Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1245 The Eve of the Decisive Battle (Part 1) (Second Update)

Two veterans from the tactical support squad, armed with twin-barreled fusion-type molten metal, broke away from the main group and, under the cover of heavy-explosive machine gun fire, moved step by step toward the two tactical squads to provide them with fire support. They aimed their guns at the charging, blurry hound-like creatures, unleashing a blinding burst of intense heat upon these monsters that were unfazed by standard .0.75 caliber explosive rounds.

Even in the chaotic environment, the wails of the extradimensional creatures were still chilling. The veterans released the triggers, and the monsters vanished from the molten, red-hot stone slabs, leaving behind only their malicious wails. Vicious words of curses and swears dripped from their tongues, cursing the humans who had killed them.

At this moment, the royal guards, clad in crimson battle robes, entered the ranks of the wizards, who were dressed in black robes, like lions entering a flock of sheep.

The Imperial Guards wielded their halberds seemingly casually, their crackling blades easily piercing shields and slaying nearby wizards attempting to attack. Their spears occasionally spat out dazzling flashes of fire, accurately striking wizards taking crucial steps. The Imperial Guards carved a path of fire, littered with corpses and blood, through the sorcery and the crowd. The Emperor descended from his platform, wielding his holy sword to dismantle spell after spell that was constantly forming in the air. Fleeting premonitions were utterly futile against the Emperor's blade; the illusory light would vanish in the blink of an eye.

The light he emitted caused unspeakable pain to the spirits, and the wizards who had made pacts with them suffered terribly from their companions' wails and screams. The spirits screamed and darted into deeper dimensions, trying to hide beneath the water's surface to escape death.

For some wizards, losing the messenger who communicated with the outer dimensions meant losing their most powerful means of spellcasting. They attempted to attack the emperor with weaker spells, some even wielding firearms from different eras, spewing bullets or energy from their muzzles. However, a barrier halted their advance. Wanda Maximoff swung her snake-bone staff, and a crimson tide appeared out of thin air, engulfing bodies and leaving only pale skeletons in their wake. Bullets flew through the crowd, exploding, high-speed fragments and jets of molten metal crushing the vulnerable, unprotected bodies. Blades and chainsaws ruthlessly sliced ​​through limbs stripped of their magic, black blood, bone fragments, and fleshy entrails—all from a single bullet.

The knight captain strode forward, raised his plasma pistol, and pulled the trigger. High temperature, flashes of light—the turbocharged plasma vaporized all organic matter, finally exploding into orange-red flames. The Imperial Guards brandished their halberds, the severed bodies arcing through the crowd as they fell. The flashes of explosive weapons and the orange-red sparks from shields flickered incessantly in the chilling hall.

More and more people chose to surrender, lying face down on the floor, covered in pus, blood, and severed limbs, clutching their heads. Even as the emperor's boots passed by, most dared not move. The temple gradually quieted down, the air thick with the stench of rocket propellant, witchcraft, and death. The Fire Knights and the Royal Guard followed the emperor, using their weapons to eliminate the wizards who were not yet completely dead.

In less than five minutes, the army created by the emperor himself had killed over 5 wizards who attempted to resist, suffering more than five casualties themselves. The stench of human excrement filled the entire temple, and thick, crimson liquid flowed from the cracks in the granite floor, slowly seeping into the temple's drainage system. This was a devastating blow never before suffered by the Earth's magical schools. For the first time, all the wizards who came here understood how precious the Sorcerer Supreme's tolerance had been, and many survivors realized that the entire magical world was about to undergo a cataclysmic change.

"He's paying the bills," Monak said. "We're his sacrifices."

"Shut up, you old man!" Count Kooz cursed Monak under his breath, lying on the ground. He had long since removed the black cloak that concealed his identity; the once-smooth black bearskin cloak was now charred by the sorcery fire and sticky, foul-smelling from the blood of the unfortunate men around him, soon attracting flies. He lay beside a bloody rib, a rib that might have belonged to one of his friends thirty seconds ago, but Count Kooz was certain that the intestines belonged to someone else.

"Shut up, I'm begging you, Monarch!"

The old British man grimaced and continued to kneel with his stiff back, but the stickiness under his palms and the bloody smell in his nasal cavity made him feel nauseous.

"These Kamar-Taj sorcerers will act as my representatives, carrying a formal order, and will accompany you to the school's stronghold. They will act as my representatives to inventory and register all mystical texts and artifacts, helping you to organize and summarize all past and ongoing experiments, conduct safety assessments, and thoroughly identify all potential hazards." The Emperor, standing before the pile of corpses, announced the future doctrine to all the survivors of the Vatum Council. "The days of unbridled recklessness are over. Kamar-Taj will not approve any dangerous experiments or knowledge without permission. From this day forward, the world will enter a new era. You may feign submission, but my army will always find you, no matter which planet you are on."

All the survivors stood before the hundreds of steps of Wattum Temple, surrounded by dozens of soldiers in power armor and Kamar-Taj sorcerers in robes and wielding magical implements, their eyes fixed on them. The survivors watched as the Emperor's army, flamethrowers in hand, entered the temple, while they stood shivering in the torrential rain, letting the downpour steal their body heat without using any magic to protect themselves—sometimes the rain turned to hail, sometimes to boiling water, sometimes even smelling metallic. They were not allowed to protect themselves unless permitted—and soon, thick, greasy black smoke billowed from the cracks in the stone, a series of explosions began to shatter the rock, flames flowed like liquid across the granite, and the ancient temple was engulfed in flames in an instant.

A colossal aircraft descended from the churning clouds, lightning crackling across its golden armor. It landed gently on a makeshift platform, where the perpetrator of the Vatum massacre donned his cloak once more, standing firmly against the howling winds. A new era was about to dawn, but on the eve of this new age, countless lives would continue to be shed and forgotten.

Onuratu looked with a worried expression at the prefabricated barriers erected outside the rebel camp. Expansion bolts pierced the barriers through holes at the base, firmly anchoring them to the ground. Large quantities of blast-resistant sandbags were piled behind the barriers, attempting to block outside forces from entering. These sturdy bunkers, capable of withstanding explosives, weren't meant to stop any attack, but rather to withstand the escalating storm and the rocks and branches whipped up by the wind. The fiercely burning braziers flickered in the wind that seeped into the camp, offering little warmth; the generators hummed, providing the rebel camp with more light and a glimmer of hope.

The hall had never been so bustling, filled not only with her Paititi followers. Giants in power armor, gaunt Yasoks, and Paititi survivors of a counter-offensive had all gathered, even ordinary residents of the town of San Juan had been brought here to escape the disaster. Experts assessed that the cave could withstand a considerable earthquake, but they had still preserved an escape route outwards to avoid flooding and collapse.

It's six o'clock in the afternoon, and the light is slowly fading from the clouds.

As the time to launch the attack drew ever closer, the Knights of the Infernal grew increasingly silent. Aparishia silently sharpened his execution axe, loading bullets one by one into his heavy-duty bullet pistol. Hours earlier, the Royal Guard and their masters had vanished, informing them they would return before the attack. Aparishia knew that regardless of whether the Royal Guard and the Emperor arrived on time, the attack would proceed as planned. However, the situation was now vastly different. The torrential rains and storms intensified, landslides occurred frequently, all aircraft had prematurely entered low orbit to avoid the storms due to potential risks, and some assault tanks and armored vehicles were buried under the mud.

Before the battle even began, the Fire Knights' armored forces had already suffered losses.

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(End of this chapter)