My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 660: Visuals Of A War

The Valley of Warriors trembled under the combined might of three massive armies. The first sound to tear through the world was the ferocious roar of the Bloodreavers. Primus hurled himself toward Herald, and their initial collision served as the catalyst for a total storm of violence.

Beneath the aerial duel, the Bloodreaver legion surged forward like a rising tide of crimson. Their formations were expansive and fiercely aggressive; warriors were draped in blood-red armor, wielding weapons infused with blood-fire—the legendary signature technique of their bloodline.

Blood-fire was no ordinary flame. It possessed a predatory nature, clinging and crawling as it consumed everything in its path, intensifying in heat the longer it stayed lit. Squads of Bloodreaver masters charged to the front, their spears and sabers glowing like molten ore, every swing leaving behind trails that resembled burning comets.

Their war cries caused the very atmosphere to vibrate.

Dorian spearheaded the assault, gripping a colossal sword that burned with such intensity it stained the surrounding air deep red. With a single heavy strike, he shattered a blue-flame barrier, making the shield hiss and scream as the blood-fire eroded it from the edges. He carved through three Del Rey masters in a solitary arc, tossing their bodies aside like discarded playthings.

At his side, other Bloodreaver grandmasters blazed trails of ruin, fueling their auras with pure rage and momentum. Unlike most clans, the Bloodreavers thrived in the heat of a frenzy. The more injuries they sustained, the more their Essence ignited, allowing them to strike back with even greater ferocity.

They were the embodiment of chaos.

The entire battlefield seemed to buckle under their collective fury.

However, the Ronics operated with a completely different philosophy.

As their forces advanced from the west, they were neither loud nor chaotic. Instead, they moved with the steady, inevitable rhythm of a marching storm.

Runes etched into their violet armor began to shimmer as they moved. In contrast to the raw power of the Bloodreavers, the Ronic Violet Flame possessed a corruptive quality.

Wherever this purple fire met blue flame, the blue light flickered and died. When it collided with blood-fire, it fractured the burning flow. Ronic masters fought with icy precision, their energy spears piercing through defensive shields with surgical accuracy, while swords coated in corrosive runes left haunting afterimages in their wake.

Platius led the charge personally, drifting above his troops with eyes full of frigid anger, his spear dripping with violet fire. Though he lacked Dorian’s explosive nature, his level of control was chilling. Each movement of his weapon carved the battlefield into distinct zones of death.

A group of Del Rey masters attempted to surround him.

With a casual sweep of his spear, Platius unleashed a rippling wave of violet corruption that turned half their armor into fine dust. With a simple flick of his wrist, the purple flames imploded, crushing both their skeletal structures and their Essence simultaneously.

Orobas, however, was a category unto himself. He hovered above the Bloodreaver host like a sun of darkness, ritualistic markings glowing beneath his skin.

He raised a hand.

A burst of crimson fire erupted outward.

This was the Ancestor Flame—the most refined state of Bloodreaver power, forged through centuries of bloodshed and the accumulation of Essence. It swept across the field like a gale, setting the sky ablaze.

Entire battalions of Del Rey infantry collapsed from the sheer pressure, their knees giving out and their weapons trembling in their grasp.

Even grandmasters were forced to fortify their bodies just to endure the weight of his aura.

Orobas remained motionless in the air, yet his very existence shattered the rhythm of the Del Rey defense. His aura weighed down from above while the Bloodreavers struck the front and the Ronics hammered the flank.

The Del Reys were besieged on every side.

Yet, they did not break.

Instead, they locked together in tight defensive arrays, layering blue-flame barriers until they formed a crystalline wall. The blue flame of the Del Rey family was not designed for simple destruction; its purpose was the soul.

The blue flame targeted the spirit directly.

A mere touch could paralyze the mind, disrupt the internal flow of Essence, or drain a warrior's resolve. It was the ultimate defensive fire, and their goal was simply to stall.

They were waiting for the promised reinforcements from Dragos.

Their commanders barked out sharp instructions:

"Hold your ground!"

"Execute defense formation: Blue Shell!"

"Cycle the barriers! The Bloodreavers must not break the line!"

A massive dome of blue energy began to take shape behind them as dozens of grandmasters funneled their power into the structure at once.

From the sky, it looked like a colossal oceanic bubble emerging from the earth. Every time Dorian’s warriors crashed against it, their blood-fire left scars on the surface, but the barrier mended itself instantly as soul-flame surged to fix the breach.

Whenever violet corruption began to eat through, a fresh wave of soul-flame neutralized the threat. It was a fortress built of pure willpower.

High above, Herald and Primus continued their duel in the heavens.

Their fists collided repeatedly, blue and red flames clashing like the meeting of two opposing seasons.

"Your daughter sold my world to Dragos!" Primus yelled.

"You understand nothing about my daughter!" Herald bellowed back.

Their collision sent shockwaves rippling across the entire valley. Herald released a blue hurricane of soul-flame, which Primus countered with a pillar of blood-fire that seemed to split the atmosphere.

The sky appeared to tear open between the two combatants.

Below, soldiers from all factions fought to maintain their footing.

The violence of the battle escalated to the point where deep fissures began to mar the Valley, creating jagged ravines dozens of meters deep. Ancient bones hidden beneath the valley floor were unearthed—the massive remains of monstrosities from wars long forgotten.

The shattered landscape made any movement chaotic and treacherous.

Bloodreaver soldiers of the master rank sprinted across the crumbling earth with reckless abandon, leaping over the new chasms to slam into Del Rey shields with suicidal bravery.

The Ronic troops maintained their steady march, precisely navigating the gaps and keeping their tight formations even as the ground shifted underfoot.

The Del Reys clung to their blue-flame fortress, gradually shrinking their defensive perimeter as they pulled their forces into a more compact unit.

They were digging in for a siege.

Their entire plan relied on holding out until help arrived.

But the sun had already risen, and those reinforcements were never coming. Knight had already commenced his task.

Suddenly, the mental connection flickered to life.

Lyrate was the first to speak, her voice edged with a sharp hunger. "When do we start? Just give the word, Billion. I want to cut through those blue-flame cockroaches."

Ragnar followed immediately. "Yes! Let me loose! I haven’t smashed anything in ages. My fists are getting lonely."

Silver’s voice came next, buzzing with excitement. "Let’s gooo! I want to see how fast their heads spin if I kick them!"

Aurora, however, was like a calm stream cutting through the chatter. Her mental tone was composed and steady. "Should we intervene now, Billion? The battlefield is becoming unstable. Your choice will turn the tide."

I let out a slow breath. The timing had to be flawless.

The war of Armus was only in its opening stages... and the moment I released them, the valley would finally learn the meaning of a true storm.