Unholy Player Chapter 536 Henry's Plan (Part 4)

In the recent months, humans had zeroed in on multiple vital sectors for advancement within this unfamiliar realm, with a prime focus on the juncture where supply lines and combat operations intersected.

They particularly elevated their aerial transports to unprecedented heights, ensuring their practicality suited the harsh truths of this environment, extending beyond mere ease to swift positioning and reaction times.

The biggest transformation in these advanced war machines stemmed from tech breakthroughs, the Sparks they analyzed and harnessed, plus resources unearthed in the Beyond, manifesting as a dramatic expansion in scale.

This latest breed of hoverjets had grown substantially bigger. Designed to haul greater numbers of troops in powersuits simultaneously, to integrate potent armaments straight into their frames without risking balance, and to ferry bulky loads effortlessly.

Once this enormous hoverjet, resembling a gigantic airborne vessel, neared the party and descended with meticulous control, its hatch slid open amid a resounding metallic groan.

A squad of troops emerged, clad in complete metallic plating and gripping massive rifles. They advanced in a synchronized, deliberate rhythm, their footfalls pounding the ramp in a uniform beat that resounded like battle drums in the ears of those watching.

Next, they divided into two flanks, creating a pathway toward the hoverjet's entrance, their forms tilted precisely to form an unobstructed route, visors locked ahead, rifles never dipping.

"They are not Practitioners..." Arvyn instantly pegged them as ordinary humans. Their steps were precise and unified, each action drilled into pure reflex, but devoid of the subtle aura from a true Practitioner's honed essence.

Yet, those oversized rifles they clutched screamed lethality, with elongated, weighty muzzles crafted for maximum impact.

The gilded accents on their equipment further underscored the peril. Forged from identical stuff as the rounds that had pierced their toughened hides earlier, and akin to Zephan and Liora's armaments, once deemed priceless relics.

What kind of people are these? she pondered while they proceeded to the hoverjet under the drone's lead, the device hovering forward like a wordless guide.

A folk where even non-cultivators possessed the might to wound a Rank 4 Practitioner defied all knowledge. It sparked questions in her: just how formidable would their genuine Practitioners prove, and what sort of stronghold could forge warriors of this caliber.

Liora and Zephan trailed them immediately, eyes sharp and poised to counter any danger.

Soulforge, however, they abandoned on-site, perched motionless upon his Giant Eye, rigid as an unblinking effigy. He'd recover on his own in due time.

"Is this what the places Gods live look like?" Arvyn and Kaelor peered through the hoverjet's viewport at the sprawling metropolis below, the height lending an otherworldly haze to the sight.

It offered a direct peek into the true face of the Central Region, bypassing hearsay or fancy, witnessed firsthand. The soaring concrete towers appeared hand-forged, yet evoked awe at their flawless execution, lines sharp, facades even, forms replicated without flaw.

Symmetry dominated, from the thoroughfares weaving the urban expanse to the uniform dimensions of structures; all coordinated so flawlessly it seemed sketched, scaled, and refined on a blueprint until perfection reigned.

Even finer details screamed intent. Parks, foliage, and vibrant blooms interrupted the gray expanse.

Odd, enormous dynamic displays adorned the edifices and central zones, visuals cycling endlessly, vivid and sharp despite the sun's glare.

"What are those?" Arvyn eyed the vast screens dotting the skyline, positioned evidently for newcomers, elevated and tilted toward avenues below and heavens above, targeting arrivals from on high.

At present, a film flickered across the displays, an Earth classic in the sci-fi vein, depicting vessels cruising the void toward a remote world, cuts alternating between crafts and the shadowy void.

To Kaelor and Arvyn, whose visions were bounded by Spark abilities, the display proved baffling initially.

But as the footage progressed, the far-off azure orb sharpened in varied shots. Before long, the colossal ships pierced the world's envelope and touched down on its crust.

Then the pair grasped it: a colossal sphere teeming with a species numbering in the millions, urban hives dotting the terrain like thriving hives.

"Is that..." Arvyn gulped, confusing the fabricated footage for truth. "A Sanctuary?"

For one like her, untouched by cosmic voids, the inky abyss resembled a Sanctuary's energy ocean, with Earth as the inner continent.

The Sanctuary's scale dwarfed her sense of self. In her thoughts, her home realm dwindled to a mere dot.

To whom did that vast Sanctuary answer?

The realization struck instantly. At minimum, a Demigod.

In that instant, it dawned on her that her Blood Sect might pale in might compared to her lifelong assumptions, especially in a realm that flaunted spectacles like this so casually.

Her eyes flicked to Kaelor, intent on querying if they ought to flee before disaster struck, but she saw escape was impossible. Kaelor's metallic cranium steamed with fervor as he paced briskly. He scrutinized every facet of the vessel, probing joints, covers, and alien devices. He attempted chats with the powersuit-clad guards, despite their statue-like silence.

He resembled a long-lost pup reunited with its den. Just sans the tail, thrashing wildly left and right.

I can't trust him anymore. Arvyn's features hardened, grasping that the Mechari had switched loyalties, his thrill too visceral, too authentic to counterfeit.

Shortly after, the hoverjet neared the district's loftiest tower's summit and settled gracefully, the urban vista receding as the landing pad ascended to receive it.

Yet another STF unit awaited them outdoors, arrayed in neat ranks, evidently briefed well in advance.

This batch skipped the powered exosuits. Each donned pristine white attire of lightweight weave, tailored flawlessly to encase their forms. The spotless, crease-free garb stunned them anew.

The duo of Blood Path adepts scanned this fresh contingent and noted they too were non-Practitioners, plain humans. That revelation fueled their astonishment.

Their white outfits mirrored Zephan and Liora's closely, with minor stylistic tweaks for simplicity and repositioned emblems.

Beyond matching garb, each bore varied golden-hued arms. Belts held daggers for some, elongated blades for others, clubs or rods, even weighted bracers masquerading as gloves on wrists.

Hundreds strong, they toted relics as if commonplace wares. Non-Practitioners all, treating such gear like routine gear here.

Naturally, not every member was mortal. As the assembly held position to welcome the arrivals, two prominent shapes led the pack, obvious commanders of these elite forces.

One featured a woman with deep violet locks and obsidian gaze. Her white uniform sheathed her entirely, but styled more boldly than the rest, drawing the eye. The golden rapier at her hip gleamed with hilt flashes on movement, evoking a battlefield valkyrie.

The counterpart was male, similarly attired in white. Cropped silver tresses framed eyes of stark white.

As the Blood Path duo appraised him, he met their stares with a look blending ennui or overindulgence, hard to pinpoint.

His stance deviated from soldierly norms; spine slouched, shoulders slumped. He projected no grandeur from any angle, as if stumbled into line by chance. Yet, as Arvyn regarded the man, an eerie vibe stirred, reminiscent of cult superiors in the Midlands, a subtle menace needing no flair to declare its threat.