Chapter 162: Wrath Of The Blue Kaelrian god!

Chapter 162: "Wrath of the Blue Kaelrian God"

The hordes of agents closed in, their movements synchronized like a relentless tide. Mr. Thompson, standing protectively in front of Ms. Caldwell, braced himself. But the onslaught came with ferocity beyond his strength. Multiple batons struck him simultaneously, launching him into the air as if he were weightless. He spun helplessly before slamming into the ground with a sickening crunch.

His hip was dislodged, his arm grotesquely bent, and a jagged cut split the side of his face, leaving a trail of blood. He lay sprawled on the ground like discarded refuse.

Through the haze of pain, Mr. Thompson lifted his head, his blurred vision locking onto the horrific sight of Ms. Caldwell being overwhelmed.

"Nooooo!" he roared, his voice a raw, anguished echo. But his strength was spent, and darkness claimed him as his eyes fluttered shut.

The agents descended on Ms. Caldwell without hesitation, their batons rising and falling in a brutal rhythm. A blow to her ribs sent a sharp crack echoing through the air, followed by another that shattered her sternum. She staggered but was given no reprieve. Another swing landed against her skull, splitting it open, and blood gushed down her face in a gruesome torrent.

She crumpled to the ground, her body motionless. Yet the agents did not relent. Their strikes continued, merciless and mechanical, as though their rage demanded complete annihilation. Each blow was an act of vengeance, a release of pent-up fury that seemed bottomless. The ground beneath her became slick with blood, but the frenzy showed no signs of abating, their burden of violence unlifted.

The relentless barrage of blows continued, each strike a dull thud echoing in the tense air. Then, without warning, a sleek, jet-black truck roared into the camp, its engine a low, menacing growl. The sudden intrusion brought the chaos to a brief halt. Heads turned, eyes narrowing as they assessed this unexpected arrival.

The truck came to a stop just feet away from where Ms. Caldwell's lifeless body lay, her attackers frozen mid-swing. The door opened with a smooth hiss, and out stepped a man exuding an air of unshakable confidence. He wore a sleek pair of designer shades that practically screamed luxury, the kind of accessory that cost more than some earned in a year.

For a moment, all eyes were on him. The agents, anticipating Tessa's emergence, exchanged confused glances. But Tessa remained hidden within the truck's confines, drained of energy. The eggs had siphoned her strength to the brink of collapse. She leaned heavily on Nyala, who stood by her side, her small frame acting as the only support keeping Tessa from crumpling completely.

The agents' initial curiosity quickly turned to disdain. To them, this man was just another flashy poser, someone who thought he could play hero. Dismissing him, they shifted their focus back to their brutal task.

The man didn't flinch. His voice cut through the charged atmosphere like a blade, low and deliberate.

"I said, stop."

It wasn't a shout. It wasn't even loud. Yet there was something in the way Bandel Blue, the newcomer, spoke that demanded attention. His words carried an eerie calm, a promise of consequences.

The agents hesitated for the briefest of moments but soon sneered and resumed their assault. They had faced threats before, and this man was no different—or so they thought.

Bandel didn't move from his spot. His presence alone was enough to shift the air, a silent storm gathering behind those reflective lenses.

Bandel Blue's eyes gleamed with a dangerous amusement, a glint that hinted at ancient, unfathomable power. His voice was low, almost conversational, yet it resonated in every ear, as though whispered directly to each person.

"I was just a petty thief once," he began, his tone casual, as if reminiscing over a trivial memory. "Until Tessa placed this responsibility on me. And for centuries, I forgot what I truly am." He chuckled softly, the sound unnervingly calm. "But now, after hundreds of years, I remember—I am a god."

His words lingered in the air, heavy with promise. He continued, his voice shifting, the playful lilt replaced by something far more chilling.

"I came here thinking I could intervene without bloodshed," he said, his tone dropping to a menacing growl. "But it seems none of you grasp the immensity of Mount Everest. So, let me show you what happens when you cross a god... when you anger a Kaelrian deity."

The atmosphere shifted palpably. Even the bravest of the agents felt their resolve waver. Bandel's raised hand seemed to command the air itself. With a subtle motion, he activated his life-steal ability—a terrifying power unique to the Thieving God, capable of draining life force itself.

White orbs, glowing with an eerie luminescence, began to pull free from the agents one by one. The first agent gasped, his body convulsing as his life force was ripped from him, leaving behind an empty, lifeless shell. Then another fell. And another. Within moments, the camp was a scene of silent devastation.

In the span of minutes, a thousand agents lay dead. Their bodies were strewn across the ground like discarded husks, their faces frozen in terror. Bandel didn't flinch. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, as though this massacre was merely an inconvenience.

The remaining agents, numbering around 699, watched in paralyzed horror. The Level 3 agent, a man once revered for his strength and tactical prowess, felt a cold sweat break across his brow. His throat tightened as he surveyed the carnage. He had dismissed Bandel as a fool moments earlier, but now, dread settled deep in his bones.

"The... Blue Kaelrian God," he whispered, the name trembling on his lips. His mind reeled as he pieced together the implications of what he was witnessing. This was no ordinary entity; this was a god who had chosen not to unleash his full wrath.

Bandel Blue turned slightly, his gaze locking onto the Level 3 agent. The man froze, his face pale as a sheet. Panic streaked across his features, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He braced for death, knowing there was no escape.

But death did not come.

Bandel's eyes, still gleaming with that unsettling amusement, softened ever so slightly. He had no intention of finishing off the remaining agents—not yet. They needed to witness, to carry the tale of what happens when mortals provoke a god.

"Consider yourselves warned," Bandel said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down every spine. "Live, and remember what you've seen here today. The next time you cross paths with me or mine, there will be no mercy."

The Level 3 agent shuddered, his body trembling as he stared at the god who had effortlessly wiped out thousands. He could only mutter a single word under his breath, barely audible but filled with terror.

"Scary..."