Book 2, Chapter 86 - The Dark Atom Invasion (1/2)

The Blight-tooth warriors knocked their bows and drew back strings, ready to fire another wave of arrows. However, even before they could pull the strings ready, the ethereal woman across the clearing was responding. With ease and grace she waved the whip clutched in her hand, which released a burst of cyan energy through the forest. I swept horizontal to the ground and out toward her enemies, like a blade of wind.

A fifty-meter cone splayed out like a fan before her. Everything from natives and beasts, to trees and even stone were split in two as the light swept by. All of it seemed as substantial as bean curd before a sharp knife. All of it was neatly cleaved in half.

Cloudhawk watched as a terrifying cold crept up his spine. Subconsciously he touched his waist, thankfully discovering that it all still seemed in once piece. Even his clothes were unscathed. He stared at the unfathomable demonhunter with deep respect. Her relic was not only fierce and quick, it could be gentle as well in a moment’s notice. What uncanny power!

Instructor Cutter took a drag on the cigarette lazily smoldering between his lips. He pulled out his sword, a massive thing that was crimson red from hilt to tip and had to weigh at least several hundred pounds. Its blade edge looked incomparably sharp while the back was a line of jagged spikes. The hilt was in the shape of a coiling python. Waves of threatening power poured from the instructor as he brandished his weapon and squinted at Cloudhawk. “You. You’re not dead.”

This earned a deep sigh from the wastelander. “No, more or less though.”

Cutter snorted. “If you can’t even survive this test, what right do you have to enter Hell’s Valley? Get behind us and see how it’s done.”

The valley’s head instructors varied wildly in demeanor. Cutter was a typical warrior. Although his sword was something to behold, it wasn’t a relic. The other two were undoubtedly demonhunters. The layers of metal armor the other one wore was his relic.

How was Cloudhawk so sure? He could feel the resonance coming from it. Even before the female instructor made her move, the armored man had called on his power. It all gathered around his fortress-like figure, causing glowing lines to appear throughout the metal. They joined to create elaborate glimmering patterns, ultimately revealing an archaic design.

The entire suit of armor blazed with light and heat, like iron in a casting oven.

Boom!

In sharp contrast to the lumbering suit of metal, the armored instructor exploded forward with incomparable speed. Like a ball of light he charged through the forest, leveling everything in his path. One of the natives had the wherewithal to try and block, but erupted into a dozen mangled pieces when the instructor hit him.

Anything in the streaking light’s path – whether it was wood or stone or flesh - was smashed to pieces as easily as rotted furniture. In its wake was a trough four or five meters deep. The instructor was a man-shaped meat grinder.

Cloudhawk had met several skilled fighters in his life; Selene, Dawn, Atlas, Frost… Each of them had their own unique strengths and fighting styles.

With the exception of the Caliph of the Sands or Lord Arcturus, Cloudhawk had never seen an attack that shook him so deeply. The armored instructor’s methods were wild and brutal, bulldozing through his enemies under the protection of his impenetrable armor. His indomitable passage turned all enemies into meat paste.

An attack like that obliterated the enemy’s body and morale.

Cutter heaved his domineering weapon. “Leave some for me!”

His words hung in the air as Instructor Cutter leapt forward. Charging into the fray, deep indentations were left where his feet feel. His sword crashed into the enemy forces like a tsunami, whirled like a tornado, kicking up a tempest of blood and flesh. As far as speed and strength, he was the most tyrannical fighter Cloudhawk had ever witnessed.

The soldiers of Hell’s Valley discharged their crossbows, then switched them out for close-range weapons. In that space of time Cutter had already cut eight or nine of their enemies to pieces.

A dozen of the assistants rushed in to join the fight. A hundred more elite veterans followed behind.

Blight-tooth Clan had erupted into chaos, forsaking their freedom to exact revenge on Cloudhawk. While they had an advantage in numbers, their fighting strength could not match up to the valley’s warriors. How could they stand against an assault like this? Every one of those soldiers was a veteran of a hundred battles, and the assistants were the cream of that crop.

Meanwhile, Blight-tooth’s soldiers hardly outnumbers them two to one. It didn’t even give the humans pause. Their opening charge forced the sweepers five hundred meters back and killed a fourth of them. The second push gained another three hundred meters, leaving more than half the natives’ forces dead. By the third assault there was almost nothing left.

Cloudhawk had been impressed by Skycloud’s normal army forces. Seeing the veterans at work, he final understood just how inferior the wastelands were at waging war. These veterans were nothing short of terrifying, and could easily sweep through any outpost in the wastelands without concern.

As Blackfang watched the enemy route his forces, the last light of hope died in his chest. With deep regret he wondered why he’d ignored Gorefang’s orders. Why chase after this lone assassin with all his men? If they’d let him go, maybe they might have stood a chance. The forces of Hell’s Valley couldn’t stray too far from their home.

Now, though… it was all too late. Blackfang shrieked at his warriors in their strange tongue.

Cloudhawk didn’t understand their language, but he didn’t need to in order to understand it was a call for retreat. The difference was too great. How could the natives survive against most of the valley’s power?

Only a handful of stalker riders managed to survive.

Blackfang led a few dozen warriors into the forest, toward the borderlands. If the valley’s soldiers were all here, it meant their defenses at the forest’s edge were weak. There was a chance what remained of his clan could slip through, out into the safety of the wastelands.

But the bloodcurdling scream that followed dashed their hopes, as the scarred instructor came charging at them with sword raised high. He was even faster than the mounts they rode, and so quickly caught up to the fleeing natives. With a single sweep of his sword he cleaved a rider and his mount in half.