MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

The silence of the Forsaken Cult's secret realm hung heavy in the air, an eerie stillness that permeated the very ground beneath their feet.

Anthony, Daelen, and Mira stood as one, their senses attuned to the alien atmosphere surrounding them.

The world before them seemed to stretch endlessly, a barren wasteland of jagged rocks and scorched earth beneath a sky that was as crimson as the blood of the fallen.

There was no sun, only an ominous glow from the distant horizon that bathed the landscape in a sickly hue.

"Stay sharp"

Anthony muttered, his voice steady but laden with a sharpness that betrayed his anticipation.

His eyes gleamed with a predatory focus, the air around him humming with restrained power.

His hand instinctively brushed the hilt of his katana, the familiar weight of the blade comforting yet igniting his eagerness for the conflict ahead.

"This place reeks of danger. We don't know what we'll encounter here"

Mira nodded, her violet hair flickering in the unnatural wind that gusted from unseen directions.

"I feel it too"

She said quietly, her voice tinged with a hint of unease.

"The air's thick with something unnatural, something... cursed"

Daelen, ever the pragmatist, narrowed his eyes as he scanned the horizon.

"Cursed or not, we came here for a reason. Let's get to it"

The Rank 0s had already begun moving with purpose, their superior aura rippling outward as they scanned their surroundings with a focused precision.

Their immediate task was clear, find the Forsaken Cult's stronghold and eliminate the threat once and for all.

However, the vast emptiness of the realm was disorienting, making it difficult to know which direction to take.

Even for adventurers of their caliber, navigating a domain so fraught with hidden perils was no simple feat.

A sudden tremor in the ground broke the stillness, followed by a low, guttural rumble that echoed through the desolate land.

The tremor's intensity increased, and from the shadows of the broken landscape, a group of shadowy figures emerged, their forms indistinct and shifting, as though they were made of smoke and darkness.

Their numbers entering the hundreds.

Their eyes, glowing with a malevolent fire, fixed upon the adventurers with a chilling hunger.

"Cultists"

Zael, a Rank 0 of unparalleled renown, spoke with a voice that resonated like a calm yet commanding tide.

Yet, he remained utterly still, his presence exuding an aura of restrained power.

The Rank 0s, sovereigns of combat, stood resolute in their decision not to act.

They had no intention of expending their energy on foes beneath their notice.

This decision was not born of arrogance, but rather of precision, a tactical choice to conserve their mana and stamina for adversaries worthy of their might.

The arrival of these lesser enemies, cannon fodder by all definitions, was nothing more than a calculated ploy to erode the reserves of the lower ranks.

A tactical drain.

Though a single motion from any of the Rank 0s could obliterate the horde in an instant, they withheld their strength, leaving the task to those beneath them.

Above, the sky was adorned with the imposing figures of the fifteen Rank 0s.

Suspended effortlessly in the sky, they radiated an unyielding dominance.

Their very presence declared their intent, they would not deign to interfere until opponents of equal stature emerged.

To the adventurers below, it was both a statement and a warning: the true battle had yet to begin.

The cultists, each exuding a potent Master Rank aura, surged forward in unison, their movements fueled by palpable killing intent.

Their malicious energy stained the air like a storm on the verge of breaking.

Yet, not a single adventurer flinched.

These were no ordinary combatants, they stood tall, each at the formidable Grandmaster Level 3 or higher, their confidence as unshakable as the mountains.

Before the cultists could so much as close the distance, a single figure stepped forward, a mage adventurer whose aura hummed with raw elemental power.

Calm yet resolute, they raised their staff, their voice ringing out with chilling precision:

[Water Magic: Abyssal Cascade]

From beneath the battlefield, mana surged into motion, tearing through the ground.

In an instant, a massive, churning wave of water erupted, its force unmatched.

The cascade spiraled outward with violent grace, a torrential flood that devoured all in its path.

The cultists, caught in its relentless embrace, had no time to react.

They were crushed under the overwhelming pressure, their bodies torn apart by the sheer ferocity of the magic.

One spell.

That was all it took.

The battlefield fell eerily silent, save for the fading echoes of the spell's devastation.

Where there had been an advancing horde, now only lifeless remains lingered, strewn amidst pools of water.

The mage lowered their staff, the rippling surface of the water fading into calmness as though the destruction had never occurred.

"You should have kept one alive for questioning"

An adventurer muttered, breaking the silence.

"We could have used them to locate their base and ended this charade once and for all"

Another voice chimed in, carrying a hint of frustration.

"The real question is why the spy hasn't already provided us with the base's location. Would've saved us all this time and unnecessary effort"

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group, their voices low but pointed.

Before the debate could escalate further, a figure stepped forward from the throng of adventurers.

Clad in dark robes, his presence exuded an eerie calm.

"There's no need to wait for the spy"

He declared, his voice smooth yet commanding.

"Nor do we need to capture another cultist for interrogation. I already know the way"

Every gaze snapped to him, expressions ranging from skepticism to curiosity.

"How?"

Someone asked sharply.

The man's lips curved into a faint smile.

"I'm a necromancer"

He explained.

