(Execution Livestream Continuation, The Pit)
*WHOOOOM—!*
The sound tore across the battlefield like reality itself had been ripped open, a concussive roar that cracked the air and sent shockwaves rippling through armor plates, siege arrays, and exposed stone alike, as Dumpy finally launched himself from the ground, his colossal body exploding upward in a single, overwhelming motion that made the earth recoil beneath him.
For an instant, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then the shadow fell.
Dumpy’s immense form rose above the battlefield, blotting out the warped sky as his ascent carried him higher and higher, twin blades clenched in his hands while the sheer displacement of air around his body generated violent pressure waves that staggered soldiers on both sides, Cult and Righteous alike, men bracing instinctively as if a natural disaster had decided to pass directly overhead.
On the execution livestreams, the image struggled to keep up.
Cameras jittered.
Focus lagged.
Scale became meaningless.
What filled the frame was not a soldier, not a Commander, not even a weapon, but a living calamity arcing across the heavens, a beast so large that the battlefield beneath him shrank into insignificance, trenches and formations reduced to patterns carved into stone.
And as Dumpy reached the apex of his leap, something else happened.
From his open mouth, carrying on the force of his movement, a thin spray of spittle scattered outward, glittering briefly as it caught the light, droplets flung wide by momentum rather than intent, as they drifted lazily for half a second before gravity reclaimed them.
At first, no one reacted.
The Righteous soldiers were too busy staring upward, minds scrambling to process what they were seeing, formations stalling as discipline failed in the face of sheer impossibility, orders dying in throats as officers forgot the words they had spent lifetimes memorizing.
Then the first droplet landed.
It struck the crown of a helmet near the inner edge of the Chakravyuh’s first ring.
There was no explosion.
No flash.
Just a sound.
A soft, wet hiss, as the metal of the helmet began to bubble.
*Blub—*
*Bubble blub*
The spittle tore straight through the metal, before scorching hair and skin alike, as the soldier beneath it screamed half a heartbeat later, hands flying up as the helmet melted into his skull, acid eating through enchanted steel as though it were wax, flesh dissolving beneath it in smoking rivulets that ran down his face and neck before he collapsed, shrieking until his voice cut out.
The next droplets fell.
And the realization spread.
It was raining.
Acid raining.
And it was already falling everywhere.
"ARGHHH IT’S CORROSIVE!"
"HIDE! HIDE! HIDE! DON’T LET THE ACID MIST TOUCH YOU!"
The Righteous soldiers screamed, as the droplets struck helmets, shoulders, backs, visors, and exposed joints, before pooling in armor seams and under shields, hissing and steaming as they burned through layers meant to withstand siege fire, soldiers howling as pain overtook training, men tripping over one another as they tried to flee a storm that did not fall evenly, but in scattered, merciless patterns that punished hesitation as much as movement.
Shields became traps.
Formations dissolved.
The first ring of the Chakravyuh, so carefully structured to slow armies through attrition and discipline, turned into chaos as men screamed, clawed at themselves, or simply collapsed where they stood, armor smoking, flesh sloughing away under the corrosive downpour.
And above them all, Dumpy began to descend.
His massive body fell with the inevitability of a meteor, blades angled downward as though he were about to spear the world itself, the shadow of his form sweeping across the battlefield and silencing even the loudest artillery for a fraction of a second.
Then he hit.
*BOOOOOOM—!*
The impact was not merely a crash, but a catastrophic event, stone erupting upward in a violent halo as a massive crater formed instantly beneath him, shockwaves flattening everything within range as if a god had slammed his fist into the ground, thousands of soldiers dying without ever understanding what had killed them, bodies crushed into the stone by raw force alone.
*CRASH*
*FSHHHHH!*
The acid rain intensified.
Sheets of it poured around the crater’s rim, sizzling and steaming as it flowed across the ground, melting clustered formations, crawling into trenches, pooling where soldiers had nowhere left to run, as it turned the outermost ring into a dissolving nightmare of screams, smoke, and collapsing bodies.
Men begged.
Men tried to crawl.
Men tried to pray.
However, none of it mattered, as inside the crater, Dumpy straightened slowly, twin blades hanging at his sides as acid steamed off his shoulders in faint trails, his massive silhouette looming over the battlefield like a verdict that had finally been delivered.
Across the war zone, Cult soldiers who had been grinding forward meter by meter felt the resistance ahead of them collapse almost instantly, pressure vanishing as if a wall had been ripped away, and even without seeing him clearly, they understood what had just entered the field.
Big Green.
The Cult’s calamity.
Their living siege weapon.
In that single entrance, without orders needing revision or formations needing adjustment, the tide of the battle shifted violently, because although the Chakravyuh’s outer ring had been designed to slow armies and bleed them through attrition, it was never meant to survive a monster that turned the sky itself into poison and the ground into a grave.
Dumpy stood unmoving within the crater, blades in hand, shadow rolling outward from his massive form as the Righteous soldiers nearest to him recoiled in terror, discipline finally shattering as fear overwhelmed doctrine.
However, instead of sparing even a glance for the weaklings screaming and dissolving around his feet, Dumpy’s gaze remained fixed far beyond them, locked onto the enemies closer to the heart of the Chakravyuh, where Monarch-tier warriors hovered near the inner rings preparing long-range spells meant to strike him without ever coming close.
"How fucking strong is that Ancient Swamp Frog...?"
"Aren’t they supposed to be the most violent species in the universe? Not even the most experienced Beast Tamers dare to work with one... so how did the Cult manage to tame this madlad?"
"It doesn’t matter how they tamed him," another voice snapped, strained with urgency as mana surged around them, "what matters is that we kill him as soon as possible."
The Righteous Commanders spoke over one another as they channeled power, sigils igniting around their bodies while they began preparing their strongest spells, desperation bleeding through discipline as they realized that if left alone the damage that Dumpy could cause was immeasurable.
They were not alone in this realization either, as across the inner arcs of the formation, rings of Grandmasters and Transcendents followed suit, millions upon millions of warriors lifting staffs, blades, and spears in grim unison, mana flooding the air as tens of millions of attacks were prepared simultaneously, all of them aimed toward the same towering figure standing amid melting stone and screaming men.
Yet before even a single spell could be released, Dumpy calmly raised one of his swords to his lips.
And shushed them.
The gesture was simple.
Almost dismissive.
But in that same instant, his bloodline skill [Mana Nullification] activated, its effect rippling outward in absolute silence, as it smothered the battlefield as though a switch had been flipped, and all at once, every conjured spell collapsed before launch, mana dispersing uselessly into the air as even Monarch-tier warriors found themselves unable to pool, channel, or shape mana based spells in the slightest.
The battlefield froze.
"Shhhh," Dumpy said softly, his voice carrying effortlessly across the stunned formation, heavy with contempt.
"Patiently wait for your turn to die, Mongrels."
His eyes remained locked on the inner rings as he lowered the blade.
"Lord Dumpy will eventually get to you too."
A pause.
"However, until then... know your role."
And then, with a faint curl of his lip,
"And shut your mouth."