Absolute Victory
"NOW! SOLDIERS! HEED MY CALL!"
[You have been temporarily granted the Power: Supreme Command]
[You have used Supreme Command]
In Ophelia's eyes, the battlefield unfurled into a war-torn chessboard. The natural ruggedness and chaos blended into something surreal, revealing a chessboard of red and white squares where each soldier stood upon their assigned space.
Each ally had a white square beneath them, shining through the thick mud. These white squares pulsated faintly, marking them as loyal knights and soldiers. Their postures were tense, some hunched as they awaited orders, but the unwavering light beneath them bound them to orders only Ophelia could give out.
Across from them, the enemy stood on red squares, as if the ground itself had rejected them. These squares varied in shade, from a pale blush beneath the weaker soldiers, those newly recruited or struggling to bear their weapons in the driving rain, to richer, blood-soaked hues for the veterans.
Even the opposing commander, the general, stood on a square no deeper than the shade of a freshly plucked apple. In her eyes, this commander was no more than a pawn dressed in ill-fitted armor, standing at the head of a doomed assault. His gaze scanned the lines with false confidence, his form shifting with the impatience of one out of his depth.
To Ophelia, the battle itself was a cruel joke, an insignificant contest of predictable movements, each soldier nothing more than a piece awaiting the end of the game.
Ophelia stood at the head of her forces like a conductor before an orchestra, her hands waving through the air with precision, her voice slicing through the chaos. She called out commands with unwavering authority, her words echoing across the battlefield. Her soldiers, now familiar with the weight of her presence, fell into motion as if they were limbs responding to her single-minded will.
"FORM RANKS! PREPARE FOR STAGGERED FORMATION!" she ordered, her hands sweeping from left to right as the frontline soldiers shuffled into a double-layered defense.
The first line raised their shields in a dense wall, polearms protruding from the cracks like the teeth of a fortress. Behind them, the second line braced themselves, ready to switch places at the slightest sign of fatigue or weakness.
The enemy forces, sensing the reinforced formation, pushed harder. Their own ranks were dense, pressing forward like an impenetrable wave against Ophelia's lines, desperate to break through. They slammed into Ophelia's soldiers brutally, their war cries cutting through the smoke and dust. Each impact of metal and bone was like the crack of thunder, but Ophelia's lines held, bending but never breaking, each layer absorbing the blows with a determination forced by Ophelia's ruthless command.
Ophelia raised one hand, palm upward, directing her mages along the stone walls. "PREPARE THE TRAPS!" she commanded. The mages hesitated, some casting uneasy glances at one another, reluctant to expend all their mana in this single maneuver. But Ophelia's focus sharpened, her will lancing through their mental resistance like a blade.
She projected her influence outward, a force of mental command that settled over the mages like iron chains. In an instant, they were forcefully surrendered to her unrelenting will, gathering their remaining magic with hollow, lifeless eyes. At this moment, they had become nothing but pawns.
The mages began casting their spells beneath the corpses scattered across the blood-soaked mud at the frontline. Ancient runes pulsed beneath the bodies, glowing faintly as magical traps took root in the earth, ready to release hell upon the enemy with the slightest touch.
"FALL BACK! FALL BACK! FALL BACK! FALL BACKKKKKK!" she commanded, snapping her hand down before banging it against the parapet in front of her.
The enemy forces, seeing the sudden shift, bellowed in triumph. Their front ranks surged forward, encouraged by what they perceived as an advantage, their formations pressing harder in their desperation to break through the retreating line. Their general, unaware of Ophelia's trap, barked orders for an all-out charge.
"Huh?" The opposing general muttered as his vision flashed white.
BOOOOOM
The first trap ignited a sudden shock of light beneath a cluster of soldiers. A burst of raw flames and explosive power erupted from beneath the corpses and mud, vaporizing a dozen men in a flash. Screams filled the air as the enemy line faltered, and Ophelia's soldiers watched grmily as their enemies stumbled, momentarily stunned by the unexpected carnage.
Another trap detonated, then another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another… until each explosion ripped through the enemy ranks, turning soldiers into dust and leaving gaping holes in their once-solid wall of flesh and metal.
Ophelia's lips curled into a dark smile as she raised her hands once more and swung them down. "KILL THEM ALL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL!
Her forces, energized by the sudden shift in momentum, launched themselves forward through the smoke, shields raised and spears gleaming like rows of deadly fangs. They surged through the shattered remains of the enemy's front line, a relentless wave of weapons and savagery driving deep into their ranks.
Enemy soldiers floundered, some attempting to regroup, others desperately trying to flee. Their once-organized ranks collapsed in on themselves, soldiers scrambling over each other in a chaotic attempt to escape. But Ophelia's soldiers pushed on, using Supreme Command to push them to their limits.
Spears thrust forward, shields crushed down upon helmets, swords cleaved through armor. The remaining enemy forces were caught in a deadly vortex, their will to fight completely broken.
The soldiers behind Ophelia on the wall watched stunned, their faces pale as they witnessed the devastating reversal she had orchestrated in mere minutes. What had begun as a brutal clash of iron and will had shifted into a massacre, their general's power seizing control of the battle and twisting it to her will like a symphony of blood-curdling cries.
