CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 633: Mass Teleportation

Everyone swiftly positioned themselves against their designated foes, selecting battle partners through mere eye contact. Malrik, however, kept his gaze fixed solely on the Commander and Vice Commanders; he was determined to face both of them alone, free from any interference by other Elders.

Morthen Wargrave stared down three Cabinet Members, their faces now marked by heavy frowns as it became clear he had chosen them as his adversaries right then.

The other Elders and the seven Cabinet Members each picked one foe, sticking to one-on-one matchups while they awaited the first strike, the mounting tension and heavy silence dragging on endlessly, as if time itself hesitated to move forward.

Down in the Empire's Capital, pandemonium had already exploded, with people bolting in frantic dashes to save their skins. They had no clue who the attackers were—the Wargraves floated thousands of meters above, invisible to normal eyes—but that meant nothing; the bloodlust hung thick in the air, the crushing aura bore down relentlessly, and death slithered across their bodies and spines like an unavoidable curse.

And so, they fled.

Those who had just been carrying on with their everyday routines and dealings now raced away in blind panic, ditching everything familiar without a backward glance. Mothers got separated from their children in the wild stampede, their cries lost amid the deafening rumble of the terrified crowds.

Some tripped and collapsed, only to get crushed under endless stomping feet as fear wiped out all trace of discipline. A massive stampede surged into being, a frantic tide of despair as crowds surged toward their homes, desperately hoping that walls of brick, stone, and timber could somehow guard them from the total destruction even the feeblest Crownstar Life Ranker could unleash with ease.

The Commander, Vice Commander, and Imperial Cabinet Members held back from striking first for one straightforward reason: the ordinary folk below. The instant this fight erupted into full swing, those masses would vanish in a flash, millions of souls extinguished before anyone could blink.

A toll like that would spell disaster not just for lives lost but for the Empire's very stability, throwing off taxes, workforce, order, and every pillar holding up the colossal engine of Imperial power.

"Let me help you out then," Morthen Wargrave said with a subtle, perceptive smile. In the very next instant, a tome materialized in front of him, hovering motionless, its cover shining with brilliant gold, its pages whiter than any the onlookers had ever beheld, pristine as if untouched by any hint of flaw.

The Imperials' frowns deepened at the sight of that lone book, renowned to all who had endured the prior Primarch era. In truth, anyone over three hundred years old would spot it immediately, and every person there had ages ago passed that mark.

The tome eased open gradually, its pages turning with a graceful, almost intentional poise, directed by some hidden awareness. Then, it paused on a chosen page, and Morthen’s voice boomed across the scene.

With those words, Astra energy thundered fiercely from Morthen’s Astra veins, bursting forth in a dominant surge that swept over the full Capital and stretched far wider. Space warped and contorted under Morthen’s command, submitting effortlessly to his desires. And in that one, mind-bending moment, every citizen in the Empire's Capital and nearby lands simply blinked out of existence, as if they had never been there at all.

The clamor, the shrieks, the disorder, the stampede—all of it vanished in an instant.

Hundreds of millions were whisked away as effortlessly as a casual stroll in a peaceful garden, the immense scope of the deed teetering on the edge of unimaginable.

The Commander’s voice cut through right away, piercing and insistent, "Where did you send them?" he demanded, knowing Morthen had relocated them to safety but refusing to let the issue slide unanswered.

"The price of that information will be included in the compensation the Emperor will give to us," Morthen responded coolly, as if haggling over some minor deal.

Though Morthen initially lacked any wish to clash directly with the Imperial family, Malrik had already crossed that unreturnable boundary, offering no option for retreat anymore. Should he and the rest of the Wargraves back down now, the Emperor could readily exploit this moment to inflict harsh and unfair punishments on the Wargrave family.

Be it surrendering ten years of their yearly profits or handing over dominance of one of their top-earning ventures. These results were intolerable, and the Wargraves refused to accept them; nobody ever yielded power or riches without putting up a fight.

As the citizens were cleared from danger, the stifling tension over the battlefield at last erupted.

Malrik struck first.

Accompanied by the sleek hiss of a sword sliding free, he drew his katana, and within a mere instant, he closed in on the Commander. His katana ripped through space and air with equal fury as it sought to sever the man's head right where he stood, the strike so swift it verged on teleportation.

The Commander responded without delay, his broadsword whipping up in a fluid, expert arc since he had foreseen Malrik's rashness. Upon impact of their blades, the air pressure around them ballooned to near-endless levels before shattering explosively, unleashing a colossal shockwave across dozens of kilometers that ravaged the skies in wild fury.

The Vice Commander charged.

Bridging the gap at a velocity that outpaced even teleportation, his sabre whistled through the air toward Malrik. Yet before it could connect, Malrik disappeared completely from sight as if he had never been there. The Vice Commander's blow went wide, carving a devastating crater that plunged straight into the Capital underneath, annihilating buildings and earth in a torrent of destruction.

Malrik materialized overhead both Commanders, his gaze icier than frozen winter, free of doubt or pity. Golden-orange Solar energy coursed through his katana, bathing the heavens in radiant light, and with no hesitation, he launched a slash beyond mortal limits.

In one fluid stroke, countless golden-orange sword beams erupted across the firmament, extending boundlessly as if the fabric of existence teetered on rupture. Before the heavens could split, the onslaught bore down on the duo with irresistible might.

Their Astra energy burst forth in retaliation. Scorching flames wrapped and danced along the Commander’s broadsword, blazing with savage intensity, while jagged lightning sheathed the Vice Commander’s sabre, crackling with feral volatility. In cataclysmic reprisal, they swung outward, clashing directly against Malrik’s descending barrage.

As the rival powers met, the sky erupted into a whirlwind of hues—golden-orange clashing with deep blue infernos and raging red bolts, weaving in frenzied chaos. The firmament cracked under the pressure, and the fused energies plummeted earthward, spanning thousands of meters in a heartbeat before smashing into the Capital with apocalyptic devastation.

The clashing energies battered one another fiercely, each vying to overpower the golden-orange surge, their impacts birthing shockwaves that shredded all in their rampage.

An entire section of the Capital vanished utterly, wiped clean from reality with horrifying simplicity. A colossal mushroom cloud of dense smoke, dust, and rubble billowed skyward, veiling the distant skyline.

Seamless in his advance, Malrik rocketed toward the Imperial Estate, utterly dismissing the Commander and Vice Commander. The Emperor remained his ultimate quarry; the pair, mind-controlled or otherwise, were mere impediments to his real aim.