Earth's Greatest Magus

The weight of three descending mountains folded the sky downward in suffocating layers, and the pressure alone compelled every cultivator below the Grand Magus realm to their knees. Even veteran magus felt their bones grind and their organs tremble as if an unseen hand were squeezing the life from their bodies.

Above them, the heavens darkened beneath the shadow of the falling masses.

With both the Heaven’s Will Swordmaster and the Storm Lord locked in other battles, the burden of survival fell upon the combined strength of more than fifty Grand Magus.

Darian Astiel, ruler of the clan, gave the order with a roar that shook the air. “Stop it! All of you-now!”

Dozens of domains erupted at once-sword constellations, elemental storms, holy sigils, frost formations, blazing suns of spirit fire. Artifacts rose like a swarm of stars, each unleashing its ultimate strike. The first mountain met that tide of power and detonated in a cataclysmic explosion, fragments of spirit scattering as dark meteors that dissolved before hitting the island.

The second mass was already descending.

With this many Grand Magus, they managed to hold back the second mountain, but the true threat of the painting artifacts soon revealed itself. The third mountain came crashing down onto the second, creating multiple layers of crushing pressure.

Many of the defenders staggered, their auras flickering after the initial clash. Some chose to retreat, while others forced their exhausted souls to rise and answer the assault one more time.

Then the Cardinal of the Papal Church advanced.

Three radiant Seraphs unfolded their wings behind him, halos blazing. The Cardinal raised his ancient chalice, its surface etched with scripture, and began a solemn chant. Each word vibrated with divine authority, and a vast ring of golden light blossomed outward before surging skyward to meet the coming threat.

The collision shook the entire island. Light and shadow wrestled in the heavens, the shockwave flattening gardens and tearing banners to shreds.

Then the second mountain shattered.

The third remained.

They held the line, their combined power striking the final mass again and again.

“BREAK!” The cardinal’s voice rang out like divine judgment.

The last mountain exploded apart in a storm of dark motes that dissolved into nothingness, the crushing pressure finally lifting like a nightmare fading at dawn.

For a heartbeat, there was silence.

Smoke thinned.

Then confusion.

“Where is he?!”

Then they saw the painting was vanishing into a spatial rift. The three monstrous summons and the golem followed, dissolving into streaks of energy that slipped through the tears in space.

And then-

A scream tore through the air.

A Grand Magus dropped to the ground, lifeless, his chest pierced clean through by a dark green vine. Though not a figure of legend, everyone present recognized him.

He had been the crown prince’s closest aide.

All eyes snapped upward.

There, standing in the open air beside the Astiel Crown Prince, was Emery.

This had been Emery’s plan from the very beginning. He was ablaze through the last reserves of his soul force, gambling everything on a single moment of chaos. The descending mountains, the summoned horrors, the collapsing skies -none of it had been meant to win the battle. It had been a smokescreen.

And it had worked.

Twilight vines coiled like living shackles around Denard’s body, pinning his arms to his sides and locking his movement completely.

“You… you dare…!!”

Denard’s outrage never finished leaving his mouth.

The Twilight vines tightened.

A wet, choking sound burst from the prince’s throat as the living restraints constricted, crushing layers of protective aura like brittle glass. Veins bulged along his neck, his face draining of color as pressure mounted around his ribs and spine.

Dozens of Grand Magus hovered in a tightening perimeter, weapons raised and domains trembling at the edge of release, yet not a single one dared to

advance.

Then Darian Astiel, ruler of the clan and father of the hostage, stepped forward. His robes were torn from earlier shockwaves.

“Don’t hurt him…. What do you want?!”

Emery’s eyes were cold, the burning madness from earlier replaced by

something far more terrifying-clarity.

“I want him to admit what he did,” Emery said, “Tell everyone what you did.

Here. Now!”

Denard’s face had drained of color, but arrogance still flickered stubbornly in

his eyes despite the agony wracking his body.

“I have no idea what you want me to say….

Emery’s eyes went colder.

A sharp, splintering CRACK echoed through the air.

The prince’s left arm twisted at an unnatural angle as the vine around it constricted and crushed bone into pulp. Flesh burst, blood spraying downward

in a crimson arc.

“AAARRGHH!!!”

The prince’s scream tore across Eclipse Island.

Darian staggered half a step forward in panic before forcing himself still. The Storm Lord’s aura surged violently, thunder rolling across the sky.

“Tell them,” Emery said again, louder this time.

Denard clenched his jaw, refusing.

Another sickening crunch followed.

His other arm collapsed under the pressure, the vines grinding through muscle

and bone as another scream tore from his throat.

A collective gasp rippled through the gathered forces-They were watching the crown prince of Astiel being dismantled piece by piece. Several Grand Magus flinched visibly; others took instinctive steps forward, hands glowing with gathered spells, waiting only for their ruler’s command.

Emery turned his gaze toward them, and the killing intent in his eyes made

more than one hesitate.

“This man,” Emery said, his voice carrying across the island, “captured my woman against her will. He did it to use her talent… her cultivation… to turn her

into his human cauldron…”

Gasps spread through the crowd like ripples in water.

Emery looked back at Denard, whose breathing had turned ragged. Placed his

palm flat against the prince’s back, right over his heart.

“Admit it…” Emery said. “This is your last chance!”

To everyone’s shock, the prince began to laugh.

It was wet, ragged, and half-mad, blood still dripping from his ruined arms.

“Hahahaha… who do you think you are…?” Denard rasped, lifting his chin with what little dignity he could muster. “I am Nephilim royalty… You won’t dare kill

me. If I die, your family… your clan… your pathetic little planet… all will be

wiped from

existence.”

The threat lingered in the air like venom.

For the briefest instant, Emery hesitated. He knew the prince was not bluffing.

But then memory answered.

Ishtar… what she had done on Terra.

The Winter Lord… what they had done to Klea.

And before them, the Astiel Sky Lord, the cold murder of his senior Fuxi.

The centuries of plots toward earth.

No

They would never stop. Mercy would only buy them time to sharpen the next

blade.

Emery’s eyes hardened, the last trace of hesitation burning away.

“So be it….”

But the words that would have sealed the prince’s fate stalled on the edge of

action.

Another voice followed.

The words did not travel through the air-they appeared directly inside his

mind.

Warm. Heavy. Absolute.

The Papal Cardinal had stepped forward, ancient chalice raised, divine radiance

flowing from it in slow, resonant waves. Each syllable carried spiritual authority, pressing not on Emery’s body-but on his soul.

It was no sermon.

It was a divine mental assault.