Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 292: Demonic machines (II)

Chapter 292: Demonic machines (II)

The middle-aged general, Zamas, crossed his arms, his expression solemn. "No matter their nature, we have fifty thousand warriors. Their five thousand won’t stand a chance if it comes to a fight."

Ever the voice of caution and wisdom, Mark carefully considered the scout’s alarming report. "Zamas, we cannot afford to underestimate such an enemy. Numbers matter very little when someone has reached the peak of strength. We must proceed cautiously and truly understand the Xaos Kingdom before making any moves."

King Viserin remained silent, his face unreadable as he weighed the counsel of both men.

"We will proceed with the meeting as planned," Viserin declared, his voice steady and firm. "Whether they are machines or humans does not matter. If they accept collaboration, we will talk. But if they refuse diplomacy, we will test their strength and see if they can withstand the might of the Turkin Kingdom."

Zamas smiled, pleased with the king’s battle-ready resolve, while Mark nodded in approval, satisfied that Viserin was not rushing headlong into danger without gathering more information.

Viserin turned toward Keron, the scout who had brought the alarming report. "You’ve done well. Return to your post, and if you see anything else, bring the information to me immediately."

Keron bowed deeply before retreating, his expression tense as he returned to his scouting position. He kept his thoughts to himself, wary of causing unnecessary alarm among the troops.

King Viserin, Zamas, Mark, and the elite vanguard stood in silence, their eyes fixed on the horizon, waiting. It wasn’t long before the ground itself seemed to respond to the impending arrival of the Xaos Kingdom’s forces.

"RUMBLEEEE!"

The earth began to tremble, the vibrations growing in intensity with every passing second. The soldiers of the Turkin Kingdom glanced at one another, some with confusion, others with concern. Many wondered if an earthquake had begun, but the veterans among them—those who had survived the brutal battles before the apocalypse—knew this was something else.

"Lockstep march," Zamas muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he realized what was happening. When a large group of soldiers moves in perfect synchronization, the force of their combined steps can make the ground tremble—a show of unity and power that few armies can achieve.

King Viserin and Mark remained still, their focus sharpening as they watched the distant hill. And then, they saw it—the first glimpse of the enemy force.

A collective wave of shock and awe surged through the ranks of the Turkin soldiers as they beheld a colossal figure cresting the hill. Towering more than ten meters tall, this titan of a man was clad in majestic golden armor that shimmered in the sunlight.

The armor was etched with intricate runes and designs. Each plate glowed faintly with demonic energy, giving the giant an otherworldly, menacing presence.

In his hands, he carried a massive halberd, its length matching his towering height. The blade gleamed with malevolent force and bloodline energy. Every step he took sent tremors through the earth, not simply from his size but from the sheer density of his body.

The titan’s aura was overwhelming, radiating immense pressure that seemed to choke the air around him. Dark, demonic energy flowed from his body, rising into the sky like a malevolent storm. His mere presence silenced even the most hardened warriors in the Turkin army, and his gaze—glowing with a fiery intensity—seemed to pierce through the souls of those who dared to look upon him.

But the titan was not alone.

Behind him, like a relentless tide, came hundreds of soldiers, all clad in the same golden armor. Their movements were precise, each step perfectly synchronized as they marched forward in flawless formation. Though not as massive as the titan’s, their armor was no less imposing. Each suit of armor was adorned with demonic symbols, the golden metal glowing faintly with the same dark energy that radiated from their leader.

These soldiers moved with terrifying unity. There was no hesitation in their steps, no faltering in their formation. Their eyes burned with an unnatural fire, glowing with the same demonic energy that pulsed through their armor.

The golden soldiers did not seem like ordinary men but something far more sinister, designed for war and death. The demonic energy that flowed through them was palpable, creating an aura of dread that hung over the battlefield like a suffocating fog.

As they marched, the earth beneath them seemed to tremble in fear. Their footsteps, perfectly synchronized, created a rhythmic pounding that echoed through the valley like the drums of war. There was no sound from the soldiers themselves—no shouts of orders, no battle cries—only the relentless march as if they were part of a single, unstoppable force.

The sight of the titan and his army of golden-clad soldiers sent a chill through the hearts of even the bravest Turkin warriors. The sense of impending doom was thick in the air, and many of the soldiers, though seasoned in battle, could not shake the feeling that they were standing before something far beyond their comprehension.

Mark’s face grew more serious, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of the golden army. "This is no ordinary force. We must tread carefully."

Despite his earlier bravado, Zamas felt a gnawing unease deep within his gut. "Machines or not, their power is undeniable."

King Viserin’s hands tightened around the reins of his massive tiger, his expression unreadable as he watched the golden-armored army approach. The warrior in him longed to test their strength, to see if his men could withstand the might of this enemy. But he knew better than to act rashly.

"They may be powerful," Viserin said quietly, his voice steady, "but we will not show weakness. Let them approach. We will see what they truly are."

The Turkin soldiers stood ready, their hands tightening on their weapons, their eyes fixed on the advancing army. The golden soldiers drew closer with every step, and as they did, the weight of their presence bore down on the battlefield like an approaching storm.