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墨書 Inktalez
With a casual wave of his hand, he scattered some fine yellow sand from his palm. The grains of sand seemed to come alive, swirling and cascading down with his movements, landing precisely on a massive chessboard. In an instant, a cloud of dust billowed up from the board.
Seeing this spectacle, others who were intrigued by the game began to imitate him. Some hurled snowflake-like ice shards that caused the temperature to plummet, sending chills through the air; others shot forth blazing flames that warped the surrounding atmosphere; and yet others released eerie green smoke that spiraled like ghosts in the air, sending shivers down spines.
Meanwhile, in the secret realm below, various astonishing phenomena began to manifest continuously with each action taken by these individuals. The sky was shrouded in thick black dust, blocking out every ray of sunlight.
Egg-sized hailstones fell from the sky, mercilessly smashing into the ground and kicking up clouds of dust; dense forests ignited without warning, flames rapidly spreading to create a sea of fire; and noxious swamp gas permeated the area, silently claiming the lives of many innocent beings.
The entire secret realm descended into chaos and panic, as if the apocalypse had arrived.
Below, John was not spared from these strange occurrences. The overwhelming yellow sand engulfed the entire army. Despite John's efforts to organize his soldiers to hold hands and prevent being swept away by the sandstorm, when the furious hurricane drowned out John's voice and the fine sand obscured everyone's vision, all was futile against nature. John could only cling tightly to a large tree to avoid being blown away.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
The howling wind swept through the valley where John was located. After an unknown period of time, heads began to emerge from the piles of sand throughout the valley. John was no exception; he shook his head vigorously to dislodge the sand clinging to his helmet and pulled out a crystal ball to check on the soldiers buried beneath the dunes.
Digging holes to rescue people became John's task for the next half day. The countless red dots on the crystal ball continued to vanish, urging him to hurry or else those trapped would suffocate. Yet even as John worked quickly, fewer than five thousand soldiers remained alive around him.
In the sky above,
"Haha! Now this is truly entertaining! Blood, death, and slaughter are indeed the main themes of this event! Have you all seen those pitiful creatures being scorched by the raging wildfire until they resemble charred remains?" A sinister-looking old man laughed as he spoke. He was known as Old Ghost, his eyes gleaming with a cruel and excited light.
"Old Ghost, your reckless manipulation of these lives may not last long," warned another man dressed in black robes, frowning slightly with concern. "You must realize that there are now fewer than three hundred thousand survivors."
However, Old Ghost merely scoffed dismissively. "What does it matter if there are only three hundred thousand? They are merely playthings for us to toy with at will. Even if we were to annihilate them all today, wouldn’t another batch grow up in thirty years? Besides, think back on those times when we feasted upon those caught up in fierce battles with other races—wasn't their number far greater than what we see now?"
At this moment, those seated on thrones nodded in agreement and whispered among themselves. Clearly, for them, the hundreds of thousands of troops within this secret realm were nothing more than entertainment for their leisure time; they held no regard for these vibrant lives at all.
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