Magus Supremacy Nove Chapter 962: Ticking Bomb

Chapter 962: Ticking Bomb

Chapter 962

VAYUN!

LOCATION: BEHEMOTH CLAN.

The Behemoth’s base looked as if it had been carved directly into the heart of a colossal mountain.

Jagged rocks and sheer cliffs surrounded the periter from all corners, serving as a natural fortress.

Deep within the inner sanctum of the clan base, there was a chamber specially accessible only by the sovereign of the clan.

In this room stood a throne carved from polished obsidian rock, a seat fit for a giant to occupy.

On this throne sat the leader of the Behemoth Clan.

The man was massive.

He was not rely tall, but built on a scale that blurred the line between human and sothing far greater.

His fra stretched wide and imposing, with shoulders broad enough to cast long shadows even under full light; his presence alone dominated the entire hall.

Even while seated, he towered over those before him, his legs planted firmly as though the very ground existed solely to support his imnse weight.

The throne beneath him, dark and jagged, glead faintly like frozen night.

Sharp edges rose along its sides, forming a brutal, unrefined crown behind his head.

It looked less like a seat designed for comfort and more like a monunt to raw power—unyielding, cold, and eternal.

And yet... it suited him perfectly.

One arm rested heavily on the armrest, fingers moving slow and deliberate as they tapped against the stone.

Each subtle movent carried a visible weight.

The other arm hung loosely, relaxed but not careless—resembling a beast at rest, fully aware of its own terrifying strength.

His face was hard, defined by decades of command and battles long since won.

He possessed a thick jaw and sharp eyes that carried a quiet, crushing authority—a gaze that did not need to move often to be felt.

When it did shift, it was enough to make even the boldest warrior straighten their posture instinctively.

There was no wasted motion in him.

No unnecessary expression. Just absolute control.

The air around him felt dense, almost suffocating, as if his very existence pressed down on every object nearby.

It wasn’t a loud or aggressive aura; it was simply absolute.

Guards stood at a distance, but none dared approach too closely.

This wasn’t out of protocol... but primal instinct.

Even among his own kin, there was a clear, unspoken understanding—this was not a man you approached lightly.

Because he was not simply a leader.

He was the kind of individual entire clans were built around.

And if he ever chose to stand... even giants might hesitate.

This was Devan Graham—the leader of the Behemoth Clan.

Before him were three figures in a kneeling position.

These were his three direct subordinates, the Vice Leaders of the Behemoth Clan: Oscroch, Pluck, and the final vice leader who appeared sowhat short but was nonetheless incredibly bulky.

His eyes shone with a mischievous, predatory glint, like soone ready for a bloody battle at any given mont.

This was Ortiz.

These three made up the secondary arms of the Clan—Devan’s right-hand n.

Each of them was a formidable stage six or seven warrior, respectively.

And sitting before them on that obsidian throne was a man who had reached the heights of a stage nine warrior of the low grade.

Devan had recently evolved into that stage about two months back, centing his status as a titan.

"Oh? So Borfan is dead, huh, and the faction is keeping it under wraps? Ha—ha—hah. What a fool," Devan chuckled nacingly.

His voice rolled across the room like distant thunder, causing the very bones of those present to shudder in response.

"And his sons are back. Those two monsters have returned to the clan, yet for so reason, they aren’t pushing for revenge against the Supre Magus," Oscroch uttered, his hands unconsciously clawing at the ground beneath his feet as if imagining soone’s throat.

"... Didn’t this sa Supre Magus beat your ass and send you scurrying back here?" Pluck growled, casting a disdainful glance at the man beside him.

Oscroch lifted his head, a sharp frown pulling at his features as he bristled at the accusation.

"He did not! I chose to withdraw after witnessing the true extent of his strength. Besides, didn’t his allies wipe the very floor with your face? ’Strongest Vice Leader,’ my foot!"

Devan stared at the bickering duo, the irritation on his face darkening into a dangerous scowl.

"Have ye no respect for my presence, you fools?!"

An aura that shook them all to the core seeped out from the clan leader, a physical weight that pressed down on their lungs and forced them to shut their mouths imdiately.

Having no interest in their childish spat, Ortiz cleared his throat and directed his focus toward their commander.

"Sources have confird it. The Supre Magus has departed from his faction. It seems he embarked on a long journey of so sort two weeks ago. As it stands, his faction is left unattended."

Oscroch lifted a brow, skepticism coloring his voice. "Unattended? The hell do you an by that? Have you forgotten the powerful allies under his command?"

Pluck frowned at Ortiz, his gaze wary.

"I know exactly what you are driving at. But if we were to mobilize an army to strike his faction with only one of us leading, there is a distinct possibility we suffer a defeat."

Devan glared at Pluck, his eyes flashing with a predatory light.

"Lose? How dare you even entertain the thought of losing to those weaklings? You know what? It is my own fault. I should have punished the two of you when you ran away with your tails tucked between your legs!"

Pluck’s face fell, his eyes dropping to the earth beneath him.

"It was because of Orion that I vacated the coliseum that day. He was far too formidable."

"Yet the Supre Magus took him down! What is your damned excuse?!" Devan barked back in pure irritation.

His throne shook violently, appearing as if it were afraid of the man sitting upon it.

Ortiz then turned his gaze back to the leader, his voice lowering.

"Borfan’s sons won’t want to attack the Dawn Faction. It isn’t necessarily out of fear; there is sothing else at play that I haven’t uncovered yet.

But if the Supre Magus is nowhere to be found, we can seize this opportunity to erase all of his hard work in one stroke."

Oscroch lifted a brow.

"Wouldn’t that make us cowards? We would be attacking a faction behind the leader’s back."

Ortiz frowned in annoyance.

"Who asked the leader to abandon his post? This is war, and we will do anything necessary to secure a victory. Besides, you aren’t the leader. Let Devan decid—"

"I like it," Devan interrupted, a wide, predatory smirk spreading across his face as he rose from his obsidian seat.

His subordinates rose to their full heights in response.

Even with how tall they were, they paled in comparison to the titan standing before them.

It looked as though his head might graze the ceiling if he rely stood on his toes—and the ceiling of the hall was incredibly high.

"How many n does the clan currently command?"

Ortiz paused for a few monts, his mind rapidly calculating their military strength. "Six hundred thousand n."

Devan smirked, the expression filled with an incredulous thirst for blood.

"How long will it take to mobilize five hundred thousand soldiers?"

Ortiz ntally calculated the logistics again before providing a firm reply.

"Two days at best."

Devan’s smile grew even wider, his aura flaring with excitent.

"Great, then. We will launch the assault on the Dawn Faction three days from now. And this ti," Devan paused, his eyes gleaming dangerously as thick veins bulged along the sides of his massive forearms.

"... This ti, I will personally participate in this attack. All four of us will strike simultaneously to ensure this is a total success. This is war!"