Chapter 147

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Chapter 147: Tasha Devours the Abyss

The world quieted down.

In every observation station of Aryan, all Abyss Anchors detectors went dark. In the madness of the abyss’s final moments, they shone madly, their dials boiling hot. So when the lights suddenly went out, the needles reset, the staff suspected that these instruments had finally broken down under the strain.

The Magician Technicians repaired these detectors, and most of them were unharmed, operating well, faithful pointers all directed towards the same direction. This was not a display error; the Primary Material Plane had returned to its previous state—not the moment when the meteor broke through space, even earlier. Some detectors were made quite intricately, subtly changing years ago when Shirel first awakened the abyss before the channel between the abyss and the Primary Material Plane fully opened. Now, all values had reset to zero, signifying the complete departure of the abyss.

Into the abyss back to the abyss, not a single demon left on the Primary Material Plane.

Something that was fighting against the abyss also left.

The Silver Wolf staggered, like she had been drinking too much, and her limbs could no longer support her body. She collapsed amidst people’s screams, and the Druid quickly raised a wooden frame, but failed to catch her. The giant wolf’s body shrank in mid-air, losing its wolf shape, and a woman with closed eyes fell through the tree branches. The medical team rushed to the she-wolf, nervously examining her body.

They found no broken bones, not even many wounds under the blood stains. Her skin was intact, and the power that had been bestowed upon her healed all her serious injuries before departing. Marion was fine, she was just asleep, sleeping deeply, not even awakened by the fall. The she-wolf licked the blood from her lips in her sleep, perhaps reminiscing the taste of Hell’s Three Headed Dog.

Medical staff skillfully wrapped a layer of cloth around her naked body. This special fabric was thin, warm, antibacterial, wound-friendly, opaque, perfect for wrapping Druids and Orcs who had gone beyond their transformation time.

People were collapsing everywhere. The warriors who had fought for a long time could finally relax now, but as soon as they relaxed, fatigue and exhaustion knocked them down. The logistics personnel were extremely busy – from above, the stretchers looked like threads, with medical soldiers sewing up Aryan’s wounds on the battlefield. Everyone was working tirelessly, trying to prevent those warriors who had fought through the night from dying in the dawn light.

Spellcasters were the most affected by the previous surge of magic. The young wizards in the wizard group threw out every spell they knew as if they were on fire, draining themselves of energy. Now that the magical support had disappeared, they fell flat on the ground one by one. In this busy time, those who were uninjured but exhausted were temporarily ignored, lying on the ground bickering weakly with each other.

"I don’t think I’ll ever cast this many Cone of Cold spells in one breath in my whole life," a wizard said. "Unless I lose my job in the future and can only sell ice pops on the street for a living."

"Same here, I’ve never cast this many Fireball spells in my life," another wizard said.

"This is all I can handle in a day," Laurien boasted.

The wizards who graduated from Wizard Academy united and started to tease him, with some saying that wizards who produce lots of spells should talk, while the lucky ones with mentors should keep quiet.

"I love you, Casey!" a wizard with thick glasses suddenly yelled, "Please go out with me!"

"Huh?" the girl lying five meters away from him widened her eyes.

"No worries, I was just saying," the wizard with glasses clasped his hands and placed them on his chest, looking serene as if ready for death, "Before going into battle, I thought if we both survived, I would confess my feelings loudly to you. Okay, you can reject me now."

"Dream on!" the wizard girl laughed, "If you reject me just like that, wouldn’t I lose face?"

With a bang, the people lying around began to cheer, whistling and applauding. The friends of the glasses guy messed up his hair, singing a chaotic song "Well done, Philip, two meters eight today" — nobody knew where it came from. Nearby people cast curious glances, whispering to each other who Philip was (this ordinary wizard guy would probably become famous in an unexpected way for a while), wondering how these wizards who were lying like dead fish suddenly became so spirited. Survivors of the ordeal, even the most serious and composed members of the wizard group revealed their youthful side, laughing and joking around, temporarily avoiding thoughts about who among them was missing.

The Arborist Druids had no time to slack off; they needed to stay alert and create protective shields all over the battlefield. The wizards on the ground could collapse where they stood, but those in the sky faced more dangerous circumstances.

