Chapter 32 - Entering the Cave (I)
Chapter 32 - Entering the cave (II)
When the Supercharging Annihilator Sword materialized in Maxmillan's hands, the atmosphere shifted abruptly within the confines of a chamber.
The Sky Bridges Lord and an old man—a seasoned Astra Spellcraft Commander, found themselves caught in a moment of frozen disbelief. Their eyes widened, pupils dilated, as the gleaming, seemingly otherworldly imposing sword appeared in Maxmillan's right hand.
In the blink of an eye, a hushed gasp escaped the lips of the Sky Bridges Lord, his grandiose demeanor momentarily shattered by the unexpected revelation. His gaze fixated on the sword as if he had witnessed an inexplicable, enigmatic phenomenon, his usually composed features now etched with astonishment.
The Astra Spellcraft Commander, an old sage with eons of years of magical mastery visibly etched into the lines on his face, stood still for a moment. His eyes, filled with the wisdom of numerous vicious and obliterative magical battles, widened in genuine surprise. The air around him crackled with a newfound tension, as the Supercharging Annihilator Sword radiated a potent energy that seemed to ripple through the very fabric of the battlefield.
Maxmillan, holding the sword with an air of unyielding and unparalleled brutal determination, rampaged through the battlefield with grey streaks of light cleaving through the air. The hum of the sword, resonated through the atmosphere and charged it with currents of unmatched devastating cutting power. Its presence, a tangible force that demanded acknowledgment by all witnesses on the battlefield.
'What sort of unearthly massive sword is this?'
The resounding question thundered in their minds, echoing through the chaos of the battlefield. The sword, a colossal masterpiece of otherworldly craftsmanship, stood as a testament to both awe and dread.
Its appearance was nothing short of grandness. While its blade, seemingly forged from naturally-birthed, potent unprecedented metals that continuously shimmered in the sunlight, emitted a glow that intensified with each swing, casting an eerie luminescence upon the battleground.
That was simply how the Sky Bridges Lord and his right-hand man perceived the technological sword, casting shocked and perplexed gazes at it, each beginning to brew up a storm of malevolent plans.
To them, the sword seemed like a potent, double-edged battle artifact—a marvel created by powerful unknown entities skilled in the art of Craftforging, which Maxmillan possibly unearthed in some region and made his.
As the towering men on the battlefield, clad in magically-enchanted armors, advanced with unwavering confidence and unfaltering fearlessness that needed to be studied, the sword's incomparable sharpness revealed itself in a dance of destruction.
With effortless grace, it cleanly cleaved through their enchanted defenses and scarred bodies, showcasing itself on the battlefield as a weapon of unstoppable power—its dance of unbridled devastation, once commanded by its master, Maxmillan, was unstoppable until it had graced the target with its grandiose, balletic movement of destruction.
In this manner, the sword seamlessly transitioned from one foe to another, leaving a trail of smoothly divided bodies in its wake.
The harrowing spectacle unfolded as streams of ferric red liquid furiously shot like rageful fountains into the air, while the towering figures lethally graced by the sword, were neatly and effortlessly severed into halves, succumbing to the blood-dyed earth beneath them.
The battlefield, once filled with the cacophony of war, now bore witness to a display of unearthly mastery.
The question asked by the Sky Bridges Lord and the old man continued to linger in the air, but the answer was etched in the devastation wrought by the large, imposing sword of technological grandness.
The battlefield, a silent audience, continued to witness the mesmerizing display that Maxmillan showcased with the Supercharging Annihilator Sword in his hand, as thick and heavy enchanted shields, once thought impenetrable because of the infusion of Astra Mystralis, crumbled under the graceful and effortless touch of the sword.
These shields—intricately crafted by enlightened Craftmasters and charm-etched by Artifact Spellbinders, were skillfully employed by many of the towering figures who believed in the potent, formidable barriers that they wielded. However, they were rendered mere illusions by the sword that smoothly sliced through them.
As the sword, which engaged in a dance of rampage with Maxmillan on the battlefield against numerous armored foes that dashed towards him with magically-increased velocities, it cut through both their shields and armors with an almost disdainful ease, as if the very fabric of reality bowed to its dominance.
As for the people that confidently adorned these armors and dauntlessly wielded the shields, they lay sliced in halves everywhere on the ground, their divided and blood-spouting corpses spread around in piles and heap. This created a sickening and harrowing, alarming scene that would impact the senses of every witness.
Maxmillan, the ever-lithe and gracefully nimble fighter, swung the imposing sword in his hand in a ferocious, wild, and calculating manner, he aimed the swiftly streaking sword at incoming foes. While the sword, seemingly impervious to the arcane enchantments of their armors and equipment, moved forward with unrelenting momentum.
It was as if the very laws of magic infused into the core of the hammers reverently yielded before its presence. The blade, seemingly untouched by restraint, continued its trajectory as if it hadn't encountered any obstacles after cutting through the hammers. In its wake, the strong wielders of the now-divided hammers met the same fate—their upper bodies horizontally or diagonally, cleanly severed off, with blood erupting in wrathful crimson arcs like macabre fountains.