As Mox landed beside her, he lifted his foot above Serena's head, a mocking smile spreading across his face. "I'll admit, that kick you gave hurt like hell," he taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "But if this is the extent of your abilities... then this will be the end of your life."
His foot crackled with crimson electricity, a wicked glint in his eyes as he slammed it downward, ready to crush her.
But as his foot connected with the ground, a sudden realization struck him—there were no human parts beneath him. His grin faltered, and instinct kicked in. He backed up, scanning the area with newfound wariness. "So you still have some fight left, huh? Keep going!" He taunted, crimson electricity swirling around his body like a hungry predator circling its prey.
Serena lay there, breathing heavily, but the darkness of defeat couldn't hold her for long. A rapid healing surged through her, and she slowly stood tall, exhaling slowly as her breath stabilized. "I'll say... you're worthy of this," she declared, determination shining in her eyes.
Mox raised an eyebrow, cracking his neck with a predatory chuckle. "Worthy of what?" he sneered, taking a few steps back, relishing the suspense.
The brass knuckles around her hands vanished, replaced by her staff, which she planted firmly into the ground. "May you watch over me, Mother," she whispered, her voice steady. A sound, faint yet resonant, echoed throughout the gate, drawing the attention of everyone watching.
Mana began to surge into the gate from the earth, flickering and pulsating with energy. The group turned to look, but Aria's eyes remained locked onto Serena. The gate flickered more violently, its essence dissipating into the ether.
"THE GATE!" Victor shouted, his eyes widening as it vanished into thin air. He quickly shifted his gaze back to the battlefield, his jaw dropping in disbelief. "W-what the hell is that?" he gasped, watching as an enormous mass of mana formed above Serena, taking shape as a full moon of pure energy.
"Mox, this is what you're worthy of," Serena proclaimed, lowering her staff toward him, unleashing the moon to hurtle through the air.
Mox's grin returned, an unsettling mix of excitement and anticipation. He exhaled slowly, feeling his mana surge around him, enveloping his fists in radiant energy and crimson electricity. Just then, the fallen high orcs rose from the ground, their bodies cloaked in swirling mana, taking up a defensive stance around him.
Mox laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed across the battlefield. "This is what the Old World is all about!" He thrived in the chaos, relishing the impending clash, his heart pounding with the thrill of battle. The energy crackling in the air was intoxicating, and he welcomed the challenge.
Mox planted his feet firmly into the ground, his body coiling like a spring as he readied himself. The massive moon hurtled toward him, an ominous force, and as it descended, it obliterated the undead high orcs surrounding him. Mox grunted under the weight of the moon, feeling its gravitational pull bearing down on him like a mountain. His muscles strained, and the air filled with his shouts of defiance, his eyes narrowing against the overwhelming pressure.
As the moon closed in, flames of pure white began to engulf him, crackling around his form as if he were a vessel of fury itself. "I WILL CONQUER THIS!" he roared, laughter bubbling from his throat as he summoned every ounce of strength within him. Slowly, agonizingly, he began to lift the moon, his teeth gritting against the pain as he felt his skin tear, blood spilling from his body like a crimson banner unfurling in battle.
His feet sank deeper into the earth, the ground trembling under the intensity of his struggle. Each grunt was a battle cry, each shout a testament to his willpower. "F-fuck it!" he bellowed, shedding all thoughts of defense. He focused his mana, channeling it into raw strength, pouring everything he had into this monumental feat.
With a final, earth-shattering effort, he hurled the moon into the sky, a massive projectile that cut through the air with a blinding glow. But the cost was steep: his chest was torn open, his arms burned and bloodied, and his legs barely clung to his body. His eyes, once fierce and defiant, were now burnt sockets, and his hands lay in ruins.
Mox stood on his barely functional legs, breathless, his healing factor flickering to life but faltering after mending only one arm. He lifted it triumphantly into the air, a symbol of his undying spirit. "I AM MOX, THE HIGH ORC CHIEFTAIN, THE ONE WHO CONQUERED THE MOON AND THE ONE WHO PROVED HIS STRENGTH WORTHY OF CHIEFTAIN!" His voice thundered through the battlefield, filled with pride and ferocity.
