were attacking.

They literally felt as if they were standing on a floating stone above an abyss that could crumble at any time.

Thorin, despite his internal unease, maintained his icy expression, “Steady,” he ordered his forces, his voice chilling, “Let them come. We shall show them our true might and let their corpses drown to the depths of our seas.”

As the vast army of Umbralfiends emerged from the depths of the sea, they were greeted by the unfamiliar sensation of air enveloping their forms.

The once all-encompassing embrace of water had been replaced with the lightness of the open sky, and for a moment, it seemed as if the entire host of demonic warriors hesitated, taking in the new sensation.

Intrigued and captivated by the novelty of this experience, the Umbralfiends reveled in the sensation of the cool breeze brushing against their scales, the wind whispering secrets that had long been drowned out by the rhythmic pulse of the ocean.

They spread their webbed limbs wide, attempting to embrace the vastness that now surrounded them, even as their cold gazes remained locked on the enemy before them.

A lot of them even had their eyes tear up as they realized that this was the air from their ancestral lands that had been taken from them. Never in their dreams did they think they would get to return after thousands of years. They hoped their ancestors were watching them right now.

Queen Narissara’s heart swelled with a mixture of pride and sorrow as she observed her people’s reactions. The sight of even the most hardened Umbralfiend warriors tearing up at the sensation of their ancestral air was a potent reminder of the heavy burden she bore as their queen.

Though her expression remained stoic and composed, she could not help but feel the sting of emotion in her chest, a deep yearning to reclaim their homeland for her people.

Narissara’s eyes flicked to her husband, Moraxor whose hardened gaze softened as he shared her sentiments at this moment.

He never expected he would be feeling this moved once he smelled the air for the first time in his life. All he knew about the surface was from the tales and stories of his ancestors.

However, he blinked his eyes when his wife suddenly stepped forward.

Her face twisted into a mixture of contempt and resentment as she stepped forward and addressed Thorin in a voice dripping with spite, “Some things never change,” she sneered, “Your ancestors once stood upon these lands with the same arrogance, driving our people into the abyss. But this time, you usurpers shall drown in those very depths.”

Moraxor cleared his throat, stepped forward, and plunged the sharp end of his scepter into the ground, causing cracks to spread over the ground.

His voice boomed like a clap of thunder, echoing across the battlefield, “As much as I long to see your blood seep into the sea, I will offer you all one final chance to surrender, for your pitiful armies are no match for ours.”

Narissara’s eyes widened in disbelief as she turned to her husband, “Why would you say such a thing?” she questioned.

Moraxor’s expression remained serious as he responded, “The lives of our people are more precious than anything else. If there is even a slight chance that we can crush these usurpers without shedding a single drop of our blood, would that not be preferable?”

Her gaze softened, but she remained unconvinced, “There will be no end to this war without bloodshed, and we are owed our fair share,” she insisted.

Thorin’s cold eyes met those of the Umbralfiend monarchs as he delivered his terse reply, “Only the dead can surrender among us.”

That single sentence, laden with grim finality, signaled the beginning of an inevitable war. There could be no turning back.

Moraxor scoffed at his words and let out a derisive laugh. With a commanding shout, he ordered his troops, “Charge and annihilate the usurpers!”

Thorin responded with a silent hand gesture, directing his own forces to engage in the bloody battle that lay before them.

As the armies surged forward, the air boomed with the cries of the armies on both sides, and the ground shook with the weight of their determination.

The armies of House Thorne and their vassals were divided into three formidable factions, with each of the Thorne leaders at the helm. The Umbralfiends responded in kind, splitting their forces into three divisions to confront their enemies head-on.

Thorin strode forward with deliberate, unhurried steps, his ghostly red eyes locking onto a throng of Umbralfiends, each at least at the Soul Reaper rank, charging towards him, their battle cries echoing through the night.

Unperturbed, Thorin raised his hands, a dark blue orb of energy crackling to life between his palms.

As the ravenous umbralfiends drew near, he clapped his hands together, unleashing a devastating shockwave that obliterated them and reduced them to piles of lifeless bones.

Despite their Soul Reaper rank, they had fallen before they could even strike. This display of Thorin’s raw power sent a surge of confidence and admiration through his troops, who now viewed their lord as an unstoppable force of nature. Surely, his power as a Soul Devourer wasn’t to be taken lightly at all.

This was their first time seeing him engage in a war, and they were truly left with their jaws agape upon seeing his prowess. They had already heard rumors of how their lord gets stronger with each kill, and now they felt the rumor might very well be true!

On another battlefield, the enigmatic Esther stood in the center of her own formation, a terrifying specter looming just behind her.

Cloaked in ragged, bloodstained dark blue robes, the gaunt figure of the Death Knight was a harbinger of despair, its skeletal visage locked in a grimace of pain and malice.

No one dared approach the ghastly entity, well aware of its reputation as the infamous harbinger of death, an undead S Rank Hunter brought low by Esther’s own hand decades prior.

The whispers and rumors spoke of her mastery of death arts, allowing her to raise and enhance this monstrosity to be even more fearsome than in its previous life.

