Multiple spatial tears ruptured the air, jagged fractures spreading across the territory. The frightened Amazonians drew their weapons, clustering into tight formations as the fissures widened.

  “It’s time for you and your people to leave,” Scott said coldly.

  The territorial leader opened her mouth to speak but hesitated. Slowly, she shook her head and swallowed her words.

  Scott watched as she pressed a runestone against her palm. A resplendent glow enveloped her and her subordinates.

  “Good luck,” she murmured before vanishing from the territory.

  So, that’s how it works, Scott mused, his gaze lingering on the empty space where the woman once stood. I wonder if they were sent to Yopi’s temple or directly to their headquarters. A faint smile curled his lips.

  Whichever it is, I’ll find out soon enough, he thought, the smile widening. But first, let’s deal with these invaders.

  Without a word, Scott summoned the map. Its projection flared to life in his mind, and he scanned the shifting sigils. In the short time he'd spoken with the Amazonians, the nature of the territorial distribution had changed.

  To the east, the number of territories bearing the mark of the tombstone had multiplied. In the north and south, the sigil of a hammer wreathed in lightning dominated. Meanwhile, to the west, various factions vied for control—but the mark of a bestial claw had seized the most ground.

  Apart from the west, the other regions are stabilizing, Scott noted, his eyes narrowing on his own sigil—surrounded by encroaching forces.

  A thunderous thud shattered the air. Scott dismissed the map and turned toward the sound.

  A towering deformity of scorched flesh and hulking muscle crawled forward on its knuckles. Faceless, with two mouths slashed across either side of its head, the creature paused as it entered his territory.

  Behind it, a dozen figures stood in formation, each clad in pristine armor and wielding crackling war hammers brimming with lightning.

  Before Scott could react, an eerie chorus echoed through the fractures. Ghoulish wails and chilling screams rippled across the field as a procession of specters drifted forth from an adjacent tear.

  A heartbeat later, a colossal flying ship burst from another fissure, its hull gleaming under the fractured sky. Then came the cultivators—hundreds of them—clad in flowing purple robes and mounted on flying swords.

  The air trembled as thunderous war drums boomed from yet another tear. A bestial horde emerged, led by axe-wielding champions with lion heads and human physiques. Their golden fur gleamed against their exposed torsos, while thick, baggy jute pants covered their lower halves.

  Would you look at these fuckers, Scott thought, his smile widening as more champions spilled into the territory.

  In mere moments, over ten invading factions had arrived, each standing motionless at their entry points—as though following an unspoken agreement.

  Minutes ticked by, and soon, fifteen factions had gathered. From each group, a lone champion stepped forward. With perfect precision, they stopped a hundred feet from Scott.

  A beastman, his golden mane billowing in the wind, was the first to speak. “Were you the one who exterminated the leaders of the Steel Vikings?” he roared.

  Scott opened his mouth to reply, but a ghoulish whisper cut him off.

  “What does it matter if he’s the one?” the specter hissed. “I see no need for this pointless discussion.”

  “I expect no less from a foul spirit,” the cultivator’s representative sneered, his thin lips curling into a smile.

  The specter’s ethereal form brightened as it laughed. “Still bitter over those women we took from you?”

  “Silence!” the cultivator snapped, his robes flaring as a dozen golden swords manifested behind him.

  The specter giggled, the sound dripping with malice. “How can a species that fornicates so much be this sensitive about losing a few thousand people—”

  “I said, silence!” the cultivator barked, but his hands trembled.

  “Oh, what will you do?” the specter taunted. “Attack me? Go ahead. I’d love to see how long your precious sect survives once the others smell blood.”

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  The cultivator’s features twisted with fury, but he didn’t strike. The other champions remained still—watching, waiting.

  “I’ll remember this,” the cultivator growled, taking a deep breath. With a flick of his wrist, the golden swords vanished like smoke.

  “Oh no, I’m so scared,” the specter mocked, its laughter slicing through the silence.

  Unbothered by the squabble, the beastman stepped forward again. His fierce eyes locked with Scott’s. “Were you responsible for the demise of the Steel Vikings?” he repeated.

  Scott smiled. “Does it matter?” he asked softly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I denied it—so why don’t you tell me what you really want?”

  A tense silence fell over the battlefield as every eye fixed on him, their expressions ranging from curiosity to barely restrained hostility.

  The specter drifted closer, its ethereal form shimmering as it giggled. "This one is feisty. I like him. I like him very much."

  The beastman flicked a glance at the creature but dismissed its antics, keeping his focus on Scott. "You're right. It doesn't matter whether you were responsible for their demise. But here’s the thing," he said, his voice a low rumble. "The Steel Vikings were allowed to inhabit this territory under one condition—to serve as a neutral ground for resolving conflicts between factions." His eyes narrowed. "Your presence disrupts that balance."

  Scott's lips curled into a slow smile as he scanned the gathered representatives. "So, basically, you're here to tell me to know my place."