As his mana surged around him, the moon absorbed the energy, pulsating with raw power, ready to unleash its fury once more. Mox stood there, battered but his spirit unbroken, ready to face everything that the universe had to offer, his heart burning with the fire of conquest.
Stiles stared wide-eyed at the battered form of Mox, who stood still, the remnants of the fierce battle swirling around him. "D-did that dude really just throw a moon and live?" he stammered, disbelief etched across his face. The sheer audacity of it all left him momentarily speechless, the weight of the moment sinking in.
Victor, still processing the incredible spectacle, shook his head in awe. "I've heard tales of an orc chieftain strengths, but this... this is on another level. He actually did it." He glanced at SteelArm, whose expression was a mix of respect and admiration.
SteelArm nodded slowly, his voice low but steady. "That's the essence of a true warrior. He pushed himself beyond his limits, defying what anyone thought possible. This isn't just brute strength; it's raw determination. Even if he's an enemy... we can all respect the strength of a true warrior at heart."
As they watched Mox struggle to stand, his body broken but his spirit unyielding, he gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright. "I... I can still fight," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with defiance. His battered frame trembled under the weight of his own strength, blood pooling beneath him.
Then, his leg—shattered beyond repair—gave out. He lurched forward, trying to catch himself, but his body failed him. He collapsed, crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. His breathing grew heavier, each breath more strained than the last, until his chest, once heaving with relentless determination, stilled.
Silence is all that remained.
Victor clenched his fists, his usual arrogance replaced with quiet respect. "He fought until the very end," he murmured.
SteelArm exhaled slowly, eyes locked onto Mox's unmoving form. "He didn't fall in battle… he fell because his own body couldn't keep up with his will." His voice was steady, but there was a weight behind his words, a recognition of the sheer warrior's heart Mox had displayed.
Stiles took a deep breath, his eyes lingering on Mox's lifeless body.
"Enemy or not… that bastard died a true warrior."
As the group stepped forward, their tired eyes locked onto Serena. The moonlight cast long shadows across the battlefield, illuminating the faint traces of exhaustion on her face.
"So, who the hell are you?" Dante asked, his voice laced with suspicion as he narrowed his eyes at her. "You weren't with us when we entered this gate."
Serena exhaled, her gaze distant as if looking beyond the present moment. "Time is not yet favorable for our meeting," she said softly, her words hanging in the air like an unfinished story.
Before anyone could respond, her form shimmered, fading into the night as if she had never been there. The only evidence of her presence was the lingering hum of magic in the air.
Then the gate reappeared. A silent invitation. Without hesitation, the five of them stepped forward, their bodies weary but their spirits hardened by battle
As they emerged on the other side, a sea of gazes met them. Guild leaders, commanders, and warriors who had remained behind all stood in grim silence. Their eyes scanned the portal, waiting—hoping—for more to return.
But no one else came.
A heavy weight settled over the crowd. Murmurs of disbelief rippled through the gathered forces, the realization sinking in. Dozens had entered. Only five had made it out.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the rustling of the wind, carrying with it the unspoken grief of those who had lost comrades, friends… family.
Halstein, standing at the forefront, studied his four guild members—his own people. Their armor were slightly battered, their weapons worn, but they had survived. Just a few scratches and bruises. Against the odds, they had lived.
He let out a slow breath before speaking. "I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting anyone to walk out of that gate after the mana readings we were picking up." His eyes lingered on them, a rare flicker of admiration hidden beneath his usual stoic expression.
Then, after a brief pause, he gave a small nod. "Get on the boat. Go back to the guild. You all deserve a few days off."
His words carried no room for argument, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. They had earned this.
As the group made their way toward the docks, they all got back onto the boat they had arrived in before the engines roared to life as it took off instantly.
Victor stayed before on the small island before getting into the boat of his guild and sat down as they took off in the opposite direction.