100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full?-Chapter 336 - Pack Dominion

The world turned in a blink.

One moment Lucien’s group stood inside the summit of the Obsidian Tower. The next, they were in that battlefield.

The seal-silence was so absolute that even sound felt like trespass.

Gargoyles were caught mid-carve. Wings were caught half-spread. Claws hung in the air with lines of runes still trailing from their tips like unfinished handwriting.

Their eyes moved first. Then their bodies flinched a heartbeat later as if the seal allowed reflex but denied motion.

Lucien did not give them time to understand.

Through the Formation Disc: Pack Dominion, intent threaded between them like a living circuit.

No words are needed.

Every breath they took was counted in the same rhythm. Every pulse of power rose on the same beat.

Mana, at high levels, behaved like a field. Like a wave.

Most groups died because their waves interfered.

One mage’s surge would shear another’s casting. One domain would distort another’s vector. Power would dissipate into waste heat and stray pressure.

Pack Dominion did the opposite.

It aligned their emissions into a single harmonic frame, forcing their different Laws and attributes to "lock" into compatible frequencies.

Constructive interference.

The same principle that turned scattered sound into a shattering note when voices matched pitch perfectly, except this pitch was meaning.

Lucien felt Astraea’s storm as a pressure-map instead of a weather tantrum. He felt Kaia’s flame as a controlled entropy gradient instead of raw heat. He felt the others as vectors waiting to be released, already anticipating where the openings would be before eyes could see them.

It was not telepathy in the childish sense.

It was combat geometry.

Lucien raised his hand.

Decay swam along his fingers like ink being poured into water.

Astraea moved first.

She condensed.

The Tempest Crown whispered and the air stacked into layers. The storm did not explode outward. It folded inward into a single, spear-straight corridor of wind and lightning.

Kaia lifted her palm and let the spiral of her three flames braid.

Then she inverted them.

The braid darkened into an entropic black flame that did not burn like fire. It unmade like a verdict.

Rhazek planted his foot and drove his will forward.

Space around his forward arc tightened. The air collapsed. Distance folded inward as if seized by an invisible grip. What should have been empty space became a narrowing throat.

Velun’s fingers traced a short pattern.

A thin plane appeared. It caught the allied surges and corrected their angles by fractions, guiding every line of destruction toward the same converging point.

Darian exhaled and released his Law of Fire.

Heat bled downward into the battlefield. The ground darkened and then...

The surface became a conductor.

Power ran along pre-laid routes, feeding the combined assault without waste or flare. What should have scattered as flame instead surged forward, compressed and directed.

Seryth did not announce herself.

She vanished from the center of the formation and reappeared at the edge of the strike path, leaving behind only a hair-thin thread of shadow.

That shadow seeped into the space between targets.

Venom spread without substance, saturating distance itself. Resistance thinned. Defenses dulled.

A corridor formed.

Within it, enemy protections would always collapse a heartbeat too late.

Lucien watched it all through the shared lattice and poured Decay into the seams.

Decay did not overpower the others. It agreed with them.

The layered assault released as one.

A single combined surge that did not look like seven different powers.

It looked like a new element.

A storm-black spear of coordinated ruin.

It slammed into the frozen ranks from the front.

The first gargoyle kings took it full.

Stone bodies cracked. Seals still held them in place, so they could not dodge. They could not spread the impact. They could only receive it.

One fell.

Then another.

Then another.

The fourth disintegrated mid-scream. Its mouth was still caught between arrogance and panic.

The fifth was cut in half. One side of its body turned to gravel, the other side burned with black flame that refused to go out.

Five monster-kings were erased in a blink.

And then... just as the assault should have continued into the deeper ranks, it stopped.

Not because Lucien’s group hesitated.

Because someone finally understood what the seal was doing.

A Starsteel Gargoyle Monster King moved with brutality.

Its body was a cathedral of metallic stone. Its Law was the Law of Reforging.

Reforging as a principle. The right to break yourself into parts and return as something better.

It detonated its own torso.

An explosion of shrapnel and intent.

Hundreds of starsteel fragments burst outward. Each fragment carried a tiny, vicious seal-splinter of its own.

They did not try to destroy Vaelcar’s seals directly.

They targeted the seams.

The exact lines where the monolith’s authority stitched motion shut.

The fragments struck like keys forced into locks from the wrong direction.

Seals fractured.

The battlefield inhaled.

Wings twitched free. Claws regained motion. Heads turned fully.

And before Lucien’s group could press the advantage, the Lionmane Gargoyle Monster King moved.

It was smaller than the starsteel one, but it carried a presence that felt like disciplined command.

Its Law was the Law of Bastion but refined beyond simple defense.

It raised one arm and a barrier unfolded, a layered dome of rotating sigils.

It did not merely block. It interpreted.

Incoming force was read, categorized, and redirected into dissipation... as if the barrier itself could decide what kind of violence it was being asked to endure.

Lucien felt his own Decay press against it and slide.

Misled.

Reassigned into harmless angles.

His eyes narrowed.

He recognized these species.

He had fought them in his gargoyle dungeon. He had pets built from echoes of their kind.

His pet, Donastone, is a Starsteel Gargoyles that could tear itself apart. It donates its own mineral, and regenerates faster than sane biology should allow.

Lionmane Gargoyles are sentinels that guarded corridors and made ambushes die before they began.

The battlefield was no longer frozen.

It was awake.

And at the center of the unfinished execution array, Kharzun laughed.

The sound rolled like stone grinding into powder.

He had not needed the starsteel sacrifice to free himself.

He simply stepped.

Vaelcar’s seals stuttered around him as if they had met a shape that did not fully belong to the layer they were sealing.

Kharzun moved like a commander walking through a battlefield he had already won.

Above him, the execution array remained intact.

Lucien’s group’s combined assault had not even rippled it.

The rings hovered in another stratum of reality, written into a depth that ordinary attacks did not reach.

A kill-sentence drafted in a language that did not care about noise.

Vaelcar moved.

The borrowed Primarch body split apart as seals unraveled.

Stone peeled away.

The disguise fell like a discarded scripture.

Vaelcar returned to his Cataclysm Wyrm form. Seals flared from his body like chains of law.

Kharzun answered by unfolding his true imperial shape.

The Emperor was not merely large. He was vast.

A gargoyle so immense the air itself seemed to bow around him. Wings like cliff-faces. Horns like broken towers. A body that looked less like a creature and more like a moving monument.

Vaelcar struck first.

Seals surged forward, trying to arrest Kharzun mid-motion.

Kharzun met them with Petrification that behaved like grammar.

He did not turn Vaelcar to stone.

He tried to turn Vaelcar’s action into stone.

To make the strike itself become a monument that could not complete its sentence.

Vaelcar’s Oathbound Monolith rose behind him as pale script and anchored into the ground.

The seal held.

The moment remained open.

Vaelcar drove forward and slammed Kharzun’s chest with the weight of a continent deciding it would move.

Kharzun was blown backward. His talons carved trenches into the air as if space had become ground.

He laughed through it.

"Oath-Buried... So it was you HA!" Kharzun said. His voice was bright with contempt. "Still clutching doors as if the world fears your keys."

Vaelcar’s answer was quieter. That made it worse.

"Basalt Regent," he replied, "you speak like a mason who believes he invented stone."

Kharzun’s eyes glittered.

"And you speak like a relic who believes memory is law."

Vaelcar’s gaze did not waver.

"Memory is not law," he said. "But oath is. And you have broken too many."

Their clash continued.

Seals and petrification grind against each other like opposing verdicts.