Chapter 160: "Frost and Fury: The Fall Of The Green Defenders!"

Chapter 160: "Frost and Fury: The Fall of the Green Defenders"

With Abdel dragged off, the weight of defense shifted to Lhize and Lhaze, the twin blades of the Green Rhemonic resistance.

Their eyes, identical pools of determination, locked onto the next wave of agents. Standing firm before Ms. Caldwell and Mr. Thompson, they were an unyielding bulwark. But after the twins, the responsibility fell to the ten Green Rhemonic warriors—a seasoned but less legendary force.

These warriors had traversed perilous terrains: the sunlit heights of Stormway City in search of the Sun Temple for the eternal Flames, the frozen expanse of Northwind, and the shadowy ruins of Rivermount in pursuit of the Moon priestesses for the moon Dew. Their journey had honed them, but they were still a shadow of the indomitable Big Seven.

Three opposing level-5 agents surged forward, their batons glowing ominously. Lhize and Lhaze met them head-on, twin swords flashing in perfect unison. Sparks erupted as the weapons clashed, a cacophony of steel and will. With synchronized movements, the twins pushed back their attackers, forcing them into a brief retreat.

But triumph was short-lived. Two more agents blindsided them, slamming into their ribs with devastating force. The twins gasped, their defenses momentarily shattered. Their bodies crumpled under the relentless assault, muscles torn and spirits wavering. As they hit the ground, unconsciousness claimed them as they drifted to slumber land, and they were dragged away, joining the growing number of captured Rhemonic fighters.

Standing firm were the next line of defence —the 10 green Rhemonic warriors. The ten Green Rhemonic warriors stood resolute, their backs against one another, forming a tight defensive circle.

The agents encircled them like wolves stalking prey, but the warriors did not flinch. As six level-4 agents charged, the 10 Green Rhemonic warriors moved as one, swords and spears slicing through the air. Blood sprayed, and bodies crumpled. Each strike was lethal—blades found necks, pierced hearts, and crushed skulls. It was a massacre, but for the Green Rhemonic warriors, it was merely survival.

Buoyed by their success, they steeled themselves for the next wave. Their synchronized strikes, precise and devastating, began to carve a path through the agents. Heads rolled; bodies fell. Yet the onslaught continued. The agents swarmed like ants, relentless in their pursuit.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the battlefield. A lone figure emerged—a level-3 agent. His presence was a death knell. The remaining level-4 and level-5 agents stepped aside, their confidence eclipsed by the commanding aura of their superior. His reputation was a weapon as potent as any blade.

The ten warriors tensed. This was no ordinary foe. The level-3 agent had abandoned his post in the eastern wing, where he had been mercilessly torturing Ecdy and Nymff, to quash this uprising. His very presence sent a chill through the air.

Raising his hand, the level 3 agent summoned frost spikes that glistened like deadly icicles. He smirked, a predator savoring the hunt.

The 10 Green Rhemonic warriors exchanged wary glances. They had faced many dangers on their journey, but this was different. The battlefield seemed to shrink, the weight of impending doom pressing down on them.

The Level 3 agent took a deliberate step forward, his voice cutting through the air like the sharp edge of a blade. "Let's end this." With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed a frost spike, its crystalline form gleaming in the dim light. It was followed in quick succession by a second, then a third, each projectile leaving a ghostly trail of freezing mist as they swarmed forth towards the 10 Green Rhemonic warriors.

The 10 Green Rhemonic warriors, a disciplined unit, swiftly fell into formation. Their grips tightened on their swords and spears as they braced for the onslaught. The first spikes were met with defiance, their weapons slicing through the ice shards with precision.

The bigger chunk of the frost were scattered on the ground while a smaller slice of a thin later of the frost clung stubbornly to their blades, creeping along the edges like a living thing.

At first, the warriors ignored the growing chill as it crept slowly but recalcitrantly. The weight of the frost on their weapons seemed manageable, a mere inconvenience as they continued to deflect spike after spike.

Each impact, however, left its mark—not just on their blades, but on the battlefield itself. Frost crept insidiously across the ground, transforming it into a treacherous sheet of ice. Every step became a gamble, where a single misstep could result in a bone-jarring fall or a catastrophic, injury-inducing crash.

Gradually, the temperature plummeted. The frost spread insidiously, slithering down the lengths of their weapons to encase the hilts, and their hands within its icy prison. It was no longer a battle against the ice spikes but against the creeping cold that now assaulted their very flesh. Their breaths came in visible puffs, and their fingers, stiff and numb, struggled to maintain their grip.

The warriors' resolve wavered as the biting cold became unbearable. They knew the price of surrendering their weapons, yet their hands betrayed them, frozen in place by the merciless frost. One by one, their swords and spears grew too heavy, too frigid to wield. When the next volley of frost spikes came, it met no resistance.

A chilling silence followed as the Green Rhemonic warriors stood motionless, transformed into grotesque ice sculptures, their expressions frozen in a mix of defiance and agony.

The Level 3 agent slowly lowered his hand, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. His mission was clear, and he had accomplished it, which was: minimizing casualties among the lower-level agents by eliminating the most formidable threats.

He turned without a word, the frost in his eyes reflecting his grim satisfaction. His posture was one of calm indifference, as though he had simply crossed an item off a list. The unspoken message was clear: My work here is done. You handle the rest.

On cue, the remaining lower-level agents surged forward, their formation like a hive of bees unleashed. They moved with a frenetic energy, their numbers overwhelming as they closed in on Mr. Thompson, Ms. Caldwell, and the thirty-three Rhemonic warriors who remained.

"Hold your ground!" Mr. Thompson bellowed, his voice slicing through the cacophony of battle. Though he was no warrior himself, he wielded words like a blade, which was all he could do at the moment.

By rallying the Rhemonic fighters around him, Mr. Thompson hoped to stretch the battle on a fragile thread of hope, clinging to the chance that fortune might turn. The Green Rhemonic warriors at his side were the weakest of the order, scraping the bottom of the power hierarchy.

Far from elite, their sloppy footwork and clumsy parries betrayed their inexperience. Their awkward weapon handling was a glaring testament to their lack of training. Even the low-tier Level 4 and 5 Rhemon agents sneered at their ineptitude. Yet, in this dire moment, they were the only line of defense standing between Thompson, Ms. Caldwell, and certain doom.

Nearby, Ms. Caldwell stood frozen, her face a canvas of worry and despair. Battle tactics were a foreign language to her, and the weight of the weapon in her trembling hands felt alien. She had always been under Tessa's protective shadow, shielded from the harsh realities of conflict. Now, thrust onto a battlefield teeming with hardened fighters, all she could cling to was a fragile thread of hope—that Tessa would appear, as she always did, and turn the tide.