Chapter 1030: The one who will regret this is you
Tangere directed the main force of his Plague-thralls southward, clearing out the demonic monsters as they began the slow process of reclaiming the former Wood Elf territories.
Meanwhile, Caesar and Xylia took a smaller contingent of Plague-thralls and Shield Warriors north, fanning out to search for the elven refugees who had fled into the deep woods.
"What a fertile land," Tangere mused to himself, walking through the forest. The sheer abundance of low and mid-tier magical plants was astonishing. While they were of no use for his own advancement, they were invaluable for his faction and for cultivating new Plague-thralls. The Forest of Nature was a treasure trove. He could see why the arch lord Orion, was so determined to claim it.
Perhaps spreading my plague a little... wider... could help me break through to the next level. A wicked smile formed internally. If the demonic monsters can spread pestilence, why can’t I?
His thoughts were cut short as he stopped dead in his tracks. Ahead, a cloying, bone-white mist was seeping through the trees, blanketing the area in a silent, unnatural fog.
Having encountered a Mist Wraith before, Tangere knew immediately he had company. He felt no alarm.
A pool of ink-black liquid seeped from the ground at his feet. As it spread, any tree or flower it touched instantly withered, crumbling into gray dust. He had already saturated the immediate environment with his own plague. Any creature that tried to approach him would be detected, and likely, controlled.
"So, it is you who has disrupted our cleansing," a voice hissed from within the mist. It was sharp, cold, and laced with malice.
"I don’t answer questions from rats," Tangere replied, his own voice a low, resonant baritone. "Especially not the kind that hide in the shadows." He stared into the fog, unmoving. The enemy wasn’t making a move, so neither would he.
"My, what a clever tongue you have," the Mist Wraith lord, Rize, cackled. He was genuinely curious about Tangere’s composure.
According to the Cult of Four’s intelligence, the native lords of this world were supposed to react with terror when confronted by their demonic monsters. Yet this one showed no fear. In fact, Rize had the unsettling feeling that Tangere was looking into the mist as if sizing up his prey.
"You are not one of the Wood Elves. Do you have any idea of the consequences of interfering in this war?"
Tangere just shrugged, an expression of pure indifference on his face. This is another world. As long as an arch lord doesn’t show up, I’m the top of the food chain. I can walk all over this place. It was a sense of superiority that came with being one of the Survivors. Of course, that confidence was backed by the hard reality of his own power, which allowed him to punch far above his weight class.
"If you wish to leave the Forest of Nature alive, then submit to us. Serve the Black Tower," Rize’s voice offered from the mist, attempting to sound magnanimous.
Tangere found the situation deeply amusing.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked. A slight smirk touched his lips, but he was gentlemanly enough not to laugh out loud.
"Are you mocking me?!" Rize’s voice suddenly became shrill and vicious. He had made what he thought was a genuine, kind offer to join the Black Tower. Of course, the main reason was that if Tangere joined, Rize could continue to hide out in the Black Tower and pass off the Witch’s dangerous new assignment to the rookie.
"You’re angry because, deep down, you know how ridiculous you sound, don’t you?" Tangere’s tone remained infuriatingly calm. He couldn’t care less about Rize’s offer. With a backer like Orion, a low-level operator like Rize was utterly beneath his notice. Besides, as one of the Awakened, as a Survivor, his pride would never allow him to be enslaved and used as someone else’s pawn.
"You’ll regret refusing me!"
"No," Tangere shook his head, a chuckle finally escaping him. "The one who will regret this is you."
As he spoke, a chorus of guttural roars echoed from within the mist—the sound of his Plague-thralls. While he had been talking, his minions had been moving, feeding him vital information about his enemy’s position.
"Found you."
Tangere opened his mouth and exhaled a cloud of virulent green plaguemist, which shot into the bone-white fog like a serpent.
Rize seemed to realize what was happening. The white mist churned violently, surging forward like an avalanche to envelop Tangere completely.
The next moment, a series of thunderous booms ripped through the forest. The green and white mists collided, creating a roiling, toxic storm. The two transcendent powers tore at each other, the shockwaves felling ancient trees for yards in every direction. The fallen trunks quickly rotted, turning to black mulch.
"A pity," came Tangere’s voice from the dissipating fog. "If you had remained in your wraith form, my plague might not have infected you. The victory is mine!"
A light breeze finally cleared the last of the mist. All that remained was a desolate clearing of decay and death. Tangere stood before a pile of gray ash, the ink-black liquid at his feet slowly reabsorbing into his body. He gazed at the ashes of his enemy, a deep sense of satisfaction washing over him.
Then, in the instant he let his guard down, a black hand shot out from the pile of ash and clamped around his neck.
Tangere’s pupils dilated in utter disbelief. His neck dissolved into black fluid as he threw himself backward. The liquid swirled, reforming his neck almost instantly.
"The victory isn’t yours just yet, you unfamiliar little shit!"
A second arm emerged from the ash, followed by a head crowned with six malevolent eyes. Within a breath, a hideous abomination had pulled itself from the remains of the Mist Wraith, fixing Tangere with a look of pure venom.
"You destroyed my body, you little insect," the new Rize snarled, stepping into the air. An oppressive aura that didn’t belong to a mere lord radiated from him, a pressure so immense it pinned Tangere in place, making even the thought of escape impossible. "So I’ll just have to take yours!"
"Arch lord!" The word escaped Tangere’s lips as a choked gasp of terror. In his memory, only an arch lord could exert this kind of soul-crushing pressure.
"Arch lord? He’s not even close."
Suddenly, Orion’s deep, calm voice resonated beside Tangere’s ear.
At the same time, a Bestial Fang Talisman Tangere carried flew out from his pouch, pulsing with a brilliant light. It was a gift from Orion; he would never send his primary vanguard into enemy territory without some form of protection.
"Or—"
Tangere tried to speak, but the talisman flared, unleashing the phantom of a colossal arm.