Ophelia's soldiers moved like clockwork, tightening their ranks as they swept the remaining enemies, their bodies now completely under her control, as if they were sitting back to watch Ophelia manipulate their bodies to her will. The battlefield became a storm of ash and blood, the enemy falling one by one until the ground was littered with the remnants of their army, defeated and broken.
"Huff… huff… huff…"
Ophelia's chest rose and settled with each deep breath that she took. The holy power: Supreme Command, was especially taxing on the mental state of the wielder and even caused physical exhaustion as it drained the rest of her stamina, leaving her with only a couple of points of stamina left.
As the final wave of Ophelia's soldiers crashed over the enemy, they pressed down upon the remaining enemy general, encircling him like wolves around a wounded stag. He staggered, barely holding his sword upright, blood staining his tattered armor. He raised his head defiantly, awaiting his end as a soldier swung his blade towards his neck.
But then, all at once, every soldier froze in place.
Ophelia's fingers tightened with an iron grip, her knuckles white as she held her hand up. The soldiers caught mid-motion, became statues, their blades hovering beside the enemy general's neck.
The silence was chilling as if the air itself had held its breath in fear. She moved eerily began to move, lowering her hand and gesturing with a single finger. Two healers immediately fell in step behind her, their robes grazing against the blood-drenched earth as they followed her out onto the battlefield.
When she walked, the mud clinging to her boots and the scent of charred bodies wafted in the smoke-filled air. Her soldiers, still as statues, released slightly and parted to allow her through, their eyes eerily fixed forward.
Ophelia arrived before the broken general, her presence casting a dark looming shadow over his trembling form. His eyes darted to the side, realizing her soldiers were unmoving, their weapons still hovering in the air around him, their eyes completely hollow. Almost lifeless. She looked down at him, her lips curling into an ear-to-ear smile that held no warmth.
It was a grim, demonic smile.
"General Pool… of course, it was you to lead the first move" she murmured, her voice soft yet dripping with venom.
The general's breathing quickened as she nodded toward the healers, who immediately knelt beside him. Their hands glowed faintly, beginning to patch together his broken form, just enough to keep him alive. Each jolt of restorative magic seared through his body like lightning, reigniting the pain and forcing him to remain conscious.
"I want you to see the downfall of your Kingdom" she whispered, leaning closer until her face was inches from his own, her smile widening as she felt him recoil. "And you will see the consequences firsthand, a witness to the ruin I've crafted for you and your kind."
"I-I WILL NEVER BE TAKEN CAPTIVE!" He announced, swiftly biting down, but before he could fully clamp on the poison pill hidden in his molars, Ophelia dug her fist into his mouth, trapping his mouth open.
She brutally removed the poison pill sewn into his gums and then tugged on his tongue before ripping it out of his mouth. He wailed with pain as the two healers beside her fearfully followed her next orders to heal his mouth.
"Talking may be a bit hard… but you still have your fingers, don't you?" Ophelia muttered, seeing what remained of his tongue closing up into a sealed scar.
"Y-Yu crrzzy b-bich…"
BAM
Her boot came swiftly across his face, knocking him out instantly.
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[You have achieved an Incredible Feat!]
[Experience Points worth your actions have been allocated]
[You have been gifted the title: Relentless Commander]
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[Title - Relentless Commander]
[Description: This title is a symbol of unmatched leadership and determination in battle. To earn it, one must demonstrate an unbreakable will and a drive that pushes beyond limits. The Relentless Commander stands at the center of the fight, a figure whose presence inspires allies and strikes fear into enemies. Through grueling conditions, overwhelming odds, and fierce resistance, they lead without hesitation. Retreat is never an option, and failure is unacceptable.]
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"How stupid…" Ophelia muttered but soon smiled at the sight of the following string of panels.
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have reached the max level!]
[Would you like to Evolve or obtain a Class?]
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"I will save this for later. There are many things to do right now…"
As the last echo of the battle faded, Ophelia stood amidst the remnants of the battle, the soldiers surrounding her frozen in time. A heavy silence blanketed the battlefield, thick with the scent of smoke and blood. With a deliberate inhale, she prepared to release the holy power she had wielded, the Supreme Command that had tightened its grip on her soldiers like a vice.
"Release," she murmured.
The soldiers, caught in her control, felt the release wash over them like a wave retreating from the shore, yet instead of relief, an unsettling horror swept through them. One by one, their limbs fell heavy at their sides, and the tension that had coiled tightly around their muscles unspooled, leaving a gnawing sense of nausea in its wake. Many staggered, disoriented by the abrupt return of their autonomy after experiencing the thrill of battle through the lens of Ophelia's command.
Their stomachs heaved violently, each expulsion a horrible reaction to the abhorrence of having their bodies manipulated like puppets. Others, pushed beyond their limits by the sheer strain of obeying her relentless orders, crumpled to the ground, bodies succumbing to the weight of exhaustion.
Not a single soul dared to cheer or celebrate the victory. Instead, the battlefield was filled with grim, haunted expressions. Many soldiers looked pale, struggling to shake off the lingering effects of her control—the unsettling memory of being completely dominated, mixed with a stomach-turning dread that left them feeling empty.
As the two healers trudged behind her, carrying the unconscious form of the enemy general, Ophelia almost seemed to hover over the corpses below her.
"Now, I guess it is time to deal with the aftermath," She muttered coldly.