  The specter let out a shrieking laugh and clapped its translucent hands. "Oh, I really do like this one. It's rare for a human to understand their place."

  "Correct," the beastman said, his tone sharpening. "I’m glad you understand—"

  "Hold on," Scott interrupted. "Hypothetically, if I’m not interested in your little arrangement… what happens then?"

  The air grew heavier. Expressions shifted from veiled patience to open hostility.

  The beastman snorted softly. "Do you really need to ask?" His massive frame tensed as he stepped forward. "If you refuse, you forfeit the territory and leave. Otherwise, you’ll be crushed beneath the full weight of our combined forces."

  "Oh?" Scott murmured, his head tilting slightly.

  "What is your decision?" the beastman demanded.

  Scott's gaze swept the champions before returning to the beastman. "The more I look at you, the clearer it becomes—none of you are the actual territorial lords. You’re just their messengers."

  A ripple of irritation coursed through the group. One champion, an ectoplasmic figure, floated closer. "Either accept our terms, or hand over the territory and get the hell out. Who do you think you are?"

  Scott barely spared it a glance, his smile widening.

  Another champion, a towering Trisos, bared sharpened teeth. "If the next words out of your mouth aren’t 'yes' or 'no,' I will tear you apart where you stand."

  Scott chuckled softly, meeting the Trisos' glare. "Really now?"

  The Trisos stepped forward, its bark-like skin twisting into jagged spears dripping with emerald poison. But before it could act, the beastman intervened.

  "Do you realize where you are?" he growled, his voice like distant thunder. "Are you so eager to drag your lord into an unnecessary conflict?" His golden mane bristled as he glared at the Trisos.

  The vine-creature hesitated before retreating to its position. Tension pulsed through the air as the beastman turned back to Scott. "This isn't a game."

  "Who said I was playing?" Scott countered, stepping forward.

  The specter burst into fresh laughter, its form swelling as it spun in the air. "I knew it was too good to be true. A human who knows his place? Pure fantasy," it hissed. Its gleaming eyes fixed on Scott. "When this is over, I want his soul. I bet it tastes divine."

  The beastman opened his mouth to speak, but Scott cut him off. "Let me make a proposal," he said, his voice calm and cold. "Tell your lords that whatever agreement you had over this territory is void. Instead, you now have one hour to hand over your territories to me."

  A stunned silence fell.

  The specter was the first to recover. "And if we refuse?" it asked, its tone mocking.

  Scott's smile sharpened. "Then you will be destroyed."

  Laughter erupted from the specter and echoed through the other factions.

  "Please," the specter wheezed. "Leave his soul for me. I really want it."

  "Kon'n," the Trisos growled, addressing the beastman. "Are we really going to waste time on this braggart?"

  Kon'n didn’t respond immediately. His eyes remained locked on Scott. "If you think the Steel Vikings' strength was impressive, you're in for a rude awakening," he warned. "Our combined forces will crush you."

  The air trembled with unspoken violence as all eyes fell on Scott.

  But instead of faltering, he beamed. "Everyone keeps boasting about their armies," he mused, stepping closer. "But no one ever wonders about mine." His voice turned razor-sharp. "You have one hour. Make it count."

  Kon'n reached for his ax, bloodlust staining his eyes crimson. "Very well," he growled. "I gave you every chance to back down, yet you choose to cling to your delusions." The massive weapon gleamed as he pointed it at Scott. "As the leader of this assembly, I declare that the so-called lord of the neutral territory shall be eliminated and replaced. If anyone objects, speak now."

  Silence.

  The other representatives remained still, their gazes cold and calculating. Kon'n's lip curled into a snarl. "Good. Finish him—"

  Before the words fully left his mouth, the air around Scott twisted. Inky black portals tore open beside him, their edges crackling with unnatural energy.

  The representatives flinched, each stepping back while preparing for battle. From the portals emerged faceless, blackened figures—one after another, their numbers multiplying at a terrifying pace. They stood rigid, unmoving, their eerie stillness more menacing than any battle cry.

  "This?" A birdkin champion scoffed. "If you think this is enough to save you, you're a fool."

  Scott ignored the jeer, his focus locked on Kon'n. "One hour," he said quietly, a cold smile curving his lips. "Nothing more. Nothing less."

  A chilling giggle pierced the air. It swelled, echoing through the desolate land. The specter’s form ballooned, its laughter turning twisted and otherworldly.

  "Intimidate us? With these?" it mocked, its voice a haunting melody. "Let me show you what an army looks like."

  A jagged portal erupted at the center of the specter's expanding mass. From its depths came an unholy chorus of ghoulish wails and agonized cries, thick and oppressive as death itself.

  "I suspend all laws within my domain!" the specter thundered, and the very fabric of reality trembled at its words. All manner of undead poured from the portal, their eyes burning with the curse of death, each rushing forth in a relentless charge.