Sila had realized it was a trap the moment the Seed of Destruction came under siege from the Totem Warriors, yet a faint smile appeared on his face.
Plots and schemes were precisely what he feared least. Having prepared contingencies long ago, he began to mobilize another source of power.
"Hmm?"
Yet when he began calling upon a certain holy relic far away, all he received was utter silence.
It had vanished.
A variable had appeared. After a moment of silence, Sila finally realized that his master might have played another joke on him. Left with no choice, he gathered all the power he possessed in the mortal world and tried to tear the rift wider. Only then would the Seed of Destruction have a chance of escaping.
As he slowly rose into the sky, Sila's blood-red skin gradually shattered, forming a vortex behind him.
He needed only one minute to fully unleash his power.
But then a second variable appeared.
He began to fall—not in any physical sense.
Something dragged his spirit from its shell and thrust it into the torrent behind the veil, into the boundless melody of the Vast Ocean itself.
They scoured his spirit, burning and boiling as though molten iron were being poured down his throat and filling his lungs.
As a member of the Vast Ocean, he naturally resisted this intrusion, focusing his mind to form a barrier of resistance.
Yet it was useless.
If there was any difference at all, it was that the fiery assault scorched the essence of his soul even more fiercely—but it also allowed him to see the truth of this power.
This was undoubtedly the Orks' brutal Waaagh! field.
Sila sensed the presence that had dragged him into this battlefield of spirits. He struggled to focus his perception