The fires of the last chapter's battle still seemed to rage vividly in memory, and Solomon's ferocious clash with the Dark Order had now reached a boiling point. He was encircled by a pack of enemies as fierce and relentless as wolves, their sinister presence thickening the air with a suffocating tension.
"You insolent wretch! This place shall be your grave!" snarled a towering Dark Order mage, his face twisted with malice as he brandished a staff emanating a sinister glow.
"Hah! With the likes of you? Dream on!" Solomon retorted fearlessly, his eyes ablaze with unwavering determination.
Solomon summoned every ounce of skill and ingenuity he possessed to dance through the enemy ranks, evading and countering with masterful precision. His movements were swift and deliberate, each one brimming with strength and finesse. Yet the sheer number of foes, combined with their formidable might, bore down upon him like an unending tidal wave, slowly driving him into a corner.
"Brothers, surround him! Don't let him escape!" shouted another cultist, brandishing a gleaming blade.
"You think you can trap me? Think again!" Solomon growled, dodging their relentless strikes as he searched for an opportunity to turn the tide.
At this critical juncture, the sacred battle aura within Solomon, dormant like a slumbering dragon, suddenly erupted to life. A surge of titanic energy coursed through his veins, spreading to every fibre of his being. His strength multiplied exponentially, and his presence transformed. He was no longer merely a warrior—he had become an unstoppable force, like a divine champion descending onto the battlefield.
"Now it's my turn to strike back!" Solomon roared, his voice resonating across the camp.
He launched himself into the fray like a ferocious tiger, cutting through the enemy lines with devastating force. Every strike carried a power so overwhelming that it shattered all resistance, sending his enemies flying like helpless leaves in a storm.
"This… this is impossible!" one of the cultists gasped in horror, his face pale with disbelief as he watched Solomon's rampage.
"Hah! Is this all the Dark Order can muster, with your reliance on dark magic? How pathetic!" Solomon taunted as he fought.
Amidst the chaos, Solomon's keen instincts allowed him to uncover a critical weakness in the Dark Order's ranks: their dependence on dark magic rendered them surprisingly vulnerable in close-quarters combat.
"So, that's your Achilles' heel," Solomon mused, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Without hesitation, he adapted his tactics.
Closing the distance between himself and his enemies, Solomon unleashed a flurry of close-range attacks. His fists and feet moved like a torrential storm, each strike carrying the weight of a collapsing mountain.
"Take this!" Solomon growled, delivering a crushing blow to one enemy's chest, sending the man hurtling through the air and landing in a heap several metres away.
His movements were as fast as lightning, his enemies unable to react in time. They faltered and fell under his relentless assault, chaos erupting among their ranks. Solomon carved through the enemy forces like a blade through silk, the once-cohesive group now scattering in disarray.
With every passing moment, Solomon seemed to grow stronger, his sacred battle aura surging to ever greater heights. His attacks became sharper, swifter, and more devastating.
"Now, witness my ultimate technique!" Solomon bellowed, his voice reverberating through the battlefield. He brought his hands together in a flurry of intricate gestures, and from his palms burst forth beams of dazzling light. These searing rays of energy shot out like a storm of blades, enveloping the enemy forces in a merciless cascade of destruction.
The cries of the cultists echoed through the camp as they fell under Solomon's devastating attack, leaving the battlefield strewn with defeated foes.
Amidst the fray, Solomon's sharp gaze caught sight of something—a massive crystalline structure at the heart of the encampment, glowing with an eerie, pulsating light. Waves of dark energy radiated from it, revealing its critical importance.
"That must be their power source. If I destroy it, I'll cripple their strength!" Solomon thought, his resolve hardening. Without hesitation, he charged towards the crystal.
"Stop him! Do not let him near the power source!" the Dark Order's leader bellowed, panic evident in his voice.
A wave of elite cultists surged forward to intercept Solomon, each one armed to the teeth and radiating deadly intent.
"You think you can stop me?" Solomon growled, undeterred. He threw himself into combat with these new foes, his strikes sharper and his resolve unshaken.
"Give it up! You'll never make it past us!" one of the cultists sneered, his tone filled with malice.
"Let's see about that!" Solomon roared, his attacks fuelled by sheer willpower and unmatched strength. Blow after blow, he shattered their defences, carving a path through their lines.
At last, Solomon reached the crystalline power source.
"This ends now!" he shouted, pouring every ounce of his strength into a single, devastating strike. His fist connected with the crystal, unleashing a resounding explosion.
The crystal shattered into countless shards, and a shockwave of energy erupted outward, rippling across the battlefield. The cultists reeled, their connection to their magic severed. Their strength visibly diminished, and chaos erupted among their ranks.
But just as Solomon began to catch his breath, a chilling laugh echoed from deep within the camp.
"Ahahaha… Solomon, do you think it's over? You've only scratched the surface. The real game is about to begin…"
The voice was cold and venomous, dripping with malice. Its ominous tone sent a shiver down Solomon's spine.
Who was this mysterious figure? What deeper, darker schemes did the Dark Order have in store? And would Solomon have the strength to face the trials to come? The answers lay hidden in the shadows, waiting to reveal themselves in the battles ahead…