"When the cultists were killed, I extracted the information I needed using one of my skills. Their secrets are laid bare before me. If you're ready to end this, follow me"

Without waiting for further questions or confirmation, the necromancer extended his arms, his aura crackling with deathly energy, and ascended into the sky.

His movements were deliberate, exuding confidence that brooked no argument.

For a moment, the group exchanged uncertain glances, but hesitation quickly gave way to determination.

One by one, they lifted off the ground, their resolve hardening.

"Let's move"

One of the Rank 1s barked.

"We don't have time to waste"

In unison, the adventurers surged forward, a disciplined tide chasing after the necromancer's shadow, their collective purpose burning brighter with every step.

__________

The cultist base.

A figure moved swiftly, her steps purposeful yet carrying an edge of urgency.

Reaching an imposing door, she paused momentarily, her hand lifting to deliver a soft but deliberate knock.

She then waited, her breath steady but laden with anticipation.

"Enter"

Came a calm, measured voice from the other side.

The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit chamber, its atmosphere imbued with authority.

The woman stepped inside, her movements precise and controlled.

Before her, seated behind an intricately carved table, was a man whose presence exuded dominance.

His posture was relaxed, yet his aura commanded respect.

Bowing deeply, the woman spoke, her voice steady but tinged with an underlying tension.

"Your Lordship, over two hundred patrolling soldiers have been killed, abruptly and without warning"

The man behind the table slowly raised his head, his piercing gaze locking onto her.

His expression remained inscrutable, though the weight of his attention was palpable.

"And the reason?"

He inquired, his tone composed, yet it carried an undeniable edge that hinted at the gravity of the situation.

The woman hesitated, her mind racing for an answer.

Her confidence faltered as she grappled for an explanation, her silence filling the room like an oppressive fog.

Before the woman could form a response, a thunderous explosion shattered the stillness.

The walls trembled as buildings crumbled under the sheer force of the impact, and dust and debris filled the air.

The man and woman, caught in the epicenter of the destruction, were obliterated in an instant, their lives extinguished without ceremony.

"We are here"

The necromancer adventurer announced with a cold smirk, surveying the wreckage and the lifeless bodies scattered around.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

His voice held no remorse, only the eerie calm of one accustomed to death.

He stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the scene before him.

"Shall we begin this rewarding mission?"

Another adventurer asked, their tone laced with anticipation as the rest of the group arrived, their feet touching solid ground with deliberate intent.

The necromancer wasted no time, his voice cutting through the thick, dust filled air.

[Dark Magic: Death Enslavement]

The temperature seemed to plummet as mana surged through the necromancer, an ominous darkness coiling around him like living shadows.

Corpses stirred, their once lifeless forms now animated with an unnatural energy.

The dead rose, staggering forward with grotesque precision, their empty eyes now glowing with a faint, sinister light.

Then, as if summoned by some unholy command, over a thousand Master rank cultists materialized from the shadows, their presence oppressive and suffused with murderous intent.

The necromancer's undead minions moved first.

Clashing blades rang out as the resurrected dead charged forward, meeting the cultists in a cacophony of violence.

Mana surged, blood spilled, and the battlefield descended into chaos.

The adventurers, particularly those of Rank 3, did not intervene.

They stood back, watching as the necromancer's spell transformed the cultists' own ranks into a tide of relentless death.

Each cultist that fell to the necromancer's undead army would twitch violently, their bodies convulsing before rising to their feet, only now they fought for the necromancer.

It was a massacre, orchestrated by a single man whose mastery over the dark arts was both awe inspiring and horrifying.

Suddenly, the air itself seemed to thicken, pressing down like an invisible weight.

The battlefield grew silent, the chaos stilled, as an oppressive aura descended from above.

The adventurers turned their gaze skyward, their breaths hitching.

Fifteen figures descended, each radiating an Emperor's presence, their sheer power suffocating.

The fifteen Rank 0 adventurers among the group immediately took flight, positioning themselves in a loose formation.

Their auras flared to life, incandescent with the promise of devastating power as they prepared to face their equals.

The world seemed to hold its breath as the Emperor ranked adventurers squared off against the newly arrived Emperor ranked cultists.

Below, the weight of their aura was unbearable.

All those of lower rank, including the King ranked adventurers like Darlene and Mira, were forced to their knees.

The oppressive presence was absolute, their strength insignificant against the majesty of Emperors.

Even the cultists of lesser ranks who had arrived with the Emperor cultists fell to the ground, their bodies trembling in the overwhelming presence.

In this world, there was a popular saying;

"All shall kneel in the presence of an Emperor.

All shall bow in the presence of a King"

And yet, amidst the chaos, one figure stood tall.

Unaffected by the crushing aura that brought others to their knees, his posture remained firm, his gaze unwavering.

His presence exuded calm defiance, as if the power radiating from the Emperor ranked cultists was nothing more than a passing breeze.

It was Lorian.

His eyes locked onto the Emperor ranked cultists with an intensity that rivaled their oppressive might.

While others cowered, he radiated quiet confidence, a storm waiting to be unleashed.

The battlefield was poised on the edge of cataclysm, and Lorian stood as an enigma, a singular force among giants.