The Paladin in the Abyss-Chapter 578 - 602

Chapter 578: 602 Chapter 578: 602 Upon the ice plains below the fortress, under the watchful eyes of observers from various powers of the Multiverse, the demi-god was pummeling the ancient white dragon with his clearly superior strength. Their battle had moved from the skies to the ground. The lightning long spear that Geogad conjured with a flick of his hand punctured countless bloody holes in Svafnir’s body, yet it seemed as if he had an endless supply of life force. Neither the dragon’s claws nor its bites or that deathly, frosty breath seemed to do enough damage to the demi-god.

Finally, Svafnir realized a fact that filled it with fear: if the fight continued, it would certainly die before its opponent. If it had been a younger or adult white dragon, it probably would have stubbornly refused to admit defeat, fighting until death arrived. But under the effect of immortality on the Iron Ice Plains, it had lived too long and clearly understood the following fact:

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If a dragon takes too many wounds, it will die.

Moreover, Svafnir also knew what awaited it after death, something it had known for a long time, which is why it had fled through the Gate of Stroddet from Warrior Village to the Bottomless Abyss—it absolutely could not let death catch up. In this realm, the white dragon met Kostcheqi, and the Prince of Wrath’s power, temperament, and authority all greatly appealed to it. Svafnir, the dragon, was convinced that the Lord of the Iron Ice Plains was the only figure in the entire Abyss, even in the entire Multiverse, who was worthy of its allegiance.

Kostcheqi, a demon who firmly believed he was a Frost Giant, naturally found the ancient white dragon’s voluntary submission extremely gratifying, an honor even Solheim had not achieved. In contrast, this led to a very rare situation: the ancient white dragon was the only subordinate that did not pledge loyalty to the Abyssal Lord with an oath, and both Kostcheqi and Svafnir himself saw no need for such things.

In the countless centuries that followed, there was no evidence or sign that their thoughts were incorrect. Even now, with Kostcheqi captured in the Nine Hells, Svafnir still remained loyal, convinced that the Prince of Wrath would eventually return to the Iron Ice Plains. After all, he was an Abyssal Lord, and it was almost impossible to kill an Abyssal Lord. They always found a way to resurrect—the Abyss itself would bring them back to life.

But Svafnir himself could not, and more importantly, it could not let death seize it. Yes, the dragon was already injured: its wings had been punctured with several holes, its right eye was almost impossible to open due to an elbow strike, and its left forepaw had been completely maimed after clashing with the demi-god’s Warhammer several times. However, it still had the ability to flee. If it flew away without a second glance back, completely ignoring the battle behind it, Geogad who relied on Magic to fly, would not be able to catch up with it.

Of course, the consequences of such an action were clear. The Frost Giants bound by the oath would still guard their master’s lair—even if Kostcheqi himself was not there—and continue the desperate fight. However, having lost their top combatant, what awaited them was certain defeat and the subsequent slaughter.

...

But what did that have to do with Svafnir?

Once it had made up its mind, the white dragon was a resolute executor. It performed its signature wingbeat attack with pride: a ferocious twist of its body, suddenly extending its wings like an umbrella mid-turn to knock down—or repel—nearby foes while simultaneously using the motion to take to the skies. After completing the entire sequence, Svafnir resolutely and without hesitation, flew southward.

Geogad initially thought that the white dragon would turn and dive after gaining a certain height, so he stayed put and focused, ready to counter. When he realized what Svafnir’s real intention was, the demi-god burst into ecstatic laughter, for he knew victory was waiting just ahead, and his competitor had already dropped out of the race.

“My warriors! Svafnir, that cowardly worm, has run away!” Geogad’s thunderous voice echoed in every corner of the battlefield, “Look up quickly, an ancient white dragon is fleeing with its tail tucked! This is not something you see every day!”

The Demi-god’s followers’ morale reached its zenith, although they were still outnumbered, each of them fervent as if they couldn’t wait to die in this battle. And with no one left to restrain Geogad’s unrestrained power, nearly all Observers concluded that the battle would end within an hour, the Prince of Wrath was doomed to lose his dominion over this realm.

Just then, a sudden change occurred.

The ground began with a slight tremor, before anyone could react, the vibration escalated into a severe shaking, knocking down every combatant on the battlefield. The center of the battleground started to rise rapidly, as if a deity taller than the mountains themselves was pushing upwards with a stick. When the peak was nearly level with the Glacial Fortress, the newfound mountain exploded.

Accompanied by the scent of sulfur, black smoke billowed out, and orange-red magma erupted from the mouth of the volcano, like the bloody, boiling milk of the earth mother. This ‘milk’ splattered all around, and the nearby Frost Giants couldn’t dodge in time; they were engulfed by the thick drops of magma, like insects encased in amber.

Clearly, this sudden volcano and its ejecta were anything but normal, and the scene that followed was stomach-churning. The blistering magma instantly melted the gray-blue skin of the Frost Giants, then the flesh beneath turned into a gelatinous substance like jellied meat, sliding off the bones bit by bit. Next came the organs, which grew enormous tumors that rapidly expanded, compressing the softened bones into a shape that made one’s scalp tingle.

Finally, the flesh that had dripped onto the ground began to wriggle like maggots, crawling upon the unrecognizable skeleton. The magma started to cool and harden, only to be violently blown apart by the newly born Demons inside, like a baby dragon angrily smashing its own eggshell.

“My god, this is… the power of the Abyss itself!”

“Impossible! The Abyss never directly intervenes…”

“Mother! Is this Your will?”

Observers around the battlefield let out a wave of exclamations as the same transformation played out on countless Frost Giants. The transformed figures retained a vague shadow of the Giants, only a third shorter in height, their waist size tripled, and with Antlers on their heads, they looked more like Demonized Ogres… or perhaps Giants transformed into Bruto?

Needless to say, the transformation brought immense agony to these unfortunate souls, an agony that had utterly twisted their spirits but still needed an outlet. And for Demons, there is always just one way to vent—

Violence.