Chapter 527 The Final Brilliance
No one dared open their eyes without Otha's command.
The raw power of his "Annihilation" ability was simply too overwhelming—even the hardened members of the investigation team knew better than to look directly at it.
Now that Otha had used Frostheart, his power exceeded anything they'd witnessed before.
He had become, without question, a true Level 5 Psychic!
Only Steven, protected by his Dimension Door, risked glimpsing the devastation.
Gradually, the blinding white light that had engulfed everything began to fade.
Where tens of thousands of undead had swarmed moments before, nothing remained. The battlefield stood empty, cleansed of corruption.
Beyond the radius of the white light, members of the three factions cowered in disbelief. None dared approach.
They'd never witnessed anything like this—a demonstration that Level 5 Psychics truly transcended conventional weapons. Human nuclear warheads, walking among them.
Neil's eyes gleamed with barely contained madness, fighting to suppress a triumphant smile.
'Not yet—I can't celebrate yet. We're just one step from victory.'
'That idiot Steven has unknowingly done us an enormous favor. The leaders of Starlight City's major bases, including Otha, have all used Frostheart. Once they're eliminated, our dream will be within reach.'
On the battlefield, as the light dissipated, Otha turned and walked back toward the group.
Steven quickly closed his eyes, pretending he'd seen nothing. A moment later, he felt a hand settle on his shoulder—heavy and powerful as a mountain.
"Stop pretending. You've been watching the whole time, haven't you?" The voice beside his ear was cold.
Steven opened his eyes with a forced smile. "You noticed that too?"
His smile froze when he saw Otha's face—cold, impassive, with a knowing curve to his lips.
"Mr. Soderberg, thank you for saving us all," Steven quickly offered, his gaze deliberately sincere.
Otha remained unmoved. His hand stayed on Steven's shoulder, exerting overwhelming pressure.
Even knowing Otha was dying, Steven recognized the danger—after breaking through to Level 5 with Frostheart, Otha could kill him effortlessly at this range.
"You're quite the schemer. Even I fell into your trap," Otha said quietly.
Steven's expression settled into calm resignation. "I'm sorry. This wasn't my preferred option—just a contingency plan. I had no choice."
He wasn't lying. He'd prepared three strategies: first, to leverage Snowfall Cult's fear of Silvercrest District to abandon their zombie army—but he'd overestimated their control over the horde once it fully mobilized.
His second plan was exactly this—having Otha's team use Frostheart to enhance their power and break through.
The third would have been abandoning Starlight City entirely before The Grim Reaper's Sigh arrived.
He would have preferred another way—he had no personal grudge against Otha. But when survival was at stake, he couldn't afford hesitation.
Nothing mattered more than keeping himself and his companions alive.
Otha shook his head. "It doesn't matter. My time was limited anyway."
A faint smile crossed his face. "In a way, I should thank you. Without your suggestion, I would never have experienced my most magnificent moment."
He looked down at his hands. "So this is Level 5 power? Truly extraordinary. A pity there won't be a next time."
Suddenly, his tall frame swayed. The hand on Steven's shoulder went slack.
Steven quickly steadied him. "I promise, after you're gone, I'll resolve the remaining problems in Starlight City."
Otha glanced at him, confusion flickering in his pale gray eyes.
"You're hiding even more secrets, aren't you? What else haven't you revealed?"
The question hung unanswered. In his final moments, Otha had achieved glorious transformation, releasing the true power of a Level 5 Psychic.
But it had consumed his entire life force.
He collapsed in Steven's arms, his breathing stilled forever.
Shortly after, the others sensed the battle had ended and opened their eyes. Where tens of thousands of undead had stood, virtually none remained.
The powerful Bronze Elite Zombies and Bronze Flying Elite Zombies had been completely eradicated. Only scattered ordinary zombies survived, posing no threat.
"Is it... is it really over?" Megan whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief.
Moments ago, she'd been prepared to die, consumed by endless undead. The sudden salvation felt unreal.
But the investigation team had no time for relief. They understood what unleashing such power had cost Otha.
When Lanny spotted Otha's body in Steven's arms, he let out an anguished cry that tore through the silence.
"OTHA!"
He rushed forward and pulled Otha's body from Steven's grasp. His eyes wild with fear, he suddenly resembled a panicked child.
"Otha! Otha! Wake up! Don't sleep—if you sleep now, you'll never wake up!"
He shouted desperately into Otha's ear, met only with silence.
Soon, Lanny—always arrogant and domineering—broke down completely, sobbing like a child.
Steven retreated quietly, recognizing this moment belonged to those who had served alongside their captain.
Lanny, Theron, and the others gathered around Otha's body.
Except for Lanny, no one cried. They simply placed their right hands over their hearts in silent tribute.
Warriors in this apocalyptic world, they'd experienced too many deaths already. This scene wasn't unfamiliar—perhaps it would be each of their fates someday.
No excess tears or words were needed; only enduring respect in their hearts.
Lanny clutched Otha's body tightly. Though his back was to Steven, his shoulders visibly shook with grief.
'It seems their relationship was not ordinary,' Steven thought.
Gradually, Leonard, Sebastian, Neil and the others who had been watching from a distance approached the scene.
None had anticipated this resolution, but seeing the zombie army destroyed brought visible relief to most.
Neil, however, was elated beneath his solemn expression.
Though they'd lost hundreds of thousands of zombies, such forces could be cultivated again with sufficient time and resources. But acquiring Otha's abilities—that was priceless.
'What a magnificent profit,' he thought, smiling inwardly.
He surveyed the gathered survivors, silently counting those who had used Frostheart—like a farmer who had planted a field of wheat, now patiently waiting for harvest time.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
