The clash between Morix and Mammon began before either of them even moved. Their auras collided first two storms twisting in opposite directions. Morix's aura burned hot and furious, like a wildfire with no control. Mammon's aura slithered outward like a greedy shadow, trying to claim every inch of space around it.
The air itself trembled.
Mammon's smile stretched wider, the same unsettling curve that always marked the beginning of his madness.
He stood on his throne of corpses like it was his rightful seat.
"You shine brighter every time I see you," Mammon said, voice low and thrilled. "Morix… my perfect wrath. My destined calamity."
Morix didn't answer. His grip on the God-blade tightened, and sparks flickered off its edge like stray lightning searching for something to burn. His eyes darkened, not with fear but with something more dangerous rising hunger. The bloodlust he always fought to hold down was clawing its way up.
Rales watched from behind, seeing the shift in Morix's aura. It scared him in a way no battlefield ever had. Morix looked less like a man and more like a storm preparing to break everything in its path.
Mammon's voice softened with a twisted affection.
"You and I were born for this," he whispered. "Your wrath… my greed. I take, you destroy. A perfect cycle."
Morix took one step forward, and the ground cracked under his heel.
Mammon grinned.
"Yes… come closer."
The battlefield erupted as Valarion's army clashed with Mammon's forces. They fought like beasts unleashed, each movement sharp, deadly, and fueled by a thrill that made enemies shiver. No fear. No hesitation. These were soldiers shaped by Morix the wrath they worshipped reflected in every strike.
They didn't fight sloppily. They fought with perfection.
Every blade found a weak spot. Every shield shattered with purpose. They carved through the enemy lines with brutal confidence, not even glancing back at Rales's signals.
Rales kept shouting his orders calculated, clever instructions designed to minimize casualties on both sides but the soldiers pushed forward with their own rhythm. They weren't ignoring him out of disrespect. They simply didn't take orders from anyone except Morix or his right-hand man.
And Morix wasn't here to command.
Rales felt a cold weight in his chest as he watched them tear through enemies with frightening ease. The ground was turning red. The air filled with screams. His plans carefully constructed to avoid excess death were crumbling the moment they touched real battle.
Blood sprayed across Rales's cheek.
He flinched, stunned for a moment.
Valarion's army roared louder, energized by the chaos around them. Some soldiers laughed. Some howled. Some swung their weapons with a joy that felt too sharp, too wild. Every kill fed their excitement. Every scream fueled their charge.
Rales stared at them, horror spreading through him.
He had never seen so much blood at once.
Morix, on the other side of the battlefield, didn't even look at the dead bodies anymore. His focus was only on Mammon. But the blood around him the bodies, the limbs, the carnage began to affect him.
The scent.
The heat.
The screams.
It fed his wrath.
It fed the curse he carried.
His heartbeat slowed, then pounded harder.
His vision darkened at the edges.
His grip around the God-blade turned white from pressure.
Mammon felt it.
He inhaled deeply, almost shivering with delight.
"Yes… that's it," he whispered. "Let the wrath consume you. Become the calamity they fear."
Morix swung his blade down, lightning bursting outward. The strike hit the ground in front of Mammon, cracking earth and sending stones flying. Mammon dodged with a twisted laugh.
"You see?" Mammon shouted. "You and I are meant to complete each other! Even fate wrote it Wrath brings calamity, Greed ends it!"
Morix's jaw clenched.
"Don't talk as if destiny matters," he growled.
Mammon stepped forward, eyes wide with obsession.
"You are my other half. My eternal treasure, Morix. I want your strength forever."
Morix's aura exploded like a shockwave.
The two clashed Mammon catching Morix's blade between his claws, Morix's lightning burning across Mammon's skin. Their power lit the battlefield with flashes of white and black.
Rales flinched each time lightning burst from Morix's sword.
It felt like he was watching a god fight a demon.
And yet what terrified him more wasn't Morix or Mammon.
It was Valarion's army.
They were cutting down enemies with such monstrous precision that even Mammon's soldiers screamed in terror. Rales watched a Valarion soldier rip a spear from an enemy and drive it straight into another without hesitation. Blood splattered across the soldier's armor, but he only grinned wider.
Rales's hands started shaking.
He had designed this plan to avoid death.
But here… death was everywhere.
And Valarion's side was creating most of it.
He felt something break inside his chest.
A quiet crack of fear.
Morix's army was incredible powerful, unbreakable, unmatched.
But they were terrifying.
Rales's breath became uneven as he watched limbs fall, arrows pierce skulls, and soldiers collapse with blood spurting out like fountains. The battlefield had turned into something he wasn't ready to see.
He tried to speak again, but his voice cracked.
"Left flank… pull back "
No one heard him.
No one cared.
They were too deep into the bloodlust.
Mammon pushed Morix back with a sudden burst of shadow energy, laughing hysterically.
"Look around you!" he shouted. "This is what wrath creates! This is the calamity you were born to be!"
Morix didn't even look.
If he saw the carnage that his own army created, he knew the bloodlust inside him would grow even faster.
But Rales saw everything.
And it broke him.
His horse stumbled slightly, and Rales grabbed the reins, panting, eyes wide and unfocused. His ears were ringing. The battlefield felt distant yet too close. The screams drilled into his skull.
He lowered his command flag without realizing it.
His eyes stayed locked on a Valarion soldier who crushed an enemy skull under his boot, then threw another man aside like a broken doll.
Rales's hands trembled uncontrollably.
And in that frozen moment of shock
an enemy soldier noticed.
A blood-covered warrior, barely alive, dragging his broken leg across the ground, spotted Rales standing defenseless. Rage twisted his face. He tightened his grip on a shattered sword and charged toward Rales with a desperate scream.
Rales didn't move.
He didn't even gasp.
He could only watch the blade rise toward him, slow and sharp and unstoppable.
The strike was inches away from his throat