Some wizards still had some sense left and were wary of the magical powers that had descended from the sky earlier. As long as they weren’t pushed too hard, they didn’t completely deplete themselves and still had the strength to support themselves with their magic wands. The witches in the sky, on the other hand, had fewer concerns, entering the battlefield with confidence in surviving until victory but also didn’t mind going down with a group of high-level demons, as long as they achieved their goal. These ladies, ready to be human bombs at any moment, showed no restraint, freely wielding their magic as if popping open champagne at a party. Therefore, after the magic faded, the witches in the sky fell in a neat row.

Two Echo Witches, one specializing in summoning creatures and the other in controlling elemental creatures, were sleeping in the airship cabin with their servants. The Echo Witch Aphra, a specialist in abyssal creatures, might have spent too many years unable to summon anything. When the airship was hit, instead of landing for repairs, she rode on her summoned Obituary Bird and flew back into the sky. When the demons were drawn back to the abyss, she and the Obituary Bird were pulled in as well. It was only when the Abyss Passage began to fade that Aphra fell out.

A quick-thinking druid caught Aphra with a giant grass cushion that grew to five meters tall just as she was about six meters from the ground. Onlookers were sweating bullets. Aphra herself seemed unfazed and climbed down from the cushion excitedly.

"Thank you for saving the back of my head!" She waved to the Arborist Druid and then exclaimed to the people around her, "Guess where I just went? I went to the abyss! I saw…"

As the magic ebbed away, Aphra maintained her dancing pose and suddenly fell backwards. Aryan’s ground was there to catch her head again.

Flame Witch Abigail, who had been setting fire on top of the airship, slid down and was caught by another plant cushion, but no medical soldier could approach to check on her. Her shadow was attacking anyone who dared to come close, and a medical soldier almost got consumed by the shadow. Some individuals tried to negotiate with the Shadow Witch hidden in her shadow, but there was no progress as the shadow seemed unable to understand human speech. Eventually, Evil Eye Witch Medusa, who had been observing, intervened and broke the deadlock. She had been a bystander and was not exerting much effort, feeling quite lively now.

"Oh dear, she’s out of magic, too hungry to listen, and doesn’t want little Abby as food." Medusa waved casually. "Just give her a little attention!"

The Shadow Witch needed fresh flesh and blood, alive and substantial. Luckily, there were plenty of rats in a nearby small laboratory. The lab’s manager (a black-robed wizard who seemed listless due to the fading magic on the battlefield) offered the experimental materials with a grimace. "This witch needs to know that a wizard saved her life," the wizard said grudgingly.

"Then you should thank them!" Medusa chuckled and pointed to the onlookers nearby. "She’s not starving, but if she gets hungrier, she might start going on a rampage to devour people."

The onlookers stepped back with lingering fear.

By tomorrow morning, if these spellcasters manage to wake up, they will likely feel as miserable as party-goers suffering from a hangover.

The Dragon Riders and Griffin Riders that can still fly have taken to the sky, retrieving malfunctioning airships and drones. The massive dragons flap their wings, casting a comforting shadow over the battlefield. With their last strength, the dragons fly back to their nests, only the Dragon Knights noticing their weariness. The Primordial Dragon exhales a long breath, as if sighing or simply exhausted.

The surge of magic had empowered the defenders of the Primary Material Plane at the most critical moment, causing the spellcasters to be filled with magic and the professionals to be full of energy, almost reversing the entire battle. Now that the Abyss Gate has disappeared, magic has receded, returning the warriors to their original state. The temporary boost of power was regrettable yet reassuring – borrowing immense power temporarily was more reasonable than an unknown permanent cost.

The large magic environment measurement table that had astonished the Magician Technicians not long ago had now returned to calmness, with many of the large pointers slowly regressing. The changes in magic within the environment were not as immediately noticeable as on living beings; observers generally believed that in a few more days, it would return to its original scale.

However, within the Archmage Tower, the plant that had bloomed did not wither.

