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Chapter 72: Battle!
🕑 Added 2025-06-22 15:55:50 +0000 UTCMarcus pulled out the military-grade satellite phone and thumbed the activation key. He watched the screen, his heart pounding with a desperate hope. After a moment, a single, damning phrase appeared on the display: NO SIGNAL.
"It's no use," he growled, his frustration palpable.
Seraphina touched the cold, damp stone of the cave wall. She could feel a faint, almost imperceptible hum of psionic energy resonating through it. "They've put up a damper field," she said, her voice a grim whisper. "The whole area is shielded. We're cut off." She looked towards the illusionary entrance. "Let's try outside the cave."
They walked back to where they had entered, but the shimmering, intangible wall was now gone. In its place was solid, unyielding rock.
Seraphina's heart sank. "It's a one-way trip. The gate is sealed behind us. The only exit must be somewhere deeper inside."
Marcus clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking. "Then we have no choice. We explore deeper."
"Let's wait for our two 'uncles' first," she cautioned, placing a hand on his arm. "They know we came this way. They'll follow."
As if summoned by her words, two figures shimmered into existence behind them, passing through the solid rock as if it were mist. It was Agent Croft and Agent Sterling, their faces grim.
"Young Master, Young Miss," Sterling said, his eyes immediately scanning for threats. "Are you harmed?"
Marcus shook his head. "Uncle Sterling, Uncle Croft, we're fine."
Agent Croft moved to the wall they had just come from, placing a hand against it. He pushed, his muscles straining, but his knuckles met solid stone with a dull thud. "The gate is sealed. We're trapped." His voice was low and calm, but his eyes were hard as flint.
"It seems that way," Seraphina explained. "We can't get out."
"Since that's the case," Croft concluded, his gaze sweeping the dark corridor that led deeper into the mountain, "then we can only move forward."
Agent Croft and Agent Sterling moved to the front, flanking the two teenagers, their bodies forming a protective barrier. They advanced into the darkness. As they rounded a corner, Croft held up a hand, signaling for silence. From a nearby guard post, they could hear the lazy, resentful voices of two men.
"Sigh~ This damned guard duty, when will it ever end?"
"There's no helping it. The Deacon and the Doctor's grand experiment was a failure. We spent so much effort, and in the end, we got nothing."
"That stinky brat… what Earth-rank talent? I think he's just a dog fart!"
"That's right! If he had just held on for a little longer, it might not have failed! It's all his fault we're still stuck standing guard in this hole! If the experiment had succeeded, we would have had endless glory and wealth. It was all ruined by that one brat!"
Hearing them blame Ethan for their own misfortune, Marcus let out a low growl, his fists clenching so hard the leather groaned. "These bastards!!!" He took a step forward, ready to rush them, but Agent Croft's hand shot out, a vise-like grip on his shoulder.
"Don't be impulsive," the agent whispered, his voice cold as ice. "Don't alert the entire nest." He scanned the corridor. "No surveillance here. As long as we are silent…" He extended his free hand towards the guard post. The air in the corridor chilled perceptibly. Two thin, almost invisible tendrils of white frost snaked across the floor, silent and deadly. They climbed up the guards' boots. The men stiffened mid-complaint, their words cut short as the frost crystallized in their veins. Their eyes went wide with shock, then glazed over, frozen solid in their lazy, complaining postures. In front of a Rank Three master, these Rank One pipsqueaks were like insects, crushed without a sound.
"Let's go." Croft waved them forward. They quietly opened the next door and found themselves in a vast, factory-like interior. The passages were complex, twisting and turning like a maze under dim, flickering lights that created a heavy sense of oppression and unease.
"Be careful," Croft said in a low voice. "There may be traps or ambushes. Avoid making any noise." Marcus nodded heavily. They advanced carefully, senses on high alert.
Suddenly, they heard the rhythmic sound of light footsteps approaching. They immediately stopped, melting into a dark corner. A moment later, several figures appeared. They looked like ordinary patrol personnel, but they held advanced psionic weapons, their eyes scanning vigilantly. Croft gestured for them to remain perfectly still.
After the patrol passed, they continued forward, searching for clues, for Ethan. They encountered several more patrol squads, silently neutralizing them and dragging the unconscious bodies into the shadows. But this stealthy approach couldn't last forever. When another patrol team came upon a route and found their comrades missing from their post, they knew something was wrong. One of them pulled out a communicator.
A jarring, ugly klaxon shattered the silence, its blare echoing through the metallic corridors. WOO~ WOO~
"Damn it! We've been discovered!" Agent Sterling cursed.
"There's no need to hide anymore," Agent Croft declared, his voice cold as steel. "Let's kill our way through!"
At that moment, a large number of cultists, alerted by the alarm, came rushing towards them from all directions.
Agent Croft thrust his hands forward, and a river of absolute zero poured from his palms. The biting chill instantly caused the temperature in the corridor to drop below freezing, frost exploding across the metal walls. The charging cultists were caught in the stream, their bodies stiffening, their movements becoming sluggish as a thick layer of white frost covered them.
At the exact same moment, Agent Sterling raised his arms to the ceiling. The air above the frozen cultists superheated, coalescing into dozens of falling stars of fire. This rain of fire, like a dense barrage of cannonballs, mercilessly smashed into the brittle, frozen bodies. The horrific result was one of rapid thermal expansion and contraction. The cultists didn't even have time to scream as their bodies shattered and exploded into clouds of ice and steam.
After this one devastating move, half of the rushing cultists had been completely wiped out. This was the terrifying, insurmountable gap between a Rank Three master and a Rank One psionicist.
"WHO DARES TO TRESPASS ON THE GROUNDS OF MY CULT!" A furious roar echoed from deep within the complex. As the sound rang out, countless sharp, wooden thorns erupted from the floor and walls, flying towards them like a rain of arrows. Agent Sterling contemptuously sent out a wave of fire, incinerating the thorns to ash before they could reach them.
From the darkness ahead, a Rank Three cultist, his hands still glowing with verdant energy, emerged. Beside him, there was another one, also a Rank Three, his psionic signature equally powerful.
In this branch, Croft thought, his mind making a rapid tactical assessment, there is one Rank Four, two Rank Threes, and now only three Rank Twos left, since two were killed by the Atherton boy. This just got complicated.
