Amon, The Legendary Overlord



"My grandparents taught me that life has no shortcuts." Amon paused abruptly, taking distance: "My grandmother also used to say that nothing is perfect and that's what makes everything so beautiful. Perfection itself is imperfection. So, no, I refuse your offer and no, I will not allow you to touch anyone I wish to protect, even if it costs my life!"

Without any warning, Amon returned to the offensive with unprecedented ferocity. His attacks became even more aggressive, unleashing shockwaves of frightening intensity.

The rampant energy created a storm of power, each blow exploded in the air, as if tearing the fabric of space itself. The force of each attack reverberated, making the ground tremble, and the deafening sound filled the environment, making the heart of the onlookers pulsate at a frantic pace.

The energy waves unleashed by Amon were so intense they seemed visible to the naked eye, pulsating through the air like shockwaves after an explosion. It was a spectacular display of strength and determination, a storm of unbridled power that left everyone astonished.

However, even in the face of this storm of attacks, Zingringa activated another shield behind the WindShield that was about to disintegrate.

"This is so unfair!" Exclaimed Maisa, visibly frustrated, while she continued to cast strengthening enchantments on Amon incessantly.

Thanks to Amon's actions, the pressure that hung over them had been completely alleviated, now all the focus was on him.

Even the wind dome around them began to show visible signs of cracks. Mabel and Ariel were using their powers to break this barrier and escape from Zingringa's domain. Only by getting out of this domain could Amon act more freely.

If they managed to escape, there would be more chances for Amon as well.

'Damn, the Federation could well arrive now...' Mabel was feeling extremely frustrated.

She didn't expect that, upon arriving there, they would encounter such a bizarre situation.

Although the possibility of dying was terrifying, their lives had been saved by the tower. But if they were captured alive and turned into guinea pigs for experiments, the story would be different.

In many ways, even if they were rescued later, there was the chance it would be too late, after being transformed into something irreversible, like the plague, the Erectus.

Although the punished were transformed into those grotesque creatures, the story of human experiments harbored even more macabre horrors, with people transformed into bizarre aberrations, like a dog with three human heads.

In various situations, nothing could be considered good. Even the possibility of becoming an oven for a strange race could happen.

Women, in particular, were the ones who suffered the most in this aspect. Especially those with a unique genetic lineage, like Ariel, Mabel, and Barbara.

If they were captured, the risk of being transformed into something like breeders for a strange race was immensely high.

Hence came Amon's anger and hatred. He would not allow that to happen. He might seem clumsy and not understand many things most of the time, but that didn't make him a fool. He could understand a lot, especially Zingringa's intentions by analyzing the way he spoke and acted.

Determined to persist, even if it resulted in a subsequent coma, Amon continued to attack with all his strength. The green veins that stood out in his arm broke into small wounds, staining his arm a vivid red with his own blood. Marks from previous battles mingled with the new ones, creating a painful tapestry of bravery and determination. Each movement, each blow, caused more damage to his body, but he did not give up.

The girls, witnessing this scene, felt a squeeze in their hearts so strong that tears streamed from their eyes. It was too painful to see Amon in this state. They wished they could share the pain with him, and alleviate his suffering, but they were unable to share this burden.

The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming, a constant pain that marked their hearts. They were limited to offering support with buffs, and even healing him was difficult due to the distance. Getting closer meant risking being injured, or even killed, which would only worsen the situation. Anguish mixed with frustration, creating a whirlpool of emotions that consumed each of them. Their love and concern for Amon transformed into tears that fell silent as they watched the fight unfold.

"Die!" Zingringa bellowed, pulling out a colossal spear almost four meters long. The weapon seemed razor-sharp, its pointed tip shone with a mortal threat.

The instant Zingringa lowered his shield to attack, Amon's blow rebounded. However, somehow, Amon seemed to have anticipated this move. A bolt of lightning fell on his blood-red scythe, causing an explosion of glittering light. The lightning served as a propellant, propelling the scythe forward.

Amon's blade then collided with the tip of Zingringa's spear, giving rise to terrifying shockwaves. The brute force of the impact was colossal. The power of the lightning on Amon's scythe intertwined with the wind energy on Zingringa's spear, creating a storm of opposing forces that tore the air around.

The scenario was transformed into a chaotic battlefield, with destruction manifested in every corner. The explosion of energy forced the girls to retreat, being pushed back by the shockwave. Their screams were muffled by the deafening roar of the collision, as they tried to hold their ground against the force that hit them. The ground under their feet shook as the destructive energy spread, shaking the integrity of the earth itself.

At the end of the clash, Amon was forced to retreat more than ten steps, while Zingringa only retreated five. However, Amon's determination remained unshakeable. He advanced again, his figure moving swiftly like a lightning bolt, scythe raised above his head. Amon's speed was so extreme that it left behind a faded shadow, an after-image that challenged human perception. It was as if time had frozen, and all that remained was the blurred image of Amon, hastening to the next confrontation.

Zingringa, in response, moved with the fluidity of the wind, concentrating gigantic force on his spear. The attack he unleashed seemed to have the capacity to bring down an entire wall, a destructive force condensed into a single point, shot towards Amon. It was as if a storm had formed, with Zingringa at the center, directing all the fury of the gale toward his enemy.

The two attacks collided again, sending shockwaves through the air. The pattern repeated - a retreat, followed by an advance, again and again, in a war dance that seemed to have unfolded for an eternity.

However, it was beginning to become evident that Amon's strength was waning. His movements, although still fast, no longer had the same energy as before. His face showed signs of exhaustion, and sweat dripped, mingling with the blood that stained his arm. On the other hand, Zingringa seemed to be in top form. His face maintained a confident smile, and the energy of his attacks showed no signs of weakening. The tension in the atmosphere grew, as the fight continued to unfold.

At the height of desperation, Amon pulled out a new syringe, prepared to inject himself without any hesitation.

"Amon, no!!" Mabel screamed, terrified. She understood better than anyone the danger that represented. This act could lead Amon to death, or even worse, reduce him to a vegetative state. At least in death, his body would be recreated by the tower, but if he fell into a confused state and remained so, even if he died later, he would continue in a vegetative state.

However, at the most critical moment, the dome that surrounded them broke. A woman with long blonde hair appeared next to Amon, holding his hand and preventing him from applying the injection.

"It's okay now, you can relax, Amon," the newly arrived woman said, and the effect of her words was instant. The tension Amon carried in his body and face began to slowly dissipate, giving way to a more peaceful expression. "I'm glad you came...", were the last words he managed to murmur before collapsing, a serene smile on his face, as the world darkened around him.

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