The finals of the top 32 approached. Swift, decisive, without delay. The pairing results had barely appeared when the battles commenced like ignited fuses burning toward destiny.
This time, Svananóg still avoided addressing Sebastian directly, fearing that public praise would place unbearable pressure upon him. Even so, he quietly transmitted Mok's combat data to Sebastian, wordless support hidden behind silence.
During this brief intermission, Sebastian adjusted the flow of time within Greater Terra, accelerating analysis. Across the accelerated world, the veteran Astra Militarum examined Mok's past battles meticulously, dissecting every detail, every tactic, every possible weakness.
Then, the match officially began. And in that moment, attention across the Endless Star Territory converged like a storm-eye. The reason was obvious: It was because of Sebastian. A newly chosen successor of the Tower Spirit. A freshman who had toppled the once-undisputed prodigy. A rising star whose ascent was almost unreal.
People watched, breath suppressed, eager to see what power he truly commanded.
"Humph. I'd like to see whether this Sebastian is truly superior to me." At the edge of the viewing plaza, partially obscured by shadow, the Saint Son stared at the projection screen, jaw tense, eyes burning with refusal.
"Why him? Why did the Tower Spirit not choose me?" His voice dripped with bitterness. "In talent and heritage, I do not lose to Sebastian. In strength, I am not inferior. I still hold hidden cards never revealed."
He snorted coldly. "Let everyone pretend he's stronger. I want to see how long he survives against Mok."
His lips curled upward in a thin, cruel smile. "He won't last even ten minutes. According to Mok's nature, he'll launch full power immediately… When that happens… Sebastian will be slaughtered like an animal."
The thought amused him, glee flickering beneath resentment.
Across the square, conversations spread like wind over grass. Curiosity existed, yes, yet few believed this battle held suspense. Even the discerning Level 6 Planetary Lords mostly agreed: This match should end quickly.
"If he lasts ten minutes, that alone will be commendable."
Svananóg laughed, shoulders easing. "Regardless of the outcome, reaching the top hundred already means much. He may soon study under a brilliant strategist, and with the title of strongest freshman… his path forward is bright."
Bru nodded in agreement, "His potential is quite scary. Unlike the favorites, none younger than thirty, Sebastian hasn't even reached twenty. Perhaps," Bru mused, softly smiling, "the boy will surprise us yet again."
Before them, projected across the colossal screen, two civilizations faced one another. Sebastian's forces were familiar: 100,000 Elite Guardsmen, 500 Typhoon Fighters, 500 Giant Kong, and 3,000 Pikachu.
But today, there was something new. Behind the Scarab Walker rumbled a colossal war machine, nearly five times the mass of the standard design, plated like a moving fortress of steel and thunder.
Across from him stood Mok's creation, only one species, Ghouls. He was the sole contestant among the top 32 to rely on a single unit and reaching this stage with one race alone spoke volumes of its terror.
Drones swept over the battlefield while the swarm of ghouls stretched like a living carpet, dense, endless.
"At least 200,000," a leading scientist reported.
Shock rippled through the crowd. Previous footage showed Mok deploying merely 100,000 per match, but against the Astra Militarum today, he had doubled his numbers, no hesitation, no restraint.
The ghouls were not large, lean like hyenas stripped of fur, skin drawn tight and sickly pale. Rows of jagged teeth jutted from twisted jaws, and saliva dripped in foul strands to the soil. Their limbs crawled low to the ground, movement unsettling, slow but hungry.
"A melee-type Supernatural species," another scientist concluded. "Individually weak in physique and muscle, but governed by a horrifying trait. They devour corpses. Any corpse. And each consumption increases their strength, with no known upper limit. As long as bodies fall… they evolve without end."
The research team exchanged grim looks. Electromagnetic rifles could tear their flesh, yes, yet every fallen ghoul became fuel for its kin. Munitions would kill dozens, only to create monsters from the remains.
"A difficult match for Sebastian," Bru sighed." Mok holds nothing back, not today. If he didn't intend to end this in ten minutes, he would never deploy so many."
Inside the silent void of his planetary inner world, Mok watched from afar, chin resting on his palm, expression dull, cold, almost bored. As if this battle, this moment of destiny, were merely another passing hour.
