Mana warped the air; it was a mixture of powerful auras and manas in the western wing. With every strike, those nearby felt the vibration.

  The Gath ran faster and faster, as long as they still had the strength to continue and pull the wounded from beneath the rubble. Faster, Gath. Ravia saved civilians trapped under ruins; she heard the impacts, felt the vibration.

  So… this is the strength of the Pillars of the South.

  What an absurd amount of mana. Where are you?

  The South needs you, father. Where are you?

  Tailer extended his daggers forward.

  Zone of space. Astrophysical vectors. Multiple jumps.

  He moved the patriarchs at insane speeds. Their coordination while attacking Anatoly was powerful: ice, fire, roots, autumn leaves, and thunder.

  Anatoly spun from the force of the impacts before crashing to the ground and receiving more blows — slashing strikes, magic, aura attacks. Yet his expression was one of pure insanity; he looked like he was enjoying all of it.

  “Hahahahahah.”

  “Excellent, little rats,” Anatoly said. “Try harder. Being able to wound me means nothing if you can’t kill me… After all, mere inferiors. Just rats.”

  “Gods do not fight…” he continued, with a crooked smile. “They demonstrate.”

  And he demonstrated.

  Tailer felt it first in his bones.

  The gravitational field he had anchored began to vibrate out of sync — it wasn’t collapsing; it was being rejected. His daggers trembled in his hands. Vectors overlapped, tearing space around him. A thin line of blood ran from his nose.

  He was holding something that should not be held.

  The first impact came without warning. Tailer tried to anchor the gravitational field — Anatoly merely looked, and the air expelled him in a brutal shock.

  “Crimson blood vibration.”

  Tailer’s body floated for a second before crashing down, unconscious.

  “The little rat was already beyond his limit and still kept carrying you…” Anatoly smiled. “But it seems I removed your transportation, little rats. What will you do now?”

  He stretched lightly.

  “It’s a shame. Killing you would be appropriate; it would mark you as nightmares, but you’re too proud to accept it. I will fulfill my objective and destroy this empire. Rats will not stand in my way. And I will take great pleasure in destroying the South personally.”

  He bowed, making a reverence.

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  Then, the South responded.

  A human roar echoed throughout the entire valley.

  Alex Fernandes, the firstborn, descended from the skies wrapped in golden light. Marcos, the Wandering Wolf, ran through the shadows, cutting monsters down with claws. Maycon and Lyncon, the Mirror Twins, split into ten lethal reflections, confusing the air. Helena Fernandes held the rear.

  Rubya, the White Tigress, was bleeding before that aberration.

  “There has to be a weak point…” she growled. “No matter how much damage we deal, he seems immortal.”

  Tinbell, the Fairy Queen, channeled spectral power to analyze the battlefield, supporting the Gath with faster location data. She noticed something wrong.

  The empire that should have been in chaos… was not.

  It was as if the entire empire was waiting for the attack.

  Through the swallows — messenger fairies — information flowed. Tinbell saw Kyros’s captains fighting frantically, slaughtering hordes of monsters. But two names were not there.

  Catarina. Draken.

  They were in the imperial capital, Bragan?a, commanding everything with mastery. The borders near Mount Roraima were holding the advantage. The empire had not lost a single inch of territory.

  A well-crafted strategy: compress, gather, and annihilate — like a funnel.

  “Who did this…?” Tinbell murmured. “Catarina… Draken… how…?”

  Anatoly smiled.

  “So, little rats… with the white rat out of combat, you won’t be moving through gravity anymore. Easier to hit.”

  Aurelius Rowan, Patriarch of Autumn, raised walls of flaming leaves. Kotan Aspen, Patriarch of Winter, froze the horizon with a gesture. Flora Anapelum, of Spring, conjured cutting petals that pierced the ground like arrows.

  “Come, you miserable bastard!” Kotan snarled. “Come with everything!”

  “As you wish,” Anatoly replied.

  The clash of mana made the entire western wing tremble.

  In the southern wing, Nanda Guaracy Fernandes spun like a living drum. Her feet were blades, leaving trails of sound and light. Monsters that soldiers feared fell with a single strike.

  Tariq, the Master of Jiu-Jitsu, advanced right behind her — silent, precise. Every touch broke. Every throw destroyed.

  Akemi, his daughter, moved with lethal grace. The ground imploded around her with every turn.

  Capoeira and jiu-jitsu. Palmares and Sol Negro. A chorus of humanity.

  In the western wing, the patriarchs attacked in absolute coordination. Anatoly felt pain — but not enough.

  “I haven’t used this yet, have I?” he murmured. “Blood corrosion.”

  A snap of fingers. Blood condensed into a blade. The bodies of dead monsters dissolved merely by being close.

  “Now then… it’s showtime.”

  The strikes came fast.

  Aurelius dodged, but the blade grazed his skin — immediate burns.

  Rubya attacked from the side.

  Anatoly shouted. His leg, loaded with crimson aura, smashed into her ribs.

  Clak.

  “What a wonderful sound.”

  Rubya was launched into the rubble.

  “Rubya!” Flora shouted.

  Aurelius was thrown against her.

  Kotan and Helena Summer advanced in a cross attack.

  The Sword of the Frozen Soul clashed with the Sword of Coronation. Steam rose.

  Helena created an opening. Kotan advanced.

  For a single instant, the mana field fell silent.

  It worked.

  Anatoly’s head rolled across the ground.

  Then the headless body moved.

  The arm rose and tore off Kotan’s arm. Blood exploded. Helena was hurled into the wall. Kotan fell to his knees.

  The body picked up the head and placed it back into position.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Anatoly said. “It puts me in a state of ecstasy.”

  He raised his sword.

  “Die in despair, little rat.”

  The blade descended.

  Vibration of thunder.

  Mountain Separator.

  Anatoly’s arm vanished.

  “Sorry for the delay,” Kyros said, appearing like a bolt of lightning. “I saw that my children are fine. They’re doing a great job. Rest. I’ll take it from here.”

  “Shut up, old man,” Kotan muttered.

  “Old? My face doesn’t say that.”

  Anatoly tried to speak:

  “Thunderous phantom—”

  His body split in two.

  Howling Thunder Step.

  The Sun of the South shone once again.

  End of Chapter 9