Chrysalis Chapter 1733 - Up Close and Personal

Graham couldn't deny it—the monster's proximity was a terrifying spectacle. Despite his vast experience insisting it was merely an ant, something frail and insignificant, its sheer aura proved otherwise in no uncertain terms.

Caught off guard, the beast responded with astonishing velocity to the sudden emergence of the Penitent Lances. Still, Graham found satisfaction in witnessing one hit its mark. Summoning them demanded great effort, and while his followers were eager to bear the cost, the War Bishop hesitated to invoke them except in dire circumstances.

In contrast to higher-ups in the Church who often overlooked such sacrifices, he refused to treat them lightly.

Nevertheless, he'd anticipated that one hit might make a real difference, but those expectations shattered entirely once he drew nearer to the creature. It loomed above them all, jaws clashing fiercely, massive antennae like tree trunks slicing the air while it darted about with impossible swiftness and elegance, refusing to be slowed.

A closer look revealed the injury sealing itself shut, the shell reforming atop the mended tissue below. Reports had mentioned its rapid recovery, but this was ridiculous!

Lifting his sacred mace aloft, Graham unleashed the surge of devotion surging through him.

“LET FLY THE WRATH OF YOUR FAITH!” he thundered, plunging straight into the violet glow encircling the monster.

Immediately, an oppressive force bore down on him, threatening to force him to the ground. His mace nearly slipped from his grasp, the strain making his wrist throb intensely.

However, imposing spells on the bearers of divine retribution wasn't straightforward. Within Graham blazed an inner forge, ignited by his unyielding conviction and the sacred Path he followed. He poured his vitality into it, consuming his vitality recklessly.

Power scorched his flesh as radiance burst forth from his core, repelling the beast's enchantment and weakening its hold. Everywhere around, his fellow Judges mirrored his actions. In their rear, Green Mountain's four thousand troops maneuvered into side positions, aiming to surround the monster while unleashing ranged assaults from afar.

With a powerful sweep of his mace, bursts of skill-light flared from Graham as he arced it broadly toward the ant's skull.

In near disdain, the ant deflected the strike, batting it aside using its jaws and scattering the glow effortlessly, yet a flurry of twelve more attacks descended upon it simultaneously. All for nothing. Not a single one breached the ant's armor, and seconds later, the beast charged straight through their ranks, radiance erupting from its mandibles.

Soldiers of both genders were hurled aside, propelled by the creature's immense force and drive, though it couldn't advance much. Trapped from every direction, it found itself engulfed in the fervent glow of the Path.

“LANCE!” Graham bellowed.

He channeled additional life essence into the blaze, making it intensify and solidify, blending seamlessly with the energies of his comrades.

Certain members handled the reception and shaping of that power, crafting the lances and guiding them at the monster just as its charge halted.

Twelve radiant shafts hurtled at the fiend, vanishing from sight in their blistering speed. Strangely, the beast anticipated their arrival somehow. It contorted savagely, quicker than any massive form ought to twist. Even with its desperate maneuvers, two impacts landed true—one near its cranium, the next embedding in the linkage of a mid-leg to its frame.

While the ant faltered, Graham lunged forward with every ounce of his might to bridge the space, mace whistling through the air again.

Suddenly, the ant disappeared from view in an instant, materializing two hundred meters distant, with troops scattered aside in its path.

“KEEP UP THE PRESSURE!” he shouted, met by a resounding cry reverberating through the cavernous walls.

Two solid hits. Those lances packed tremendous might and couldn't be dismissed lightly. Regardless, amid his mace swings, Graham observed the injuries mending at an accelerated rate, tissue knitting and shell rebuilding the moment the lances' glow dimmed.

How could it achieve such feats? Countless regeneration methods existed among monsters, with hundreds documented in Church archives. Any beast attaining this strength possessed some self-repair ability; the key was wearing them out, compelling repeated healings until exhaustion set in.

Graham wielded his armament with rage blazing in his gaze, empowering his strike.

Constantly, the Judgement Battalion's forces shifted positions, realigning and adapting. As some pressed forward, backups stood ready to aid. As others fell back, reinforcements stepped up to cover the void. Wherever the monster turned, coordinated assaults hammered it relentlessly from every angle without pause.

The beast withstood the barrage of strikes, parting its jaws broadly and unleashed a devastating blast of energy.