Meanwhile in another location, a head emerged from the ground.

It was Michael.

After using the Earth Escape skill to enter the ground, he went as far as possible from the battlefield.

The feeling of skipping death too many times in such a short while was terrible to Michael.

"Who were those people attacking me?" Though he asked the question in confusion, Michael was almost sure of who they were.

The demonic supernaturals.

Even if they weren't the ones, Michael would rather believe they were the ones.

Unfortunately, though he burned with rage, it wasn't enough to cloud his mind.

"Fortunately my body was strong enough to resist and no one chased me after."

However, Michael had only finished muttering this when he heard a voice.

"I've seen a lot of skills but this is the first time I've seen a master rank do such a skill. What's the name of your skill?"

Michael did not bother to turn around.

The moment the voice reached his ears, he knew one thing.

In times when one was in a place that felt weird, the quickest solution was to leave that place.

Michael decided he was going to run instead.

Michael sank deeper into the earth as he activated Earth Escape again. The soil parted beneath him, layers of rock and compacted stone peeling aside as his body slipped through.

Then he felt it.

The earth hardened.

It locked up around him as if a will had been forced into the ground itself, compressing it, stiffening every grain of soil into something closer to metal than stone.

Michael's breath hitched.

If he stopped now, he would be trapped.

If he hesitated, his body would be crushed where he was.

His jaw clenched.

Pain flared through his chest and arms as he forced more mana into the technique, muscles screaming as the resistance multiplied. His wounds throbbed violently, blood seeping freely now as the pressure scraped against his already damaged body.

"Damn it…"

He pushed anyway.

The resistance spiked but fortunately in a competition of elements, there weren't a lot of people that could compete with Michael.

Seeing Michael gain advantage, Michael noticed the control around the earth he was trapped in loosen a bit and he took advantage of it.

It seems whoever was controlling it had not expected him to be able to do something. Michael forced himself forward, tearing through the hardened earth by sheer stubborn will. His senses blurred for a second, and his body felt like it was being dragged across blades, but he broke through the obstruction.

A heartbeat later, the ground above him shook violently.

A punch landed.

The earth behind him exploded inward, shockwaves rippling through the underground layers as whatever had tried to stop him struck too late. Stone shattered, pressure collapsed, and the space Michael had occupied was obliterated.

But he was already gone.

Michael did not slow.

He reversed direction mid escape, twisting through the soil and rock, forcing his battered body to move back toward the battlefield he had just abandoned.

It is said the most dangerous place could also be the safest.

Pain followed Michael every step of the way and the more he moved the greater the feeling of weakness consumed him.

His lungs burned.

Blood stained the earth in his wake.

But he did not stop.

If he stayed underground, they would corner him eventually.

If he surfaced elsewhere, he would be hunted alone.

The battlefield, chaotic as it was, was still safer.

At least there were much stronger people there and even if they didn't help him, Michael's strongest undead just happened to be there too.

If it was the other way around, Michael would have stood his ground a bit more while thinking of other solutions but even though he had his other undead with him, even he could not beat them and before he could even summon them, Michael didn't have the confidence he'd be able to hold on for a few seconds before the number sufficient to protect him would appear.

Several thoughts flashed through his mind but Michael did not stop moving. If anything, as the feeling of weakness increased so did his effort.

High above the battlefield, far from where Michael tore through the earth, a figure in grey robes streaked across the sky like a falling star.

His movement was violent and erratic.

Each time he descended, he slammed his fist into the ground.

BOOM.

The impact cracked the earth in precise geometric patterns, lines of force spreading outward before sinking back into the stone. He rose again immediately, only to descend once more at a different angle.

BOOM.

Again.

BOOM.

Each strike was deliberate, as if he were tracing something unseen into the terrain itself.

"Damn it," the man cursed, his voice sharp with irritation.

His hood fell back slightly, revealing a pale, sharp-featured face twisted in frustration. This was the same man who had stood beside Brian not long ago.

Now, there was nothing amusing about this.

"You really deserve to die," he muttered, fingers digging into the air as if he could seize something intangible. "You and the rest of these pests that can't do their job right."

His original plan had been simple.

Bring the demon lord up to the first Floor.

Use its presence to drown the races here in despair.

Let chaos weaken them.

Then harvest the survivors.

But when he had tested the waters, exchanging only a brief clash with the races of this floor, he had felt it immediately.

Danger.

If he focused entirely on the demon lord his so-called grand plan could very well die on this very floor.

That realization had forced him to adjust.

Using the authority and presence of the demon lord, he had reached downward, calling Rank Three demons from the lower floors.

It should have been enough.

It should have been overwhelming.

Yet now…

His gaze darkened.

"That kid," he growled. "What kind of monster grows like that?"

And as if that were not enough, there was also that unexpected Rank Four on the opposing side.

Too many variables.

The man clenched his fist, veins bulging as mana surged around him.

"My plans keep changing," he said coldly. "And I hate that."

Unfortunately reality was beyond his means to control.

A while later, Michael burst upward.

The ground split as he emerged near the edge of the battlefield, debris spraying outward as he rolled across broken stone and forced himself upright.

His vision swam for a moment.

Then stabilized.

Explosions filled the air.

Undead clashed with demons.

Flames and several other spells tore through the sky.

Michael steadied himself, planting his spear he now had in his left hand into the ground as he took a breath that felt like fire.

Only then did he glance back.

Nothing followed him out.

Michael wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"…Coward," he muttered.

But even as he said it, he knew better.

*

The moment Michael was struck out of the sky, for an instant, it was as if the war itself stuttered.

Even the old man fighting at the center of the battlefield felt it. His expression darkened.

That strike had been meant to kill.

Several demons howled in triumph when they did not sense any life from the ground. Their formation surged forward, confidence flaring for the first time in minutes.

But unfortunately they were immediately met with confusion when they saw the undead were even fighting with more strength.

Time passed, and the battle had already reached its end when Michael appeared at the corner of the battlefield.

Michael did not bother hiding his presence as the last demon was killed.

Hostile intent surged toward him from multiple directions, and several attacks converged on him at once.

Before Michael could even open his mouth, a heavy pressure slammed down in front of him.

BOOM.

A barrier of condensed air flared to life as the old man stepped between Michael and the incoming strikes. The attacks shattered against his defense, exploding outward in bursts of distorted, scattered energy. The ground cracked beneath his feet, but he did not move an inch.

Silence followed.

The old man turned slowly to look at Michael.

His gaze lingered.

His eyes swept over Michael from head to toe, the torn coat, the dried blood, the dirt and scorch marks clinging to him.

Despite how ruined Michael looked, despite the blood and the damage, there were no visible injuries. No broken limbs. No torn flesh. Nothing that matched the amount of force Michael looked like he had passed through.

And then the confusion set in.

"…You," the old man said.

His brows furrowed.

For a brief moment, something odd flickered across his face. Then it smoothed away, replaced by his usual composure.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

*

A/N; Happy Seasonal Greetings to everyone!!! Just seven more days to the end of the year and a year of continued support from everyone reading this. I appreciate you all so much!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.