Chapter 1172: The Feint and the Fracture

"Go to hell!"

Even as the Clown had the presence of mind to warn his fellow Pontiffs, Alexander’s cold, resolute voice echoed from the divine blade once more.

Simultaneously, seven transparent, spectral swords materialized around Alexander’s Blade. They fell into a tight, parallel formation, spiraling around the main sword like lethal satellites.

Before the Clown’s astonished eyes, Alexander’s Blade erupted in size, swelling into a colossal greatsword that spanned the pocket dimension. In a single, sweeping arc, it scythed through the endless chain of puppets, shattering them into dust.

But that was not its true purpose.

The greatsword’s devastating swing not only destroyed the decoys but also smashed through the walls of the adjacent spatial shards.

"No—his target is Valerius!" Konak was the first to react, realizing Alexander’s attack was a feint. The true objective wasn’t the Clown, but the Pontiff maintaining the entire Dodecahedron formation.

"Divine Art: Aegis of the Four!" Konak began casting on the spot. The divine power he had invested in the magical formation coalesced instantly, forming a protective barrier around Valerius, guarded by the phantoms of four divine beings.

"Divine Art: Gravitic Anchor!" Yriel was only a fraction of a second behind. He cast a containment spell at the greatsword, a Divine Art designed not only to reinforce the spatial shards but also to drastically slow the blade’s momentum.

It was too late. His spell only affected the lingering phantom of the greatsword in their own shard.

Miles away, cloaked in his new aegis, Pontiff Valerius managed to dodge the main thrust of Alexander’s attack. But as he let out a breath of relief, his face went pale with horror.

"Damn it, it was a misdirection!"

The sound of space tearing open echoed again, and all four Pontiffs—Jack, Konak, Yriel, and Valerius—finally understood the true, devastating scope of Alexander’s plan.

The entire attack, the feints toward both the Clown and Valerius, had been a diversion. The real goal was to punch a clear path through the fractured space, creating a beacon for the Champions Alliance to follow.

Alexander’s objective was to link up with the Deputy Commander and Moonwell Demigod, turning the tables into a six-on-four assault to utterly annihilate them. And the most critical part: the Clown, Konak, and Yriel had already stepped outside the Dodecahedron of Four Elements. The formation was at its most vulnerable.

"Jack, Konak, Yriel, get back! It’s a trap!" Valerius’s panicked shout echoed from the heart of the distant formation.

But his warning was swallowed by the void.

The Deputy Commander seized the opening, channeling his power through the mimicked formation and unleashing the full, terrifying might of the Worldbreaker’s Edge.

CRASH! CRACKLE! BOOM!

Caught in a pincer between Alexander’s Blade and the Worldbreaker’s Edge, the pocket dimensions shattered like a glass pane.

"Damn you, you treacherous outsiders—"

Pontiff Valerius never finished his sentence. His demigod phantom, and the intricate formation he commanded, were silently and completely erased from existence by the impact.

"No!"

"We’re trapped!"

With Valerius’s obliteration, Konak and Yriel knew the battle was lost. They turned to flee, but it was already over. A million beams of light shot from the mimicked formation, re-fracturing the void and trapping the three remaining Pontiffs in a new, inescapable prison.

"They’re all yours," the Deputy Commander’s authoritative voice resonated through the new maze. Arthas and two of his elite bladesworn guards appeared in the fractured space, each moving to engage one of the trapped Pontiffs.

"Today, you will die."

Alexander’s Blade shrank back to its normal size, its tip locking onto the Clown with the weight of a falling sky. The last attack had consumed most of Alexander’s divine power; all he could do now was pin the Clown in place until Arthas arrived. He was also buying time, waiting for the inevitable surge of healing energy from Moonwelldemigod.

"I’ll admit," the Clown said, a strange calm settling over him. "This outcome is... unexpected. I was taking you all quite seriously, you know." The shattered remains of his puppets flew back towards him, reabsorbing into his body as if he were a living void. Soon, only one Clown remained.

"But that was then, and this is now, Alexander," he declared, his voice rising with manic energy. "I am not who I once was. Today, I’ll take you both on!"

He let out a hysterical laugh and produced a small, carved totem—a statue of himself.

Just then, Arthas entered the pocket dimension, striding to the divine sword and placing his hand upon its hilt. A surge of raw power and cosmic law flowed into the blade. It trembled, its form, which had begun to fade, solidifying once more.

"Arthas. Long time no see... heheheh," the Clown sneered. He poured his divine power into the totem. It shattered, and the pieces grew in the wind, reforming into a hulking, demonic figure: a War Golem.

"I’ve missed our little spars, old friends! It’s been far too long!" The Clown’s laughter was a discordant mix of glee and psychosis. His body dissolved into a phantom and merged with the golem.

The War Golem lifted its head, its four malevolent eyes fixing on Arthas and the blade he now wielded. "You see? This is my demigod avatar. A true demigod. Just. Like. You."

A grotesque smile spread across the golem’s face. It was clad in Hero’s Plate, and from its back sprouted a second pair of deformed arms that ended in brutal, sickle-like blades.

"You have nerve," Arthas observed, his voice calm and analytical. "Refining the demigod of the Asura race into a personal avatar. A pity. I can sense the disharmony in you—the rage, the violence, the lack of control. You’ve captured its body, but not its soul. How much of its true power can you really wield?"

With both hands, Arthas raised the greatsword and plunged it downward, as if driving a stake into the heart of the world.

"You’re about to find out! Gahahaha!" the Clown shrieked through the golem. The Asura met the descending blade with a rising punch, its scythe-arms slashing upwards in a deadly counter-attack.

In the adjacent shards of space, Konak and Yriel were locked in combat with Arthas’s bladesworn. And from the distance, the boundless, life-giving power of Moonwell Demigod was already beginning to break through.

The tide of battle had turned.