The seed of this magic plant originated from the Ancient Mage Tower, losing its name as time passed, with the wizards researching it naming it the "Magic Flower". This name was straightforward yet appropriate, as it only thrived in environments rich in magic. Its blooming days hinted at the resurgence of magic. Within the tide of magic, the seed of the Magic Flower sprouted and a small blue flower bud grew at the tip of the branch. Currently, the pale blue bud remained enclosed in a shield, neither fully blossoming nor wilting.

Time seemed to freeze once again, just like it had centuries before.

It will wither soon, the wizards whispered, urging the apprentices to observe and take notes. Yet, after one night had passed, the flower bud remained the same. Perhaps it will wilt by tomorrow, the apprentices said to each other, their eyes holding uncertain hopes, verbally preparing themselves for wilting, not wanting unrealistic expectations. On the second day, the third day, the fourth day, until the day of the Amazon Queen’s burial, the Magic Flower remained green and upright, the flower bud bright and showing no signs of wilting.

The Battle of the Abyss had ended, but a host of aftermath matters had just begun. Army deployments, treating the wounded, burying the deceased, comforting the living… Overall, the affair of burying their Queen, the Amazonians had to schedule it seven days later, not wanting to hastily bury her. There were a significant number of sacrifices, so due to health and safety considerations, most fallen soldiers would be collected and registered in an efficient and brief manner, prioritizing efficiency over commemoration.

Don’t worry about the body decaying, only the dry bones of the Amazon Queen remain.

A surge of magic gave her a final chance, and a spell briefly granted the queen legendary strength, but at a cost. She burned all her life force, and after a few minutes of youth returning, the Death God arrived as promised. The aged Amazon Queen had left the battlefield, not recognizable by military badge, but her people identified her body by the golden crown she wore.

Her daughters placed a crown on the skull’s face. As the bones were decorated, children from the tribe gathered around, gently touching the coffin and bones. In Amazonian culture, fallen warriors become spirits, their bodies not only not scary but also bringing protection and good fortune, like old warriors patting your head.

This was a collective funeral, with Amazonian bones buried alongside other Aryan fallen soldiers. Their military badges were returned and laid to rest with their queen. Despite ongoing busyness, many people came to attend the funeral, not just Amazonians.

"I received guidance from Her Majesty the Queen," said an Orc archer, "her advice saved my life in this war."

"Her kindness in accepting outsiders changed my life," Magic Archer Letizia said, "and my mentor is buried here too."

"I have never met her, but my best friend almost worships her," Druid Alfred said with a sad smile, "if Atlantic knew her name was on the same tombstone as the Queen, she would be very happy."

Amazon warriors were buried here. Over the past twenty years, this minority group slowly spread among other Aryan communities, not disappearing but expanding. Many people came to the funeral, including Amazonian husbands, wives, students, friends, and comrades. Some with injuries stood in the crowd, using canes, slowly walking to the graveside to lay down a flower for their loved ones.

The soldier who refused help struggled to stand, he looked up and saw raindrops falling.

It’s raining.

The raindrops quickly filled the view, going from few to many, turning the sky and ground into a screen covered in tiny dots. It was strange. The people at the funeral looked up, puzzled, at the clear sky.

They were not the only ones encountering this rain. At the same time, all living beings on the Primary Material Plane saw the rain, whether there were clouds in the sky or if they were indoors or outdoors.

The rain fell gently, some people reached out their hands, feeling the rain passing through their palms, feeling a soft warmth. Nothing could stop the rain from falling, not the people nor the buildings. They saw the rain, but their clothes remained dry. The ground was so dry, as if the penetrating rain was just an illusion, and nothing had happened.

But something did happen.

After days of falling, the magic environment measuring table’s pointer quietly stopped and moved in a different direction imperceptibly. Inside the Mage Tower, the Magic Flower that had been frozen for days unfurled its first petal. The weary spellcasters slowly regained their spirits, as if opening a window in a stuffy classroom, fresh air untangled their thoughts. The wounds of the Professionals began to heal faster, not due to any healing spell, but because their own bodies were strengthening quietly.

Unlike the previous waves of magic, this time the surge was gentle and natural, like a spring rain, silently nourishing all. While people pondered over the rain and its cause, it was hard for them to notice what was happening.

