MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Anthony's figure reappeared within the aircraft, his Presence Concealment ability fading the instant he emerged.

Dale spoke the moment he saw him, "How did it go?"

"They've all been implanted." Anthony replied curtly, without turning.

A wide grin spread across Dale's face, one that looked ready to shake headquarters itself with an art known as Explosion.

"Let's begin," Anthony said, his voice composed and flat.

He offered no account of what he had witnessed within the Forsaken Cult's base. Speaking of it to his teammates would change nothing. He had already decided to handle it alone.

"Be ready," Anthony said once more, his voice brisk, yet commanding, before vanishing in a streak of motion, reappearing above his aircraft in the blink of an eye. With a mere thought, a radiant orb materialized in his hand, pulsing faintly with condensed power.

He applied the slightest pressure, and the orb fractured like glass.

For a brief moment, all was still, eerily silent. Then the air trembled.

Space itself began to quake with violent intensity before rupturing apart, revealing a swirling portal.

One became two. Two multiplied to twenty. The count soared with each passing heartbeat, portals blossoming across the sky like blooming scars in reality, until they numbered in the hundreds.

Below, the alarm runes embedded by the Forsaken Cult flared to life, triggered by an unregistered spatial distortion.

Inside the cult's compound, everything came to a halt. Every alarm, every enemy detection array, blared in unison, an unmistakable declaration of invasion.

Above, the portals shimmered with otherworldly brilliance as countless aircraft, each bearing the military insignia, emerged. They surged forth like a relentless swarm of ants rushing towards cubes of sugar.

Dale didn't waste a second. A savage smile curled across his face as his mana surged, fluctuating in a calculated, ominous pattern.

And then — it struck.

BOOM

Every structure within the Forsaken Cult's compound erupted simultaneously, engulfed in a wave of catastrophic explosions. A hundred mana bombs detonated at once, tearing the buildings apart. Screams pierced the chaos as devastation descended without warning.

There was no time to react. The cult's defenses had been layered across the desert above, designed to repel threats from the outside. But this attack had come from within, precise, merciless, and unexpected.

Inside the compound, Anthony's clones were already in motion. Each activated Mirror Dimension in the final moment, shielding the innocent from Dale's wrath before the firestorm could claim them.

Above, the sky thrummed with power as military aircraft emerged one after another through the portals, each vessel humming with energy drawn from deep within its core.

Then, without warning, a volley of concentrated beams erupted downward, thunderous and precise. They rained upon the cult's defensive array with cataclysmic force, colliding with the formation and rune barriers in a dazzling storm of destruction.

Yet, the barrier held.

Despite the relentless assault from hundreds of aircraft, it did not waver, it absorbed every blow without so much as a crack. The Forsaken Cult's defenses were formidable, their enchantments deeply woven.

From one of the portals, Warlord Raelith stepped forward, his presence alone shifting the atmosphere. Beside him, Warlord Brontagar emerged, floating effortlessly, neither of them requiring aircraft for transport.

Raelith raised his hand, and a talisman materialized in his grasp. With a single motion, he tore it in half.

A wave of calm, foreign energy surged outward, cascading across the desert like an unseen tide. It spread in an instant, crossing millions of kilometers.

Then everything crumbled.

The formation, the runes, the barriers, disintegrated as though they had never existed, erased in the wake of a superior force.

That talisman had been given to Raelith by none other than the First Supreme Monarch himself, crafted for this very moment, to dismantle the cult's troublesome defenses in a single, undeniable stroke.

With renewed intensity, the military aircraft unleashed a relentless barrage from above, an unending rain of destruction that poured down like judgment from the heavens.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM

Detonation after detonation shook the earth. Blasts collapsed into the desert floor, sending waves of sand spiraling upward. Towering stone pillars shattered, falling like fractured heavens. The dunes were obliterated, reduced to dust beneath beams that tore through the landscape like a dragon's breath scorching parchment.

Below, the Forsaken Cult's stronghold collapsed under the assault. But almost immediately, a response erupted.

From beneath the sands, their own fleet of aircraft surged to the surface, rising like phantoms from the depths.

With a sharp hum, their vessels recalibrated mid-ascent, systems locking on in synchronized retaliation. In an instant, energy cannons roared to life, firing back at the military's aerial division.

Explosions lit the sky as aircraft were torn apart, fireballs spiraling downward.

The sky had become a battlefield.

Shattered metal, torn chairs, twisted wires, and fragments of doors rained from above, debris from destroyed aircraft spiraling down like dying stars. Soldiers and Forsaken Cult members alike plummeted through the smoke-filled air, their vessels having been torn from the sky in the chaos.

The clouds and fractured space above became a living canvas, streaked with the wild brilliance of magic and artillery. Attacks painted the heavens in vibrant, deadly hues, each explosion a brushstroke of devastation across the world.

Mana surged and detonated, cascading through the sky and across the desert in sweeping waves. War cries rang out from all sides, raw, furious, and unyielding.

Amid the havoc, chaos energy erupted like thunder.

The eyes of the Forsaken Cult members burned with frenzied light, madness gleaming in their gaze as the battlefield descended into unrelenting fury.

Both sides surged toward one another with unrestrained intent, murder etched into every movement. The Forsaken Cult didn't waste a moment questioning how their hidden base had been discovered.

They had always known this day would come.

They were not the first to rise, and they would not be the last. Those before them had been crushed. The only question had ever been when, and how.

But unlike their predecessors, they were determined to survive.

There were no speeches from the military. No foolish monologues or rhetorical cries: Why did you betray your planet? How could you turn against your own kind?

There was no room for dialogue. No space for sentiment.

The Forsaken Cult offered no words in return. Only action.

They shot forward like arrows loosed from chaos itself, colliding headlong with their enemies. It was not just a battle, it was an annihilation in the making.

Only one side would walk away from this. And in that moment, every soldier, every cultist, fought with the unshakable belief that they would be the ones to survive.

Shockwaves tore across the battlefield as elements burst into life, fire raged, water surged, earth trembled, sand twisted, ice cracked, and curses darkened the air like whispered death.

Those who could summon did so without hesitation. Beasts of every shape and nightmare roared into existence, their cries splitting the air with primal fury.

The clash of weapons rang out across the desert like a cursed symphony, metal against metal, steel against bone. The world reverberated with the sound of war, every clash a reminder of mortality. It wasn't just noise, it was discomfort incarnate, hammering into the ears of all who fought.

Barely minutes had passed, and already the blood had begun to flow.

Some were decapitated mid-charge, their heads tumbling into the sand. Others were stabbed through the heart in direct combat, or felled by ambush, cut down before they even understood they were in danger. Some died screaming. Others died quietly, eyes wide in disbelief.

But none of it mattered.

This was not a battle of honour.

This was war.

And in war, only two things mattered: kill or die.

The blood seeped steadily into the earth. The once dry, reddish-yellow sand grew slick, its color transforming with each passing moment. Black blood from demons splattered across the dunes. Thick, green ichor from zombies soaked the earth. Crimson from humans and dragons alike splashed wildly, painting the desert with the truth of war: beauty had no place here, only death.

The destruction had begun.

The cleansing was underway.

But would peace truly follow?

And even if it did… how long could it possibly endure?