order of merlin(chapter 164)

Chapter 164

Assassins charged from the shadows — masters of stealth and death — but there was no hiding from Grey. His Domain sensed their every movement, their fear a tangible thing in the air. He raised his fingers, and the very concept of darkness betrayed them. Shadows became fire, their cloaks igniting in sudden, blinding light. They stumbled, screaming as their skin blistered and blackened. With a thought, Grey turned their pain into glass — their bodies hardening mid-scream, freezing them in eternal agony. He shattered them with a flick of his wrist, the courtyard glittering with the shards of their remains.

The Chamber of Whispers stood defiant — a place of lies and manipulation where his enemies had plotted his family's downfall. Grey's eyes narrowed, and the very foundation of the building began to dissolve. Walls crumbled into sand, ceilings melted into mist. The air thickened, taking on the consistency of tar, dragging those inside down as they fought to breathe. He twisted reality further, and the sand became teeth — gnashing and grinding — while the mist solidified into razored wind. No one escaped. Their bodies were torn apart piece by piece, their whispers silenced forever.

At last, Grey faced the Grand Spire — the citadel's heart and the seat of its power. Flames licked the sky around it, the storm above crackling with unnatural energy as his Domain reached its peak. With a single step, he rose into the air, the spire's defenses activating in desperation. Arrows of ice, bolts of lightning, and waves of fire surged toward him — but none reached their mark. He extended his hand, and the very elements betrayed their masters, reversing course and obliterating the defenders on the walls. The spire began to twist and warp, its stone turning to bone, its banners to screaming faces. With a final gesture, Grey closed his fist — and the entire structure imploded, crushed into a singular point of absolute destruction. Nothing remained but silence and ash.

The air rippled with the arrival of reinforcements, and the citadel became a battlefield of absolute chaos. The first wave came from Merlin's Feet — assassins spilling from the shadows like ink across the burning ruins. Initiates of Shadow darted forward, their forms flickering with temporary invisibility, but Grey's Domain stripped them bare. Their tricks meant nothing. He reached out, and the darkness they hid in turned against them — solidifying into razor-sharp spears that impaled them mid-step. Blood sprayed in arcs, painting the scorched stone. He twisted the air, transmuting it into liquid iron that surged like a wave, drowning their dying screams in molten metal.

The Blades of Dusk struck next, teleporting through the battlefield in bursts of shadow, their weapons coated in poison and silence. Grey didn't flinch. With a thought, the ground became a mirror, reflecting their movements perfectly. They struck at their reflections, only for the glass to shatter — and the shards rose like a storm. Each sliver became a bullet, punching through armor and flesh. They fell in pieces, their bodies dissected mid-motion. One managed to reach him — his dagger aimed for Grey's throat — but Grey caught it with two fingers and turned the weapon to dust. With a flick, he unraveled the assassin's body, reducing him to a cloud of ash.

The Silent Reapers emerged next — elite killers cloaked in shadows, their weapons forged from pure darkness. They phased through walls and struck with illusions, but Grey's mastery of change outmatched them. He altered the very concept of light and shadow, forcing the darkness they commanded to become searing fire. Their cloaks ignited, their illusions backfired — and their own blades turned on them, driven by Grey's will. They fell screaming, their charred forms barely recognizable. When the Phantom Hands tried to drain his life energy, Grey smiled — and twisted their power. The siphoning reversed, and their bodies withered into husks as he drained them dry.

Then came Merlin's Hands — the frontline enforcers. Ironbound Initiates charged with runed weapons glowing, their spells lighting the battlefield. Grey waved his hand, and their armor transmuted into stone, weighing them down until they crumbled beneath their own weight. The Battleforged Knights followed, their enchanted swords striking with elemental fury. But Grey reached into the air, turned their flames to ice, their lightning to sand. With a single motion, he sent their weapons back at them, and their bodies exploded in bursts of fire and lightning. The Stormblades came last, their dragonhide armor crackling with power. But Grey turned their storm against them — the wind became blades, the lightning chains. They were torn apart, their bodies reduced to scattered limbs and smoking ruin.

The Merlin's Voice division tried to stop him with words and will. Silver Tongues whispered enchantments, their spells of persuasion sliding off Grey like water. He altered their very voices, turning their words into physical blades that slashed their own throats. Whisperweavers cast illusions, but Grey changed the air itself, making the lies they wove solid — and the illusions turned on their creators, ripping them apart. The Mindshapers attempted to dominate his mind, but their magic shattered against his mental fortress. He twisted their control, sending their own power spiraling back — and they fell to their knees, clawing at their faces as their minds unraveled into madness.

The Merlin's Heart mages unleashed their fury next. Acolytes of Flame hurled fire, but Grey turned their flames into ice mid-flight. They died frozen, their bodies shattering with a touch. Warlocks of Ash tried to summon storms, but Grey altered the elements — their fire became water, their lightning dirt. He crushed them beneath the weight of their own failed spells. The Arcane Archons floated above, raining destruction — but Grey reached out and changed the very fabric of magic around them. Their spells inverted, their bodies imploded, and they fell in silent ruin. The Flamekeeper himself descended, roaring defiance — but Grey raised a hand and turned the man's fire to stone, entombing him alive.

Finally, Merlin's Brain arrived — their seers and strategists. The Eyes of the Veil tried to divine his movements, but Grey altered the flow of time itself, showing them infinite possibilities until they drowned in visions. The Shades of Insight attempted to cloak themselves in illusions, but Grey bent reality — their cloaks turned to chains, binding them as the ground swallowed them whole. The Seers of the Unseen projected visions of doom, but Grey reached into those dreams and made them real — and the seers died screaming, their bodies crushed by the weight of their own nightmares. The Oracle of Shadows tried to manipulate the future — but Grey seized time and shattered it, leaving the oracle frozen in eternal stillness.

The citadel was a ruin — burning, broken, and soaked in blood. The reinforcements lay in pieces, their divisions decimated. Grey stood amid the carnage, his Domain still pulsing with power. The heads had yet to appear — but they would come. And when they did, he would show them the true face of destruction.

The air crackled with unstable energy as Grey loomed over the ruins, his colossal crimson-scaled form seething with chaotic power. The ground beneath him buckled, stones splitting and rising into the air under the weight of his mere presence. His golden eyes blazed with madness and fury, the twisted magic of Chaotic Love radiating from him in waves so intense they warped reality itself. Flames erupted without warning, and the sky above twisted into unnatural shapes, colors bleeding into one another like a dying sun. And then they appeared—five figures stepping through the air itself, their presence cutting through the chaos like razors through silk. Each radiated their own terrifying power, but Grey didn't care. His rage was all-consuming. His voice rumbled through the air like a distant thunderstorm, his serpentine form coiling tighter, ready to strike.