It takes time.

In some days from now, the Magic Flower will bloom in its shield. The light purple Fairy Lamps will secretly grow where each spore lands, from the very southern to the northern parts of Aryan, across vast continents and oceans, just like many years ago. In the remote areas where few people reside, various magical creatures will start to appear gradually. The harsh decline led to the extinction of many groups, but there were also many waiting in hibernation, like desert plants waiting for the rainy season. When magic saturates their surroundings, they will awaken.

Many years must pass before the fruits of the elves ripen and fall. The most hardworking and talented professionals will discover the disappearance of the transparent ceiling. Will they be excited or nervous to enter levels never reached by their predecessors? Probably both, like the pioneers in every field. Someday, even in the farthest place from Tasmarin, wizards will be able to cast Light Spells effortlessly. Someday, professionals will be as ordinary as they were centuries ago. Legends will no longer be just stories, and after hundreds of years, who will be Aryan’s first legendary professional?

Many, many years later, the dragons traveling in the Astral Plane may also return to this star domain, marveling at their abandoned homeland.

The beings of Aryan will unknowingly return to the embrace of magic, and the children of the next generation will consider the past few centuries as a terrifying story, though frightening, it lacks reality and is hard to imagine. Parents will recount the earth-shattering Battle of the Abyss, a fierce war where most people would feel the resurgence of magic after the battle was only natural. Victory in hard-fought battles should be rewarded, and after every story of slaying dragons, heroes could receive love, honor, wealth, and status.

As long as it sounds reasonable, for most people who only need to consider things within a hundred years, this is indeed a happy ending.

The general public who hear about the war from newspapers and radios would not know what truly happened, just like the warriors on the battlefield might not know. Even the most focused researchers would probably need a long time, at least several decades, to make uncertain guesses. Yes, people can only speculate, just as the most intelligent Abyss Researchers cannot fully understand the abyss, just like the prophet who sacrificed himself in the beginning couldn’t find a way to save the world. This is an information gap, a chasm in the essence of power; mortals find it hard to comprehend world-altering events.

The pathways in the sky faded away, and nobody knew that it wasn’t the pathways that disappeared, but the abyss itself. If they couldn’t even realize this, how could they understand what kind of gift this rain really was?

Victor sneered coldly.

Over the past seven days, he had tried everything possible, and now, with his last hope shattered, he could only sneer repeatedly here. The final demon sat by the Magic Pool, silently watching the invisible rain falling, savoring the truth known only to him.

Do these merry fools have any idea what’s happening?

The abyss has been completely consumed.

The lingering injury left by Shadow Fiend has healed, Victor was driven out of the abyss because he didn’t belong there. Each to their own realm, Tasha devoured the abyss.

Yes, Tasha devoured the abyss.

The new world was devoured, along with the soil it relied on, a broken world and a broken plane were all absorbed by Tasha, broken down and reconstituted, like reshaping a failed clay sculpture, recycling without waste. This digestion took seven days, and after it was completed, she began the next step.

Reorganization.

The Astral Mages must be excited to witness this spectacular phenomenon. From the Astral Plane, what was once the Primary Material Plane and the abyss, now only remains as one plane, not the abyss, and in fact not the original Primary Material Plane. Whether it was the unborn new world or the broken and insane abyss, all were restored to their most basic elements and energies, merging into the Primary Material Plane.

Three broken parts merged into a new world.

From now on, there is no longer a Heavenly Realm or abyss, Aryan only has one unified plane. The magical environment is evolving back to the environment of centuries ago. A clear ceiling that has lain horizontally before the legendary level for hundreds of years has been shattered, magical creatures are being revived, and dragons may return… The crisis in Aryan is not over, but all living beings in Aryan, after destroying each other’s livelihoods centuries ago, now have a second chance.

Can this be done? No one ever thought of doing this before?

Maybe, but they can’t do it.

Swallowing a world, swallowing a dimension, breaking them down and redistributing them, it sounds casual yet terrifying. Are dimensions and worlds so easily manipulated? Even Celestial Beings cannot do it, otherwise they wouldn’t have fled. The only one who can do such things is the world itself.