My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 715: Broken

Violent waves of deathmist erupted outward, spilling into the vacuum as weapon systems suffered a total catastrophic failure. Instead of annihilating the demon legion, the energy surged internally, ripping through conduits, shattering mounts, and hurling debris into the dark void.

There was no singular explosion to mark the end. No grand, cinematic collapse.

It was merely systematic annihilation.

Forty-three thousand weapons were extinguished before they could discharge a single bolt.

With its control broken and its objective lost, the deathmist scattered in chaos. The defensive perimeter of the Eternal did not fall with a grand cry; it failed in absolute silence—one moment a formidable wall, the next a heap of broken wreckage.

"Is this the extent of your strength?" Ragnar’s voice boomed through the emptiness.

He drifted at the heart of the wreckage, enveloped in a radiant silver aura that flared like a celestial star. Abominations were flattened in his wake, their remains drifting away as the sheer weight of his presence distorted the local space.

A Transcendent General was ensnared in his tail, coiled tightly and struggling as its armor splintered under the immense force. Another was held firmly in his palm, Ragnar’s fingers crushing into its helmet while the phantom fought a desperate, losing battle.

A roar tore from Ragnar’s throat.

Then, he acted.

With a display of brutal, unyielding power, he yanked.

The phantom in his grip was ripped asunder, its frame splitting in two as if it were made of cheap fabric. Its wretched scream pierced the void, a sharp and agonizing sound that echoed straight into the consciousness of every demon on the field.

That sound did not breed terror.

It set them ablaze with furor.

The demons bellowed in response, their assault intensifying as Ragnar cast aside the broken corpses, already pivoting toward his next victim with eyes fueled by the madness of war.

Simultaneously, two more Transcendent Generals made their move.

Shifting their positions with lethal precision, they glided through the void until Ragnar was surrounded on three sides. Their cold, oppressive auras bore down on him, attempting to stifle his movements and drown his momentum under a crushing weight.

Ragnar simply laughed.

Nearby, the demon captains finally unleashed their full power. Domains ignited one after another, painting the void in violent hues as silent commands were transmitted through the ranks. The advancing horde surged forward with newfound speed, like a flood that had finally burst its dam. Even the hidden traitors within the ranks had no choice but to advance. The momentum was too fierce, the pressure too absolute. To hesitate was to die, so they followed the tide, regardless of their true loyalties.

It was the moment for our final assault.

Lyrate was the first to strike.

Stepping forward with a serene, almost delicate grace, she pressed her palms together as if in prayer. A gentle smile touched her lips—a look far too peaceful for such a bloody battlefield.

"Beautiful wish," she murmured.

A ripple of emerald light emanated from her. It washed over the charging demon ranks like a soft breeze, caressing armor, skin, and Essence alike. Suddenly, the nature of the void shifted.

Butterflies began to manifest.

Initially, only a few pale green specks appeared, glowing softly. Then hundreds emerged, followed by thousands, and finally millions.

They materialized out of thin air, their shimmering wings creating endless streams through the dark. They touched down upon the demons mid-charge, landing on cracked plates, torn skin, and mangled limbs. Wherever they rested, wounds sealed shut. Fractured bones knit together. Spilled blood transformed back into pure Essence. The weight of exhaustion was stripped away layer by layer.

Warriors who should have perished stood tall once more.

Those on the brink of collapse roared with renewed vigor and threw themselves forward, their eyes alight with a rekindled hope.

The butterflies continued their work.

They blanketed the warzone, a vibrant tide of green standing against the dark, mending and restoring, ensuring the momentum of the charge would not falter.

Lyrate gave a soft laugh.

Then, her expression sharpened.

"Dance for me."

Power vibrated within her command.

The abominations rushing toward them suddenly stumbled. Their frames began to convulse violently, their movements becoming frantic and erratic. Then, something erupted from within their bodies.

Vines.

Roots.

Thick branches.

Lush vegetation tore through dark flesh and twisted bone, expanding at a supernatural pace. What began as thin tendrils quickly grew into dense thickets and then full forests, spreading like a sentient plague through the Eternal's ranks. The abominations shrieked as they were devoured from the inside out, frozen into statues of wood where monsters had stood moments prior.

A forest bloomed in the middle of the void.

Not just a few, but hundreds of thousands of abominations were snared at once, their progress halted entirely as the living green claimed them.

Lyrate signaled with a sweep of her hand.

Her blade appeared in her grasp.

She delivered a single, precise horizontal strike.

The forest was harvested.

Like grass before a scythe, the trapped monsters were cut down, their bodies crumbling into lifeless husks as the greenery withered away instantly. Lyrate dived forward, taking the lead herself, and under the shouting orders of the captains, a massive wing of the demon army split off to follow her.

The spear-shaped formation divided into two.

The Eternal forces reacted without delay.

One of the surviving Generals bellowed an order, splitting his own forces to send a massive contingent to block Lyrate, intent on halting her progress by any means necessary.

That was when the cry rang out.

It was a sharp, piercing shriek that drowned out every other sound in the void.

My Essence reserves plummeted instantly, the drain so sudden it stole my breath.

I looked toward the source.

Silver.

He had been a quiet participant in the fray until now. But things had changed. A mist of crimson billowed from his form as he expanded, his bones shifting and wings unfurling until they seemed to eclipse the stars themselves.

A titanic hawk of steel rose beneath the demon host.

His wingspan stretched across nearly a quarter of the core layer's structures. Crimson mist surged from his feathers like a tidal wave, his aura erupting with a force that made even Ragnar’s power seem small.

"Mount up," Silver’s voice resonated, deep and echoing.

For a brief second, the demons hesitated.

Then, pure instinct took command.

They descended upon his back by the thousands, then tens of thousands, until hundreds of thousands covered him like a suit of living armor. His wings beat once.

The sound was like the very pulse of the universe.

And then, like a ruby beam of pure devastation, Silver lunged forward.

Ragnar hammered through the front. Lyrate carved a path through the flank.

And in the center, borne by a living god of steel and blood-mist, the demon army crashed headlong into the primary defenses of the Eternal.