And yet, the men knew the bond between the Death Knight and Esther held unseen risks, the possibility of dire consequences should the creature be vanquished in battle. Still, they felt the chances of that happening were low enough to not consider it a possibility.

As dozens of Umbralfiends rushed toward her position, Esther remained composed and collected, her icy gaze never wavering.

Turning her attention to the Death Knight, she gave a subtle nod, prompting the monster to release a bone-chilling growl as it stepped past her, grasping its sinister longsword in a skeletal grip.

The Death Knight stood its ground, an imposing and sinister figure amidst the battlefield, as the Umbralfiends bore down on it with ravenous fury.

The horrifying creature remained eerily still, like the calm at the heart of a storm, as the nightmarish assailants closed the distance, their blades and fangs glinting in the moonlight.

And then, in a blur of motion almost too swift for the eye to follow, the Death Knight sprang into action.

With a flick of its skeletal wrist, the dark long sword carved through the air, singing a haunting dirge as it sliced through the nearest Umbralfiend, cleaving it in twain.

The Umbralfiend’s eyes widened with terror and disbelief as its body slumped to the ground, lifeless and limp.

But the Death Knight was far from finished. It spun around with a dancer’s grace, its ghastly robes billowing around it like the wings of a vengeful specter.

The monstrous undead brought its sword down in a vicious arc, severing the limbs of several Umbralfiends in one fell swoop, their agonized cries swallowed by the cacophony of battle.

As the Death Knight continued its grim dance of death, the once fearsome pack of Umbralfiends found themselves cut down in mere moments, their lifeblood staining the cold, hard earth.

The undead warrior’s soulless dark blue eyes held no remorse or hesitation, only an unending thirst for destruction, and with each swing of its sword, it further solidified its place as a nightmarish legend of the battlefield.

The remaining Umbralfiends, once so full of bloodlust and rage, now felt the icy grip of terror clutching at their hearts.

One by one, they stumbled back, eyes wide with horror as they beheld the relentless carnage wrought by the terrifying creature that was the Death Knight.

Some of them had managed to land their attacks on this monster, but it remained undaunted!

The very sight of the grotesque, skeletal figure looming over their fallen brethren was enough to fill them with a dread so primal, so deep-rooted, that it threatened to shatter their minds.

Meanwhile, in the 3rd group, Sabina stood poised and serene behind her troops, her eyes closed in deep concentration, as if she were lost in the throes of a divine trance.

The Umbralfiends threw themselves at her soldiers with desperate abandon, yet she remained unfazed, her focus unbroken.

A sinister, dark blue light began to radiate from her body, slowly but surely enveloping the battlefield in its ghastly embrace.

As seconds passed, this light only began to grow in size as it projected from her body in every direction.

Within just a few moments, this dark light had covered hundreds of meters.

The Umbralfiends who were attacking her group were confused by this creepy light that was shrouding them.

However, they ignored it and continued fighting.

But their eyes widened when they suddenly felt their vitality getting sapped and their strength weakening, making them vulnerable to attacks and unable to recover from injuries.

However, Sabina’s army wasn’t surprised since they all knew this was one of the most deadly spell she knew, infamously known as Death’s Grasp.

A spell notorious for its power to drain the life from those ensnared within its aura, had lived up to its fearsome reputation.

The Umbralfiend’s strength ebbed with each passing moment, their once fearsome might reduced to a pale shadow of its former self. Wounds that would once have closed quickly now gaped open and unhealing, leaving the attackers weakened and vulnerable.

Sabina’s face remained tranquil, even as a sadistic smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Her eyes fluttered open, and she reveled in the sight of the despairing Umbralfiends as they struggled to fight on in the face of their imminent demise.

Amidst the chaos of battle, Sabina’s soldiers felt their morale swell as they witnessed the decimation of their once formidable adversaries.

They fought on with renewed vigor, bolstered by the knowledge that, under the protection of Lady Sabina and her deadly magic, they can make it through.

Queen Narissara’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed the battlefield, watching the seemingly unstoppable powerhouses of House Thorne and the soldiers near them having their morale increased.

Their growing confidence, however, only served to stoke the fires of her wrath, “Fools,” she muttered with a scornful curl of her lips, “They celebrate far too soon.”

With a decisive gesture, she produced a large conch from the depths of her flowing robes and placed it against her lips.

As she blew, a haunting, low note echoed across the battlefield, barely audible above the din of battle. To most of those locked in combat, the sound was easily dismissed, barely even noticeable in the heat of the fray.

*RHUMMMM!*

But then, the earth itself trembled violently beneath their feet, causing even the most stalwart warriors to falter, some toppling to the ground, unable to maintain their balance.

Panic surged through the ranks of House Thorne’s soldiers as their eyes were drawn to the churning waves beyond the shores.

*KRREEEEEEE!!*

Towering tidal waves crashed against one another, and the air was rent with a terrible, screeching roar that reverberated like a storm of thunder.

A monstrous shadow loomed over the petrified soldiers huddled near the shore. They knew, in the depths of their souls, that they faced a doom from which there could be no escape, for their fates were sealed in the presence of the Kraken!