And he whispered to himself… Waiting. The opponent did not seem like a real threat, at least, not at first glance. The previous battle footage of the Astra Militarum had already been studied thoroughly. Mok wasn't reckless; he reviewed several matches carefully, neither rushing nor underestimating what he observed.
"The musketeer unit is acceptable. Their pilot weaponry does show decent tracking capability." He whispered to himself, thoughtful for a moment, then scoffed. "But still… nowhere near enough to threaten my ghouls. Freshmen are simply freshmen. Their so-called top talents are far beneath the strength of a seasoned second-level planet's forces."
A faint, confident smile tugged at the corner of his lips, "End this quickly. The faster we finish, the sooner I prepare for the next opponent."
If the bracket unfolded without surprises, his next contender would be An, the elven imperial twin, one rumored to counter his faction more effectively than most. After all, Mok's race represented death, slaughter, and decay. A direct clash with an elf-blooded restraining type was hardly ideal. But for now, victory was certain.
"Unleash your power. Overrun the field and crush them instantly!"
Hiss! Hiss! Hiss… At the competition arena, ghouls erupted into shrill, metallic screeches, like serrated teeth dragged across stone. The sound alone prickled skin and raised hair, a tremor running through even the bravest spectators. Then came the surge.
A black tidal mass crawled across the battlefield, dense, oppressive, suffocating like a nightmare flooding forward on endless limbs. The ghouls moved low, dragging themselves rapidly, though not swiftly enough to break the firing lines.
This played directly into Astra Militarum's advantage. With trajectories clean and targets clustered, sniping was effortless, especially now that their electromagnetic rifles had been upgraded.
The moment the ghoul horde crossed the five-thousand-kilometer engagement threshold...
Swoosh-! Swoosh-! Swoosh-! Every electromagnetic rifle roared simultaneously. A blizzard of spiked rounds tore through the air like razors in a hurricane.
Poof. Poof. Poof…Even with their unnatural durability, even with bodies hard as aged armor, penetration was absolute. Spike rounds punched through hearts with merciless ease.
Only certain elites, Goblin chiefs, half-mammoth berserkers, thick-skinned melee Supernatural breeds, survived the first volleys. Even though they endured dozens of hits, they crawled forward like an unstoppable insect colony seen from the sky.
Then the planes engaged. 500 Typhoon Fighters screamed overhead. Missiles rained downward like burning meteors.
The Star Competition had reached the Top 32, and by now, most low-tier explosives were meaningless. Bombs and RPGs devastated ordinary beings, yes, but Supernatural races demanded two conditions: Hit. Penetrate.
Impact blasts worked only against fragile targets. Against ghouls, shrapnel shredded nothing; thick hide absorbed nearly all force. Even direct hits from missiles destroyed only one ghoul outright, maybe two or three by collateral damage. Far different from the earlier match against the Sirens.
The Astra Militarum quickly recognized an uncomfortable truth: The Imperium's arsenal still needed upgrading. In future battles, against units of Level 3 Planetary Lords, missiles alone would be useless.
Mok watched from star-space, observing each warhead tear through two, maybe three ghouls at most. He admired the firepower, but only briefly.
Swoosh-! Phew-! Phew-! Electromagnetic barrages continued without pause. Missiles detonated rhythmically across the battlefield.
Even with 200,000 troops, the ghouls could not push within three kilometers. If this continued, less than half would survive, likely none. Over three minutes had passed. His estimated ten-minute victory had evaporated.
He exhaled sharply. "Fallback. Spread and retreat."
A wave rippled through the swarm as ghouls turned, dragging the dead with them like morbid harvesters. Only once they had withdrawn six kilometers did the advance stop, though the Typhoon Fighter still peppered them relentlessly.
"Annoying weapons…" His irritation sharpened.
"Ghouls, begin evolution. Your real performance starts now."
HISS-! HISS-! HISS-!The shrieks shifted, no longer merely aggressive, but exultant, ecstatic.
Through drone feed, they watched in real time as ghouls tore open the corpses they had collected, ripping flesh, devouring limbs, swallowing death itself. Consumption was rapid and brutal; within moments, every fallen corpse was gone.